i die Chanel

Paris Fashion Week’s final Tuesday is always and forever a party. Tuesday morning is reserved for Chanel’s show, which, of course, is a highlight. I want to give the show every smidgen of my attention, as it’s due. So I take my time preparing for what is to come. I stroll towards Café de Flore for a good breakfast, feeling the muscles in my legs ache due to the many miles I walked this week. Faubourg St Honoré… Boulevard St. Germain… Rue de Rennes… Paris Fashion Week is my private sports school.

I met up with fashion buddies Harriet Calo and Simone Dernee at Flore’s and we stroll  to the Grand Palais on Avenue Winston Churchill. There’s a crowd of agents in the street, cooing fashion people, bloggers, and quite some people who dressed up beautifully but do not have an invitation for the show. Amongst them, Janice Dickinson.

Everything’s fine when GRACE does it. Including the homely hair combs.

I shuffle inside just behind my icon Grace Coddington. She has little hair combs in the hair on the side of her head, like the ones old-fashioned Dutch women use to beef up their hairdos. Everything’s good when Grace does it, however. Including the homely hair combs. And her dark-blue deck shoes – which I actually want as soon as I see them.

Once inside, the charming Chanel ladies are already waving a little bag in the air. Guests are offered gifts at every show. Sometimes, it’s a lipstick or soap, this time it is a bottle of perfume. Just too lovely.

A wonderful first-row spot has been reserved for me. Love that! I air-kiss Cathy, one of my favourite PR ladies, and the spectacle begins. I’ve rarely seen more trends brought together in one single show. Backpacks, two bags at the same time (that would work for me because one bag always seems too small), pumps with socks attached to them, graffiti bags, a dress with a built-in cape. Just look at that! I like. What am I saying? I die.