And again I am writing this at an ungodly hour, because once again the day was far too long and my moments behind the Macbook too scarce. I left you behind on Thursday and still have the whole Friday to tell. By the way, it feels like I have been away from home for years, the days here are so full and nice. But first things first, on Friday the alarm went off at 09:00 because I had an appointment in the showroom of Diane von Furstenberg, where she would also be walking around.

Normally the DvF presentation is in New York, two days after the show. But this season Diane had commitments in L.A. so the collection moved to Paris. Together with Noor (or rather Queen of Jetlags) I got to go through the racks, bags, and jewelry of the latest DvF collection. Of course, I had already seen the photos from the show, but everything looked even better up close.

I fell intensely in love with a beautiful blue suit and a dress with a lip print, had to hold myself back from secretly making off with them. While Noor and I are thoroughly studying all the pieces, Diane walks in. “Do you dare to ask for a photo?” we ask each other a thousand times because you have to know, we are both quite the fans of Diane. When we finally muster up the courage, the tension turns out to be unnecessary, Diane is incredibly sweet and nice and we immediately want to become best friends with her.

Then it's time to leave the building for the next stop: the Issey Miyake show. That brand can sometimes go overboard with extreme conceptual pieces, but this time it was surprisingly wearable and especially very cheerful. We make our way through the hordes of street style photographers and park ourselves on a sunny terrace to eat something, something we always forget and thus walk around with hysterical hunger. Meanwhile, my phone is heavily in the red, I only have 4% left and I can tell you, that almost gives me panic attacks.

With full stomachs, Noor and I walk a few meters further to the entrance of the Dior show. This is really a mega spectacle, about a million people have gathered and everyone is pushing each other for the best photo of all the celebs. My phone has since given up, so I have no photos. I know, I know, I am a worthless raging reporter. After Dior, I take the metro with photographers Sophie and Joris from Team Peter Stigter to Palais de Tokyo for the Isabel Marant show. I make a desperate attempt to get in without a ticket, but the ladies at the door are unyieldingly strict, so I have to take my loss.

And then it's time for a recharge moment at home. For myself and for my phone. I do some emails, type a bit, and free my feet from the 12cm heels that I swap for something flat. Tonight I am going to dinner with Noor at Café Charlot in the Marais, one of my favorite terraces. The plan was to take the metro, but actually, the weather is quite nice so I decide to walk. Quite a walk, 40 minutes later I arrive at Charlot. We order wine, bread, cheese, steak tartare, look at the impressive people around us and I know for sure now more than ever: nothing beats Paris. And especially not during fashion week.