Hot Date

It had been a long night. She stayed up until 4am hosting an intimate gathering of her closest friends, her friends’ closest friends and their closest acquaintances. She was the life of the party and difficult to find all at once because she was the person to talk to about n’importe quoi. There was something about her that drew people in. Sure, she was witty, bubbly and always well dressed, but there was something else too. Dizzy with the excitement of her fête, she promptly fell asleep with the exit of her last guest.

The next day, she woke up satisfied with the events of the night, but alone. Of course, there was evidence of the night’s activities, including her earrings she forgot to take out before she collapsed in bed. Her morning was lazy. She woke up with the afternoon sun streaming through her window off the boulevard. It was enough time to watch her favorite movie and imagine the rest of her day. When she muscled up the strength to get out of bed, she dressed for herself. The outfit looked curated, but if anyone asked, she just threw it on.

The day felt warm and inviting. The world, like everyone else, wanted to be with her. So she stepped out, took the metro to Alma Marceau and walked through the 8th arrondissement on a mission. Heads turned to look at her as her heels click clacked on the cobblestones. She stopped in one of her favorite boulangeries, but saved her pain au chocolat for her final destination. On Rue George V, she passed Hermes where window displays with octopus tentacles held mini Birkins and silk scarves. Still, she pressed on.

She reached the Champs Elysée. It was overrun by tourists, disgustingly so. She thought it would be so beautiful to stand in the middle of the iconic boulevard and take a picture of the Arc de Triomphe, but it was impossible with the people and police vans lining the streets. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the blue she desired- it was her American dream. She practically ran to the silver doors and gazed longingly into the diamond studded displays. The necklaces, rings, earrings, bracelets and bangles felt so close through the layers of glass, she could almost feel the cold metal of the jewelry on her skin. What was an it-girl without her diamonds and pearls? Just then, the security guard shooed her away and her Holly Golightly fantasy was shattered.

She disparagingly loped away from the window out of sight of the guard. Pressing herself to the store’s sign in a desperate attempt to reconnect with her dreams of diamond baths and Tiffany blue, she realized she hadn’t had time to eat her pain au chocolat. Despite the sour experience, she searched for a new way to continue her date with herself and intended to call an Uber.

Looking around, she realized she found a solution and followed the black and white stripes of her next destination. Though she was already fabulous, she primped and primed herself, leaving no hair out of place, no corner of her lip untouched by Chanel’s Boy lipstick. She walked away, across the entrance’s red carpet and though no one knew her, she knew her je ne sais pas quality made her, her own celebrity.

Julie: Photographer

Camelia: Model

Unaiza: Stylist

Olivia: Hand model and writer