the hydranchula goes to ireland: a bit about paris, its ladies and indifference

the hydranchula goes to ireland is a series of pots i’m writing during my j term study abroad in dublin, ireland. these posts will look a little different because they will have proper capitalization and pictures because professors like proper capitalization and pictures. please follow me oninstagram to see what i’m eating and drinking up to every day.

read the rest of the story here.

Europe is interesting. That’s a general statement, obviously, but it’s all I can really come up with to describe how I feel about my tour so far.

Take for instance: I’m in Paris right now, so when I tried to use Google it’s instantly Google.fr. I started typing “How to” and the first things that pop up are:

“How to…”

            …”get away with a murderer”

            …”becomeParisian in one hour”

            …”be Parisian wherever you are”

            …”basic”

Interesting, yeah? I’m not sure what to make of the first one, but I wouldn’t mind learning how to become Parisian in one hour considering I’ve been walking around the city in a torn jacket and a pair of Irish dirt covered Dr. Martens.

Here are some things I’ve noticed about Parisian women:

No one seems to color their hair, and if they are it’s only to cover grays. Blondes are few and far between in Paris. This is something that pleases me, because the only thing I love more than being blonde is being the only blonde, and yet it’s got me thinking maybe I should cut off all of my blonde hair. There isn’t very much that seems to go into the hair routine passed There must be something freeing about accepting yourself for what you look like.

Along with no hair bleaching or coloring, the rest of the beauty routine is pretty natural. Makeup is minimal and made to look natural. This is easy for me because I avoid eye shadow and liner at all costs (due to Raccoon Eye Syndrome that hit me hard from ’05-’08). I haven’t seen too much lipstick, and when we went to a bar (for a little taste of Paris night life) people were a little too interested in our lipstick. We were all wearing dark berry/winecolored lipstick, and all of the French boys said we were “very punk,” while the French girls tried to ignore us.

A coat can be made of one (or both) of two things, and two things only: wool or fur. Things that look like wool or fur are also acceptable if you don’t have the budget for it, but you better be saving for the real thing. Since the coat covers the outfit, it’s important that it makes the statement the clothes can’t: I’m cold, but I’m still Parisian.

Loafers are a common style of flat shoe here. Any type of sustainable flat is okay, like oxfords, but I noticed loafers were the most popular flat shoes. No socks, of course, unless they are patterned and the pants they’re worn with are cropped to the ankle. This is the only way to really spice up an outfit in any way since jewelry isn’t very flashy.

Wedding rings are much simpler here than in the US, where it seems like the engagement diamond needs to be surrounded by a million other diamonds because it’s lonely or something. Other jewelry is minimal and gold or silver, and all styles are very classic and timeless. The flashiest piece of jewelry I’ve seen so far was on the right-hand ring finger of an elderly woman. Her hair was perfectly coiffed; she had on large Chanel branded black sunglasses and a floor length dark brown fur coat. Her wedding ring was of modest size, and she had on another simple gold ring on her left-hand index finger. The flashiest piece of jewelry I’ve seen so far was on this very glamorous woman, and it was an emerald (about the size of the average healthy garden pea) surrounded by small diamonds. The whole thing was set on a gold band, and it was really very simple and boring.

I was a little nervous about Paris because all I’d ever heard was that the people are rude. Like a stereotype, “American’s are fat and stupid,” and “Parisians are stinky and rude.” You know, smelly because of the no shaving thing…

But the people weren’t really rude; they just seemed indifferent to my existence. A little irritated that my French was spotty, at best, but mostly they just didn’t really care that I was there.

Which is funny, because after spending a little over four days there, I feel pretty indifferent to Paris’ existence.