I think everyone has that image of how Parisians dress -- always just so, heels and lipstick for ladies, crisply ironed shirts for men. And while there are plenty of folks who dress to the nines, come rain or shine, it's probably more accurate to say not that everyone's dressed up but that no one's ever dressed down. You just don't see people doing their errands in their gym clothes and come summer, you really don't see much of anyone in town (except the tourists) in shorts. Well, unless you're 22 and you like to wear really short shorts with tights underneath.
All this is a long way of saying, I've totally bought in. Yesterday, I spent most of the day at home, cooking and prepping for the belated Thanksgiving dinner we're having tonight with French friends. (And some of you will probably be relieved to know that there will not be any marshmallows on my sweet potatoes.) Midway through chopping, stirring, and washing dishes, I needed to go out to pick up a few last minute things. So what did I do? I changed out of my sweat pants and sneakers into cords and loafers, knotted a big scarf around my neck to hide my somewhat questionable top, brushed my hair and yes, even put on earrings. I'm hoping the florist and the vegetable guy appreciated the effort.
But you have to draw the line somewhere: I still don't change to take out the garbage, even daring to go down with my apron on and glasses perched on top of my head. But then, at least one gentlemen in my building thinks I'm my kids' nanny and if that means I don't have to reapply lipstick, so much the better.