I couldn't have asked for a better way to cap off my Paris Fashion Week experience than being invited to an event. This wasn't just an event, it was the event. Last night, I attended a dinner hosted by the fierce personal stylist of Mrs. Michelle Obama, Chicago's Gold Coast boutique owner and all together fashion powerhouse, Ikram Goldman. To say that I felt honored to be invited by her would be an understatement.
Not having much to choose from to wear because all of my fun clothes have been magically delivered back to New York where I am now left with a small collection of black dresses, old tights and moth-munched sweaters therefor improvisation was key. My former fashion girl busted out and managed to whip something up that would pass, not impress but pass. Inspired by the season, I went with a pair of mustard colored tights, a vintage scoop neck black ruched waist cocktail dress (from Brooklyn's best vintage store: Sweet Virgina), Dior gladiator heels, an amber colored jewel cocktail ring and a canvas gym bag. Since my purses were included in this unexpected delivery, my gym bag has been hanging on my shoulders in lieu of my mini collection or more appropriate styles. Fashion fail. Good thing I'm not important.
I arrived at RATN Gastronomie Indienne in the refined 8th arrondisement on rue de la Tremoille, parallel to the hoity Avenue Montaigne, a neck of the woods that I can say that I hardly frequent. I'm not fancy enough. As I approached the door, I was greeted by a hostess dressed in jewel-toned and crystal encrusted traditional Indian formal attire who gently threw up a hand full of rose petals that skimmed the tip of nose and fell down my shoulders. "Bienvenue" she said with a warm smile. Bienvenue, indeed. Now that's the way to be greeted in a restaurant. Take note French brasseries.
The party boasted the fashion elite. And then me. Everyone was just fabulous. I took a step back and absorbed the room. I remember having this life, the parties, the events and of course the champagne. It's been a while but it was nice to take a peak into my past. After my moment of reflection, I bee-lined for the champagne bar for a little liquid courage. I was going to be alone for about a half hour while waiting for Séb therefore I had to make due with my 'sparkling charm'. I figured a glass of bubbly could only enhance said sparkle. Cheers. I managed alright on my own in a room full of people that I didn't know and forced small talk to any nearby victim.
Séb finally arrived while I had a plate of chicken tikki masala in my hand, cheese nan stuffed in my mouth, a glass of champagne wrapped around my pinky, my gym bag balancing on my shoulder while talking to girl who didn't seem terribly interested in our conversation (can you blame her?.) I was quite a vision. A vision of a girl who certainly doesn't attend parties like this on the regular and a girl who hasn't eaten in weeks as I was stuffing my face like an animal. Unfortunately my juicy ass gives away the fact that I have eaten and quite well, might I add.
Unknowingly, he rescued the poor girl from the conversation that I had locked her in and took this as an opportunity to escape from my food stuffed babble."You're geniale!" he said laughing at how his girlfriend manages to stand out in any situation. And not stand out in that fabulous who's that girl way. He adores his little bull in the china shop.
