Tuesday, February 25, 2014

In Which I Buy an Impulse Ticket to Paris

You know how crazy people don’t realize that they’re crazy, and they perceive their actions as normal? I think I’m in one of those situations.

A few Mondays ago, the blog got an invitation from a PR girl (not me, another one) for a few shows at Paris fashion week. I initially laughed it off and thought about how cray cray it’d be if I went, but then I fell into a trance imagining myself walking through the streets of Paris wearing winter white and double fisting almond croissants, so I pulled a Frances Ha and bought the plane ticket. I blame myself for being an emotionally volatile 23-year-old, and the person who acronymed yolo, because honestly, yo-the eff-lo. 

I’ve found some rationality in my impulse decision, the first being that in the same way you don’t play hard to get with a guy who’s hard to get, if you get the semblance of an invitation to Paris fashion week, you go to Paris fashion week (pretentious sentence No. 1).

The other reasons why it’s absolutely imperative that I go to Paris include: I have to get mustard for my dad because his favorite is a generic one that can only be found at Carrefour; I left my favorite pair of Superga sneakers at my host mom’s house two years ago and I might want to see if they’re still there, though maybe not because my relationship with her went downhill really fast once we both realized that my acne medication was bleaching her towels. Also, I’d love to get my laptop back from the person who stole it from a Paris library because it has valuable footage of my friends and me in character as TRL hosts giving a Cribs-style tour of our sophomore year dorm and lip syncing to Enya.

This post isn’t really going anywhere but to reveal my inherent kookiness, so here’s my packing list. I’m two percent confident that anyone other than me will find the contents of my suitcase interesting, but the fun thing about blogs is that if you don’t like what you’re reading, you can click yourself away.

  • The Diary of Anne Frank: I get anxious if I find myself in a public place/on transportation without a book, which is why I absentmindedly grabbed Anne Frank off my bookshelf while rushing out of my apartment a few weeks ago. I still haven’t finished it, so Anne Frank is coming avec moi.
  • My nugget flip phone: Verizon isn’t international in the slightest, so I’m bringing my pay-as-you-go French flip phone. I just checked and the last text message in my inbox is from 2012 and from the girl I babysat apologizing for biting me. #startedfromthebottom?
  • Black jeans, white jeans, grey sweater, chambray shirt, white button down shirt. Every piece can be worn together, so that’s like, a million outfits. 
  • A pair of black trousers because you never know when you might have a job interview
  • A scarf because #france
  • Raw almonds in case I run out of money and have to go paleo out of urgency
  • My European hair straightener even though it’s entirely responsible for the small bald spot on the top of my head.
  • My FitBit (JK, it got recalled)
  • Not my North Face backpack. Maybe this Claire Vivier bag if I can rack up enough $$ within the next couple of hours. 

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