Wherein she decides to be reintroduced to society.

As much as all this intensive contemplating and writing has been fascinating, eating on my own in the evening has been less than interesting. When i put this in an email to a mate in berlin, her response is

ha! i like to go out and eat on my own, thinking about what they think about me. am i a celebrity, a business woman, a criminal, a food journalist - who knows ;).

when you are out in the world on your own
you can be anybody you feel for, no-one is there to tell you who you are.

and its fun to ask the staff when you leave "where's the closest stripbar?", "where can i change my yen into euros?", "is it allowed to carry a gun here?", "where can i get a a playmobil pirateship at this time?" etc. It gives them a good story (maybe) and you a good laugh

She may have a point. But i'm not nearly rock and roll as her. And it has been a few days. And i have been spending what feels like a lot of time on my own. And perhaps i forgot to mention i that I do know people here. Not many, but a few. it felt like time to reconnect with society. I'm getting too serious. i break into the the eve, to meet a dear friend.

We catch up outside a very cute bar near gare de l'est, huddling outside under a heater, (because i've yet to cope with the reality of the smoking ban). After five or ten minutes of talking, an ancient looking man sat alone beside us, requests we talk quieter. I apologise, lean in closer to my friend. We are now practically murmuring to one another. Ten minutes later, he's ordered another wine and is tapping my shoulder again. I'm apologetic but exasperated.

My friend explains (in german so our table neighbor doesn't understand) this is typical here. Its like the issues we have in berlin with noise and neighbors but worse as it happens everywhere. The people beside us leave, we move one chair away from him. Five minutes later ...He's sleeping... Maybe we've had enough heart to heart talking. After all, I am bent on finding the soloution to the question my travels have failed to answer thus far.

Ou est les hipsters?

And not long after I find myself thinking

Ahhhh there they are.

In bar/club/bistro la fidelite' .

upstairs, in the restaraunt, which is gorgeous, and appears to have great food, is some kind of private party with a black white dress code. Fitting really, as colour isn't something fashion here dabbles with easily( but more on that later. )

This the city synonmous with chic, where they have mastered the art of artfully posing, and created the perfect soundtrack to pose to. Electronic, chilled, not too beat heavy, the odd 90s hiphop/pop track thrown in for ironic good measure. Is it cruisey? I'm not sure. A lot of people talking, not really dancing, but then strictly speaking i suppose it isn't a club.

I'm reminded of stockholm. inititally the fact that you are in a room where everyone has perfect bodies and bone structure and dressed like they have walked off a fashion shoot (not edgy enough for vice, or i.d. But maybe vogue, or another magazine?) is overwhelming. but it stops being intimidating, when you realise perfect or not (my mate calls this crowd average by paris standards) everyone starts to look a little the same.

Toilet ques are generally a good place for the style and posing gaige, and at this place they don't disapoint. I subtly survey the line up of ladies and gents in front of me (its unisex here you see ) the ladies are a little black dress brigade, in four to six inch heels , bags and belts in this season camel and leopard , perfectly applied red lips (all in a nearly matching shade). They are girly, sleek, porcelain skinned, Doe eyed, but... dare i say it, in their silmilarity, not that striking.


i learn my first paris style lesson, its easy to stand out in the crowd, all you need is a bold dash of colour.








When i descend down the stairs only one woman in the vast restarunt catches my eye. She is the only girl in the place who dares to wear red, a floaty loose scarlet maxi dress, belted with some gold cord.

She stands like the beacon of style she must feel like, and she does look amazing in the sea of black and white attire. I watch her walk down the stairs to the club and follow her at a cautious distance.





The crowd in the bar/club/smoking area is also ridiculously good looking. it appears every single man has perfected smart casual, urban, smart, but loose with it, all have beards, dark hair, one out of four have glasses. teh girls with cropped pixie cuts, or shampoo commercial shiny long tresses.



They have painted on skinny jeans and blouses, or more likely, short stunning, dresses, well cut, fit to form. The ratio of men to women is definitely in a lady's favour. But wait, i've lost the girl in the red dress. How did that happen? The room is so small?

Of course, there she is. Djing. Thats where her style bravery stems from then. The dj set up is interesting . There appears to be five or seven or ten different people spinning. Men and women, they all play for a track or two, before swapping out, lingering aroudn the dj box, dancing, drinking, a few light up ginormous spliffs. (Oh yeah i forgot to mention, for some reason i can't understand, you can smoke here.) The real party, as much as this place parties, is definitely the dj box.


Drinks are served in plastic cups and are ludicrously expensive. Apparently the place shuts at one, even at weekends, which usually would be an hour i arrive somewhere, but tonight despite the lovely company of my friend , i kind of want to go home. One more drink she says. I don't feel like another long drink, and i've had so much wine in the last days i feel like its coming out my pours, so i suggest a shot. I don't realise they don't really do that here. She goes to the bar, returns with two tiny plastic shots of vodka, tells me a minor stir was caused at seeing and hearing her order them. But the real punchline was the cost, five euros for a shot? Gosh we are spoiled in berlin.



I walk home. no more or less impressed wtih paris night life than any previous trip here. I get a little lost, and take longer to find my way home. And as I down the streets and try to remember where i'm going, the snow falling under the street lights is silly gorgeous. It's almost unreal. It looks less like snow and more like silvery confetti. It doesn't stick to the ground, or my coat. It makes me think, even the snow here is high heel friendly.
How terribly appropiate..