In Paris, in the pink
We’ve been in Paris for ten days, strolling, dining á deux and with old friends, sitting outdoors in unusual warmth, and (for me) trotting along as the indefatigable Huguette shops for her winter wardrobe.
Because she has expensive tastes, I am but a wingwoman, lending my eye and also learning from hers. This time she was in a dither: her favourite boutique had closed. The wonderful French term is “ fermé définitivement” which means “ Give up all hope of ever seeing us again, and good luck.”
So, she called the owner, Brigitte, to ask what to do. After a very long conversation (French women confer their addresses only to confidants), she told Huguette that boutiques like hers, which carried a mix of brands, were becoming rare and that she would not find an assortment as irresistibly arrayed. Alors... she might try the boutiques around rue St-Sulpice.
Huguette regards her list:
By far the closest to her old flame is Momomi, where we both loved this passion-pink coat. (Huguette was wearing a pale pink raincoat herself. Beneath that, she wore a sea-green tee, a striped blazer in cocoa and the same unusual green, and tan cords. You can see her brown brogues with pistachio socks.)
We saw a great deal of pink scattered through this single-brand boutique, from soft cameo to riotous fuchsia, the pinks played off against olive and aubergine in the mohair fair-isle below, paired with striped velvet trousers:
Even the antiquarians in their tents at the autumn show near L’Eglise St-Sulpice displayed vintage blush and deep rose:
In parting, I hugged Huguette, who happily chosen a port-coloured pull, and we crossed the city to meet Montréal family with whom we happened to cross paths for a day. When I arrive home again, very soon, I am taking out my pink sweater.
That many Parisiennes can’t be wrong.