I’LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS

I left Paris on Thursday without even having eaten a croissant. I went to the Lexmond versus Lexmond launch, and had to race back to Hilversum the morning after to talk all about it at Boulevard. This won’t happen again, I thought yesterday.

But the morning of departure I received an app from Boulvevard’s editor in chief Jorien. Whether I wanted to talk about the Oscar dresses in the show. Too tempting because the handing out of golden statues is a great party fashion-wise. Thanks to our travel king Andries van de Moorselaar, another ticket was arranged within no-time. The hotel couldn’t cancel my reservation, but my CHANEL invitation to the show were safeguarded. Which made Hotel Crystal the most expensive mailbox ever, but that aside. Everything for fashion and everything for the show.

Tuesday at 04:45 I woke up to fix my tenue and hair. I chose casual jeans that I topped off with a Vuitton jacket and a fun fur Paul&Joe. Of course CHANEL was part of my ‘oeuvre’ for the festive occasion. Shoes CHANEL? Check. Bag CHANEL? Check. Bracelet CHANEL? Check. I can go on for a while about my earrings, silk-scarf-that-I-used-as-belt, perfume and necklace. And I didn’t even go over the contents of my makeup. You get the message. I love CHANEL.

Via a wild journey across airplanes, RER, and metros, I strolled alongside the Seine to king Karl’s palace. I’ve already seen quite a lot of shows: I once saw a simulated Rue Cambon, models landing on some kind of moon landscape, a windmill park, a globe so big it barely fit the Grand Palais, an art gallery, etc. This time, Karl had transformed the Big Palace into a supermarket. Yes, that’s right. A supermarket. I’ve never seen so many well-dressed people in between packages of detergent. Everything was simulated and poured in Coco Chanel packaging. It was a playground for adults. There were shopping trolleys and baskets, choco de Coco and tweed lemonade, and the seaters walked around in fabric coats that I wanted to yank from their bodies. Because of their coats, not the boys, understand?

I saw Cara Delevingne open the show. Kendall Jenner walking proudly, Saskia de Brauw who actually had a fever but still looked gorgeous, and all the other model beauties this earth offers us. The hair in a lovely rasta ponytail with strings of fabric and feathers that had been attached to a very elegant, tight ponytail. I saw the classic CHANEL silhouette and funky sneakers and leggings. Karl also seemed to incorporate the art theme into a couple of creations. So your purchase would still be great this winter. I fell in love with Cara when she chaperoned Karl during his honorary round. I left the building feeling endlessly inspired.

At the residence of the Dutch embassy I was welcomed like an old friend. Today, the stage was offered to Mattijs van Bergen. His collection, inspired on Van Gogh, I’d already seen during the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week Amsterdam, but I didn’t mind seeing it again. Mattijs’s designs are extraordinarily pretty and contemporary, and he’s the king of styling. His mother’s crocheted jumpers and her custom made jewellery only topped things off.

After this visit it was already two o’clock and I hadn’t eaten anything that entire day. Except for a glass of grapefruit juice and a glass of champagne at the residence. I dashed to Café de Flore’s terrace for the French version of the Melanzane alla Parmigiana. With a laptop on my lap and my cell phone in my hand I saw Grace. Grace. GRACE. I thought she was ill. Or gone. But she was here. In Paris. Alongside her colleague Tonne Goodman waiting for their driver. I could have touched her. Instead, I cowardly took a photo from a distance. And then? It was suddenly time to jump into a metro towards Gare du Nord.

Again I didn’t buy macaroons. Though, we’ve got those in the Netherlands too, of course. And… I will always have Paris.