POSTCARDS FROM PARIS FW17
Well, we went to Paris for fashion week to experience chic in its birth hole. We forgot to film the show we went to, and effectively used the whole trip as an excuse to get free drinks with good looking people.
Actually that’s not entirely true, we did do some culture, and tried to make the french like us (they didn’t, the english are ‘gauche’). Apparently its quite difficult to get cultured during Paris fashion week anyway, because the queues for the catacombs were hours long, we got rejected from a marionette show in the park, and the only the place that would take us was the Pompidou Centre. Worked out for us anyway, because the stormy weather view over Paris at the top of the escalator gave us a certain je ne sais quoi for the video. Jean Cocteau eat your heart out, and screw you catacombs we didn’t want to see you anyway.
There was also this party in a church where an actual tree with roots was elevated over the dj, and you could only drink sake. You could say God’s house party kicked off, and luckily we’re Kosher so we knew we could behave badly without the worry of the next mornings hail mary’s. We were meant to go to a fashion party after that but again, we got distracted. Ended up at a vast parisian house party surrounded by girls singing and bleeding Cher. Who knew she had such a French following.
The next day we photobombed our way through montmatre and face planted into crepes, before joining forces with the rest of the unemployed contingent and finding the eiffel towers’ dwarf cousin. It then started raining, so obviously that meant we were incapable of making any of the rest of our appointments, and instead ate soggy croissants before heading to another party. They were still delicious for the record. Ended up in a sex club with 52 rooms. I don’t recommend touching anything anywhere in that club ever/ take hand sanitiser. Thank you to our friends at Marfa for providing the swings and whips though.
Woke up feeling used and abused by Paris, but in a good way. Got a really shitty air bnb review but everyone knows the french have it in for the English anyway. I think this relationship is always going to be unrequited love. Made it onto the Eurostar in time for a light refreshment. Paris, we’ll be back.
