Dress Up!

12 years ago by

Sunday, 4 pm, at the airport: Coming home again, happy, drunk on Spanish sun, I’m waiting for my suitcase having coffee and reading Elle. I’ve been waiting a while but no worries, I’m in an unbreakably good mood.

4:32 : Still waiting… Unbreakable, I said, an unbreakably good mood.

4:46 : What the hell!!! Where’s my suitcase? I have a fancy dinner tonight. Babeth Djian herself is hosting. I’ve gotta show up as shiny and smooth as the cover of Numéro.

5:00 : I leave the airport empty handed, totally PO’d, without my suitcase. I stick my hand out to flag down a taxi and an enormous plop of rain falls on my face. Coooooooool… Welcome to Paris!

6:00 : Back home. Sitting in front of my anaemic wardrobe, gone are all my favorite outfits and all my cocktail dresses (= one). I’ve gotta figure this one out… I’ll start warming up to what I’ve got: ALL of my fancy shoes are in my suitcase except my Margielas. As I’m a glass-half-full kinda gal, I tell myself that we’re off to a good start.

6:02 : I realize the staples of my wardrobe are trapped in my suitcase and my closet seems full but nothing in it works for me. I try to come up with a whole new life philosophy, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

6:02 : I guess I could go in only my Margiela shoes. Naked. That would be very Margiela of me.

6:02 : I’m not going.

6:02 : Camille Bidault-Waddington is going to be at my table. I’m going.

6:02 : And Sonia Rykiel. And Sophie Fontanel. I’m going.


6:02 : Sophie: “Garance, calm down. I’ve been to 12,000 dinners like this. No need to have a stroke over this. Just toss on a skirt and some black tights and come and we’ll laugh.”

Me : “But it says on the invite: Black tie. And by the way, how stupid is that expression?”

Sophie : “Black tie. Shit. I didn’t see that.”

6:03 : Only one thing left that could calm me: go take a bath and wash and condition my… Ah no, no luck there, my shampoo is in my suitcase as well. I’ll take a bath anyway. At the very worst, it’ll still calm me down some. Actually, that gives me an idea. An idea is a precious thing when you’ve got nothing else. I pull the plug and hop out.

6:06 : I’ll do the lipstick and white button-down trick. You know what I’m saying… Sharon Stone did it, so I can do it. You know what I’m talking about, it’s that girl that’s so cool in her own skin, she could wear a white button-down to the Oscars.

6:45 : After 45 minutes of foraging through my closet, the only white shirt I can find is an Agnès B Homme, 25 years old at the very least, almost transparent it’s worn so thin. I love it, but it’s only whiiiiiiiiiite-ish. Hmmmmm… Foiled. But it’s the only thing I have. All that’s left to do is hope that no one around me has a white outfit, otherwise I’ll have to pull out some oxi-clean. Okay, on with the lip-stick.

6:45 : Shit, my good red lip-stick is in my suitcase. With the rest of my makeup.

7:20 : I’m looking through everything in my bathroom, and since I’ve been in a clean-and-throw-away mood lately, well, there’s pretty much nothing left.

7:45 : Woooo ! Found one ! It’s called “Target Red.” It’s written on the bottom. A gift from Target? Freshly minted coin, I’m telling you. Babeth will be so proud.

7:46 : Wow! Target lipstick is amazing! There you have it! As far as lips go, I look great.

8:00 : SO GREAT!!! Except that…

8:00 : I still am wearing no bottoms.

8:15 : I do have this pants that, from a far and in the dark, could, I suppose, if you were looking through 3D glasses, look just like a pair of Yves Saint Laurents by Stefano Pilati. Maybe Lanvin. What, they look nothing alike? Exactly. They’re Lanvins at night, from afar. All I need to do is iron them on high-steam for like an hour.

8:50 : Okay, off we go. Nighttime Lanvin, Agnès B from 1982, Margiela, My Max Mara coat, that brings an entire outfit together once again and NOT A SINGLE accessory except for my Target lip-stick. I get a look in the mirror. I smile. I’m out the door.


End of part 1.

Press 1 if you want to keep reading.

Press 2 if you already know what’s going to happen.

Press 3 if you would rather I stop right away with all my stories.

Translation : Tim Sullivan


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