I DIE CHANEL

The last Tuesday of Paris Fashion Week is the party. Always and forever. Tuesday morning is standard blocked for Chanel. And that is definitely a highlight. To give the show all the honor it deserves, I prepare myself in all calmness and devotion for what is to come. Calmly walking to Café de Flore for a hearty breakfast. I actually have muscle pain and a messy stomach from all those kilometers I have walked. Faubourg St Honoré, Boulevard St. Germain, Rue de Rennes. Fashion week is my personal gym.
At Flore, I meet fashion friends Harriet Calo and Simone Dernee. Together we walk to the Grand Palais on Avenue Winston Churchill. The ingredients (lots of agents on the street, chaos, chirping fashion people, bloggers, and also quite a few people who have dressed up nicely but have no ticket for the show. Like Janice Dickinson).

At GRACE, everything is okay. Also her hair combs.

Behind my icon Grace Coddington, I shuffle inside. She has hair combs stuck in the side of her hair. You know, like Volendam women also use to give their hairstyle strength. With Grace, everything is okay. Also her hair combs. And her dark blue boots. In fact, I want those immediately.
Inside, the charming Chanel ladies are already waving with a little bag. At every show, you get a gift. A lipstick, a soap, or like this time, a perfume. So nice.

There is a lovely spot reserved for me in the front row. I love that. I kiss Cathy, one of my dearest ladies, and the spectacle begins. Rarely have I seen so many trends in one show. The backpack, two bags at once (really something for me because I always lack a bag), a pump with a sock attached, graffiti on bags, a dress with a cape attached. Anyway, just take a look. I like. What am I saying? I die.