Swing It


Hello from the city that never sleeps! Before the wanderlust consumes me completely, I thought it best to finally tie up the loose ends on this post. Which, by my calculations, have been in the works for roughly three weeks now, having never fully received my unabridged attention in light of the mad pre-New York prep.

 It started with me making my routine trawl through the Gary Pepper Girl blog, trying to decode her style. See, if fashion is an accessory for a person's style - the connotative nuances that convey who they really are, so to speak - then style is more than anything, just an instinct. Nothing more, and nothing less. 

Then it hit me. Her modus operandi is quite simply to dress as a Parisian would. French fashion is a longstanding institution as failproof as macarons for tea, and is at its core the benchmark by which the rest of the world forms opinions about the Trompe L'Oeil and Jouy prints on the street. If we could bottle up Parisian chic and peddle it in stores, the resultant flatlays and hash tags would break the Internet in 140 characters or less. 

I can't say I'm anywhere near mastering the Wardrobe Francophile shindig, but it was worth a swing. Hence the trapeze dress, and more importantly the brogues and ankle socks. My take strips the archetypal French wardrobe down to the very basics of a clean flowing silhouette and frilly footwear. The kind that doesn't involve non-climate permitting navy cape blazers or berets. 

Now on to more thousand-calorie meals at Shake Shack, bagel joints and the like. C'est la vie. Or something. 

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