Today it seems that every fashion title and every women’s service magazine is pushing the best deals for the lowest prices. Elle Magazine clamors weekly on how to pick the best fashion steals from either main street, high street or vintage resources. Even Biba is preaching on where to find the best deals at Hermès, Louis Vuitton and Christian Dior–anything for 500€ or less. Still others are giving tips on where to buy clothes and shoes and bags for under 100€ and even under 50€. So is Paris becoming the new mecca for cheap chic? Yes and no.

Even after the pinning and tucking, and airbrushing of top models, most cheap clothes in Paris still look cheap and drab in the slick glossies. Unfortunately, so do a lot of expensive clothes. Other clothes are so ugly and garish, making women look like teeny boppers or gaunt ghosts, that even if they gave the fashion away this reader wouldn’t be buying.

So what’s a smart woman to do? Certainly, we’re not going to listen to the ravings of a 13-year-old fashion blogger who now gets front-row seating at the Paris collections. Certainly, we’re not going to strap on shoes that are almost as high as stilts and which seem to promise at the very least a sprained ankle, or the need for a chaise porter or two. Because who can possibly walk in these monstrosit, even if they do cost more than a week’s salary after taxes.

Well, I would stick with two types of clothes: those that transform you and make you feel like a million dollars, even you only spent a fraction of that amount; and those clothes that are the tried-and-true basics that will carry you through several seasons, year-in, year-out. My favorite stores these days include:

–Max Mara for their fabulous coats, suits, jackets, and simple sheath dresses;

–Uniqlo for basic tops, cashmere sweaters and sweater dresses, and jeans;

–Agnèsb for solid basics with a twist, including her famous sweat-shir jackets, crinkled cotton man-tailored shirts in a wide array of colors, and her somewhat funky dresses and skirts;

–Loulou de la Falaise for the ultimate splurge in fine tailored jackets with beautiful linings and stunning pants;

–La Petite Robe Noire, for a terrific vintage or vintage-inspired black dress in silk, velvet, or wool crepe;

–Le Bob Shop and Trussardi for great slacks and jeans;

Well, if you have that all covered, get yourself some great lingerie on sale (Darjeeling, Etam, Eres, Wolford, come to mind), keep in mind that you are buying not just on a whim but to have lasting quality. Moreover, you don’t have to have an Hermès Kelly bag or a Chanel quilted chain bag to think highly of yourself. Nor do you have to a pair of red-soled Christian Louboutins to get around town. Why not be original for a change, and find a handbag and shoe designer that set you apart from the herd and save you some serious money.

What you spend on an Hermès bag can send you back on another trip to Paris in a four-star hotel with some extra spending money for great meals, great visits to museums, and even some chic shopping. For two of those bags you could purchase a Smart car.

In the meantime, the best buys to French chic may be waiting to be rediscovered in your closet or at a button store in Paris, such as La Droguerie. Last year, I revived a French Comptoir des Cotonniers red raincoat with shiny black buttons and a black belt buckle–something I had seen in an ad for Clarins skincare products. The model in the ad looked chic and intelligent and naturally, I just had to copy that look in the hopes of looking a bit like her.

Now it’s time to lay everything out on your bed and create outfits with your existing jewelry and shoes, as well as pocketbooks. You will be surprised to see the combinations that can be found, the endless possibilities of virtually free fashionable chic. That will save you a visit to Chico’s and/or Century 21–and will help you save for your next trip to the City of Lights.

Many women come to Paris wondering how French women do it.  How is it that they look so terrific and so much more fashionable than their often wealthier Anglo-Saxon sisters?

When I arrived in Paris in 1994 I had the same thought. At the same time, I didn’t imagine that my American approach to beauty and style had something lacking. Like so many women of my generation, I wanted to put brains before beauty, forgetting the old French adage: “A woman with intelligence is fine, but if she has intellect and charm, it’s even better.”

That piece of advice was told to me two years before I even thought of living in Paris, by a woman who had very little beauty, but a great deal of chic. She certainly seemed to know what she was talking about, telling me in a rather knowing way that Edith Cresson had been Mitterand’s mistress long before she became France’s first prime minister.

Still, two years later, I was off to Paris with a very short wash and wear haircut dyed jet black to hide the growing number of gray hairs, and a wardrobe of Gap chinos, jeans, and blazers, tops and skirts from Ann Taylor. My goal was to learn about Paris after all–not to conquer it.

Even when I began working with a fashion photographer for Czech Elle, it never occurred to me to get a fashion makeover. I wanted to learn how the fashion industry worked from the inside, but I wasn’t committed to being a “fashionista.”

Moreover, as I was launching a career as both an author and a tour guide, who was going to being making more and more public appearances, it slowly dawned upon me that I was going to have make more of an effort.  And so I invested in some well-cut masculine-looking pin-striped pant-suits and some Hermès scarves and Agatha pearls, and assumed that I was set for life. Read the rest of this entry »

Coco and Igor, the new movie

“How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something but to be someone.”  This statement, which came out of the mouth of the infamous Coco Chanel, remains a useful adage for ambitious and original talents of this world.

After sitting through a number of mediocre biopics on Chanel,  it is clear to me that even 40 years after her death in 1970, Chanel remains almost as much of a global brand and household name as Coca-Cola. When I was growing up, the only gospel I knew was the Gospel According to Saint Mathew; today, there may be more readers who know of The Gospel According to Coco Chanel, brought to you by author Karen Karbo.

If Coco Chanel came back to Paris today, she would surprised to see the store windows at 31 rue Cambon displaying bicycles, skis, jeans, open-toed platform boots and ultra-short, thigh-high miniskirts, all sporting her famous double C logo. Not only does this show a shameless exploitation of her initials, but also of her stellar reputation, one that has little to do with Karl Lagerfeld, the designer who is associated with her name today. As one savvy French image consultant opined recently: “The trouble with Karl is that he is too much of a show off.”

Yet, even if Chanel’s designs are a far cry from what they were 40 years ago, few people, except the couture connoisseur seem to care. Women, being what they are, may still judge each other by the state of their Chanel pocketbook, the style of their Chanel sunglasses, and the color of their Chanel lipstick. Read the rest of this entry »

There comes a time when the groaning board of Christmas advertising–whether it’s for the pseudo-bamboo “buche de Noël¨designed by Kenzo or a for crystal-shaped shoe created by Christian Louboutin for Piper-Hiedsick champagne–exhausts our senses and jades our palate.

This year, excess and luxury seem to be misplaced, especially when there is 10 percent unemployment in both France and the United States, and even worse conditions elsewhere.

I am all for Christmas celebrations, but should they focus on a celebration for Christmas merchandising? I still recall a Frenchwoman’s salient reminder: “Noël, c’ est la fête des commerçants.” This year, like Michele and Barack Obama, my husband and I decided not to exchange gifts. Still, I wanted to give something–something with meaning.

Thanks to the wonders of Google, I was able to download a lengthy and fascinating text on the history of Christmas, whose roots go back to the Roman Feast of Saturnalia. As we read and discussed this extensive paper, we learned about the controversy over the birthday of Jesus, the history of the Three Wise Men and the gifts they brought, as well as the history of Christianity itself, the holiday took on a whole new meaning.

I learned the origins of the word “Noël” come from the Latin word for “news.” Clearly the birth of Jesus was a newsworthy event. As a journalist and author, I was struck by the way we can use words for decades and fail to know their original meaning.

That same evening, as we savored Belon oysters and a glass of Ruinart champagne, I read Lewis Carroll’s wonderful poem “The Walrus and the Carpenter” which inspired John Lennon’s song “I am the Walrus”–an indictment of capitalism. It seemed like an apt choice when you consider the victims of Bernie Madoff, whom the jailed billionnaire had feasted on for decades. Read the rest of this entry »

Last Saturday on a foggy, drizzly day in Paris, my husband and I headed out to Versailles–the ultimate temple to excess–for a visit to a long over-due exhibition on the chateau’s creator: Louis XIV, or “The Sun King” as he liked to call himself.

Even under the gray skies of Ile de France, the château’s new golden gates, roof and window decorations, proved so dazzling that I could have used a pair of sunglasses. Talk about the king of Bling! For years, Versailles survived quite nicely without that gold-topped roof–we owe this one to France’s last President Jacques Chirac, who embarked on a campaign to restore the palace to its former glory to the tune of 130 million€. (While some of the funds are coming from the private sector, our tax dollars are paying a hefty amount as well). This was more of a priority than housing for the homeless.

It is worth noting that on his death-bed, Louis XIV did regret this kind of prodigality, telling his great-grandson the future Louis XV: “Don’t imitate me in my passion for building and for war.” Being all of five-years-old, the adorable heir soon forgot this advice, growing up to commission multiple chateaux for himself and his mistresses. Read the rest of this entry »

On a lovely winter’s day in Paris this week I had the great pleasure of attending a debate on romantic love starring the celebrated and glamorous French philosopher and author, Luc Ferry, whose book “What is Happiness?” was an international bestseller 10 years ago in 25 languages. A former Minister of Education under the Chirac government, the dashing Ferry seems to be more comfortable at elegant dinners than in the halls of a school in one of the rougher “banlieues” outside the French capital.

The luncheon debate, titled “What is romantic love today?” drew more women than any other previous luncheon speaker, including the former French President Valéry Giscard d’Estaing. Comfortably ensconced in the first floor dining-room of Fouquet’s overlooking the Champs-Elysées, we eagerly drank in every word of this brilliant orator, who has been married three times. Certainly, an expert on the subject of love!

The median age of the women in the room was over 50, and likely the persons attending knew almost as much as the speaker who had been invited. What struck me was how elegantly attired they all were–and it was clear that they were used to living among the cultured and monied. Luc Ferry is one of the few right-wing intellectuals in France–although he began his career on the Left. As they say in France: “Marxist at 20, Gaullist at 30.”

Ferry maintained that modern love began as late as 1840, notably with the opera “La Bohème” set to music by Puccini. Yesterday’s bohemians have led he believes to a society of  hyperconsumption–now that’s a stretch–and instant gratification. In short, their polar opposite, the bourgeois, was a saver and striver. Read the rest of this entry »

Last weekend, my husband and I headed out at 9:30 am to the Bazar de l’Hotel de Ville opposite City Hall to purchase a new espresso coffee machine. Being French, with less disposable income, he had done a thorough market review on the Internet and in the print media, before deciding to do his comparison shopping in one of the city’s leading houseware department stores. Initially, he was settled on Lavazza’s machine since that is the coffee that we drink every morning, brewing it in an espresso coffee pot that is no different than the one my mother used 50 years ago. It is both quick and ecological and easy to clean–and offers a more full-bodied coffee than any of the drip machines with filters.

My husband is half-Italian, and coffee is important to him. He only wants to drink the best. Ten years ago, his Florentine mother schlepped a Saeco machine from Italy to Paris, and for many years it held pride of place in our kitchen. We had a Sunday ritual of following a delicious meal with a cup of frothy espresso. Now the machine no longer delivers that same cup of coffee, and so my husband has buried it in the cellar.

While my husband was all set on the Lavazza machine, we ended up buying the Nespresso: a) because it was half the size of the Lavazza and easier to fit on our compact kitchen counter; b) it offered 16 choices of coffee compared to Lavazza’s paltry three. In short, despite the small size of each coffee capsule, the Nespresso offered many more possibilities for coffee appreciation. Less than two hours later, in the comfort of our home, we were savoring a rich albeit small cup of coffee, whose velvety texture and taste I am not about to forget. No Nespresso is not paying me to tell you this–they already have the world’s sexiest pitchman, actor George Clooney, and if anyone can take marketshare away from Starbucks, it is him.

The following day, I headed to the Champs-Elysées flagship Nespresso store to buy refills of the delicious coffee flavor I had so appreciated, only to find hordes of like-minded espresso junkies lined up three-deep to purchase their own refills, as well as coffee machines, and artisanal cookies flavored with almonds or oranges. It was clear that many unsuspecting friends and families were about to become Nespresso converts at Christmas. The store was sleek, handsome and brassy–a temple dedicated to coffee addicts and pleasure-seekers.

While the French are enthralled with the Iphone and the Mac, they are still keen to marry sensual pleasure with technology–hence the success of the Nespresso machine. And while Starbucks can boast serving 10 million cups since its invasion of France, I have yet to see or hear a Frenchman rave about their Starbucks moment. In fact, this Christmas, they have hired a company that offers tours in “deux-chevaux” to ride around the city with a red Starbucks cup on the roof, to gain greater visibility. How American!

Now many readers of this column are bound to think that my husband and I were suckered into buying the Nespresso, thanks to clever advertising and packaging. Perhaps. But all I can remember is the taste of that first cup of coffee served to me lovingly by my husband last Saturday after lunch, and that his sweet gesture is something I won’t forget so soon. It was a “bon moment” to be savored–a fundemental aspect to French art de vivre, and one that should and could be exported internationally.

Many people who visit Paris wonder how the average French person manages to staying slim when surrounded by so many tempting pastries, breads, chocolates and wines, not to mention outstanding bistros and gastronomic palaces. The short answer is simple: they don’t eat the stuff on a regular basis the way Americans tend to wolf down McDonald’s.

They also consume smaller quantities of food and rarely snack between meals. That doesn’t mean that everyone who lives in Paris lives healthily–many people do eat fast food–and while the French are loathe to admit it, the second most profitable division of McDonald’s is in France. Frankly, I don’t know why they eat the stuff: my one experience with McD proved almost fatal. After a hard day of painting my apartment kitchen, a midnight snack of chicken McNuggets and fries left me feeling as if my veins had been injected with congealed fat. Never again, I vowed, and have since that awful meal, kept my word. Read the rest of this entry »

Reading Noel Riley Fitch’s outstanding biography of Julia Child, “Appetite for Life”, I felt like I had been invited to a feast that I wished would never end. Julia Child–amateur cook, author, TV star and all-around educator–was both a larger than life personality and a mystery to many people, even those closest to her.

Still we can thank her for introducing TV dinner America to quiche and coq au vin, as well as boeuf bourguignon and mousse au chocolat. I can thank her for teaching me how to make my first cheese soufflé in college some 35 years ago, and for showing me how to make a mousse au chocolat even the French would rave about.

At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling a mixture of sorrow and regret knowing that the teachings of the indomitable “French Chef” have been lost upon most of American eaters in favor of Starbucks and McDonald’s. Learning that McDonald’s spends close to $1 billion a year on advertising, you can understand what public television must have been up against. Americans may have liked to watch Julia Child because she was great entertainment–even fodder for Dan Ackroyd on “Saturday Night Live”–but her approach to fine cooking never made it to their dinner tables.

Now her pots and pans are gathering dust in the Smithsonian Museum, and I expect that her masterpiece “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” will be used more to write theses on its author than in the preparation of meals. Read the rest of this entry »

As a long-time fan of Julia Child and of Meryl Streep (who once was a student in my Aunt Norma’s acting class at the Yale School of Drama), I couldn’t resist seeing and loving Nora Ephron’s movie “Julie and Julia.”  Not only did I identify with Julia Child’s enthusiasm and enjoyment of France, I loved her husband Paul and rejoiced at her good fortune at finding such a wonderful soul-mate and life partner.

I can’t say that I was as enthused about the Julie character in the movie–but I was very inspired and impressed by her blogging abilities, and that may be one reason why I felt inspired to not only comment on the movie but how it stacks up against the French kitchen today.

To put it simply: la cuisine française as Julia knew and loved it–is now a thing of the past, and that, it turns out, has its pluses as well as its minuses. When Julia came to France, the average Frenchman drank a liter of wine a day, and often suffered from either the gout or liver trouble or both. Today, those problems are virtually non-existent, along with the three-hour business lunch and the interminable Sunday dinners. Today, many French people are choosing to eat at different times of day–particularly in Paris, where brunches and “flunches” are all the rage.

Nor is it uncommon for people to prefer water over wine. My husband is one of those tee-totallers–not because he is an alum of Alcoholics Anonymous–but simply because he feels better without it. The French may be loathe to admit it, but there are more sales for Coke and Coke Light or Coke Zero than there are for Beaujolais Nouveau. Read the rest of this entry »