Paris shopping Part Two: From treasures to tears and back
My Parisienne friend Huguette took me to her favourite boutique; I had warned her that I am an extra-large French size (44 or 46, maybe a relaxed 42), not easy to find, and my height often is a dealbreaker. I know where I can get French clothes that fit, but her place would be all new, exotic, exciting.
She waved off that concern like a croissant flake on a blouse, hailed a cab, and we were soon entering Trésor by Brigitte Masson, in a tiny lane (6, rue du Trésor) in the Marais. This was the magical little gem I had literally dreamed about.
Huguette was right: I liked everything I saw. The colours were unusual and nuanced, the price point reasonable for the quality, and the pieces had that "don't see that on everyone" effect. The racks murmured: "Venez ici!"
The racks were organized by colour groups, with a notable paucity of black.
But the clothes didn't fit: sleeves and skirts too short, buttons in the wrong places. Mme Masson had maybe ten items in my size and I tried every last one, even things I couldn't really use. A woman of my proportions was twirling before the mirror in a shift dress over pants, but it's not a look I like on myself.
Much as I wanted to join my friend in her spree, I was shut out of the action. Huguette, presently size 38, merrily bought a spring coat (around €400), hat, and scarf.
I too found a scarf; coincidentally, we both chose the same Epice linen/silk in different colourways. Below, she wears hers with her winter coat, a soft peach tweed coat from Trésor, which is lined with a photo-print of gondoliers in Venice, a secret mural that delights the wearer. (You can just see the pale blue of the lining at the rolled cuff.)
I wore mine with a featherweight down jacket which I packed at the last minute:
I'm smiling in that shot, but I surely wasn't when I came home, miserable and owly, partly due to a painful arthritic knee, but mostly from frustration. Le Duc was initially annoyed with Huguette—he had to put up with the fallout. He reminded me that I've had more or less the same experience for decades.
We walked to a favourite restaurant—but despite the very best food and company, I felt a lingering mournful longing which, I'm embarrassed to say, dampened the evening.
Life resolved my snit, the very next day.
On Sunday morning, we strolled through a street market at Place Monge and fell upon a sidewalk sale held by a local church parish. I spotted a quirky tweed (pinks, violet, burgundy, off-white) wool-and-cashmere jacket in unworn condition; it would have looked at home in Trésor's chest of delights.
Cost? 10 euros. (Full disclosure: I'm having it tailored to fit me precisely, for another $65.) Even at that, it's a bargain-priced lesson in not letting frustration dent one's joie de vivre.
She waved off that concern like a croissant flake on a blouse, hailed a cab, and we were soon entering Trésor by Brigitte Masson, in a tiny lane (6, rue du Trésor) in the Marais. This was the magical little gem I had literally dreamed about.
Huguette was right: I liked everything I saw. The colours were unusual and nuanced, the price point reasonable for the quality, and the pieces had that "don't see that on everyone" effect. The racks murmured: "Venez ici!"
But the clothes didn't fit: sleeves and skirts too short, buttons in the wrong places. Mme Masson had maybe ten items in my size and I tried every last one, even things I couldn't really use. A woman of my proportions was twirling before the mirror in a shift dress over pants, but it's not a look I like on myself.
Much as I wanted to join my friend in her spree, I was shut out of the action. Huguette, presently size 38, merrily bought a spring coat (around €400), hat, and scarf.
I too found a scarf; coincidentally, we both chose the same Epice linen/silk in different colourways. Below, she wears hers with her winter coat, a soft peach tweed coat from Trésor, which is lined with a photo-print of gondoliers in Venice, a secret mural that delights the wearer. (You can just see the pale blue of the lining at the rolled cuff.)
I wore mine with a featherweight down jacket which I packed at the last minute:
I'm smiling in that shot, but I surely wasn't when I came home, miserable and owly, partly due to a painful arthritic knee, but mostly from frustration. Le Duc was initially annoyed with Huguette—he had to put up with the fallout. He reminded me that I've had more or less the same experience for decades.
We walked to a favourite restaurant—but despite the very best food and company, I felt a lingering mournful longing which, I'm embarrassed to say, dampened the evening.
Life resolved my snit, the very next day.
On Sunday morning, we strolled through a street market at Place Monge and fell upon a sidewalk sale held by a local church parish. I spotted a quirky tweed (pinks, violet, burgundy, off-white) wool-and-cashmere jacket in unworn condition; it would have looked at home in Trésor's chest of delights.
Cost? 10 euros. (Full disclosure: I'm having it tailored to fit me precisely, for another $65.) Even at that, it's a bargain-priced lesson in not letting frustration dent one's joie de vivre.
Comments
hugs,
Janice
P.S. On my first trip to France (1972), I discovered that the armholes were cut too small for me.
I had a similar issue in The Netherlands, where most everything I found clothing-wise was cut for Amazon women with larger chests than me. Thank goodness for online shopping; I know the American brands that work for me (not many, but reliable), and so don't waste time trying other brands only to be disappointed. Does take some of the fun out of shopping, for sure.
And I've never gone really shopping in Paris. Only to Galeries Lafayette, with the full family years ago. I did come home with a nifty long-sleeved white tee, which I wore until it died. But how hard it is to buy white tees, after all:).
Nothing ever fit me in Paris, even when I was young and wasp-waisted. Even then I had far too much of a bust. I had better luck in Italy. Have you ever travelled to the Netherlands or Germany? In the Netherlands, you are of average height and some Dutch women, though usually fit, not fat, are of quite a sturdy build. And there are good stylists there nowadays.
One time I brought back a pair of trousers for a friend here who is six feet tall. (She knew the brand and the fit).
The colours in the first boutique are exquisite as well. So often I buy black because I find the colours available gaudy or ugly.
https://www.sainte-madeleine.org/bazar Ste-Madeleine d'Outremont bazaar - 21,22,23 May. Society church...
But the coat you got looks fabulous! And, once tailored, it will surely be a very flattering piece (the colours will work well with your chic grey hair!)
Jane
A woman who wears a US plus size will have a much more limited selection than in the US, though several large department stores have in-house boutiques for brands like Elena Miro and Marina Rinaldi.
Here is a fairly recent post on finding larger sizes in Paris:
https://acheeseaday.wordpress.com/2013/07/22/plus-size-clothing-in-paris/
re your daughter: I have a Parisienne friend with two tall daughters, one six feet, the other just under. They bought American jeans and of course skirts are not a problem if a little short- when you are young ;)
C.
At the notorious 1981 seminar "Money, Sex and Power" I learned to go shopping with a person my size and to chose a sales person with the same colouring as me. Better still, a sales person with the same stature (size 44) and colouring as me.
Shopping with midgets only leads to tears.
Cathy
diverchic: She is not a midget, just quite slim. I have had successful expeditions with those of different builds, but the store has to have the stock.
lagatta: Diverchic (whom I have known since around 1982) is a blue-eyed champagne blonde, with a Marilyn Monroe figure, gorgeous legs and and a great sense of what suits her.
Cathy: It means grumpy, out of sorts.
See
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Owly
Sometimes I think I should start a blog about where we'd be -- good or bad -- if we tried to follow her advice now.
I actually enjoy shopping with friends; it is not always my goal to buy stuff, but rather to look and enjoy a friend's eye. But that boutique was so exceptionally original (an antidote to the numbing, ubiquitous Eileen Fisher) and i knew I was "somewhere special". Though a number of French brands offer styles for women with busts and hips, few can accommodate a long-legged and long-waisted build.