What is it about getting older that makes it harder and harder to reach out to friends and stay in touch? And when I say "reach out", I don't mean Facebook "likes" and retweets. We tend to stay in our nook of immediate friends where making the effort to see otherwise amazing people is a challenge. Why is it so difficult? Have we gotten so lazy where making a phone call in lieu of a text is deemed a grand gesture? I speak for myself when I say that I have struggle with this in both Paris and New York.
When I was in New York, I was walking through Anthropologie and I saw a collection of Hervé Tullet books, the eccentric children's book author as well as my former English student turned friend which reminded me that when I was back in Paris to pay him a visit because he is such an incredible person and it has been way too long. I was so proud to see that his books have finally been translated in English. This is truly wonderful new and had to congratulate him. We tried to connect before Christmas but that time of year leaves everyone frazzled that we promised to touch base after the new year.
When I got back in town I let a few weeks go by, forgetting that I made a mental note to drop him a line. It wasn't until Séb, May and I went to the Keith Haring exhibit at Musée en Herbes where I found an entire showcase of Hervé's books in the gift shop that I told Séb to remind me to call him and also to remind me to buy a notebook for notes like these.
The last time I saw Hervé was long after I stopped teaching him and was several weeks after the break-up with MF. It was around this time last year, I had to pull myself together because I was booked to work Paris Fashion Week and anyone who has worked in fashion knows that no one especially during Paris Fashion Week gives a shit about your personal mini-dramas and I had to show up polished, professional, vapid and ready to talk about important world news, you know, like Gaga's Thierry Mugler show.
The only way I know how to somewhat pull myself together when I'm in the throws of crisis is to get a blow-out, so I made a rendez-vous at my salon near Hervé's atelier at Place de Clichy. There's something about walking out of the salon humming “Who's That Lady?” while tossing your hair in the wind while checking yourself out in storefront reflections that works wonders on the morale. Is it just me?
After my Clichy blowout by the very talented Hamid who went a little overboard with the blowout, pulling out all of his tools, I left with mountains of volume and cascading curls. I walked over to Hervé's atelier in the boho part of the 17th looking like Brigitte Bardot and tapped on the window. He let me in and over a café allongé, I had dismally told him what had happened. I was exhausted, drained where even his strong coffee wasn't perking me up to my usual vibrant self. I have this sad image of myself at his atelier that day burned in my head. I felt like I was dead.
Almost a year later, our last meeting compared to this year's was like night and day. I met him again at the atelier with flatter hair, pulled back in a bun and as he opened the door, I ran and gave him a big American-style hug and with a glowing smile on my face told him how happy I was to see him. We walked over to the authentic japanese restaurant Kokoya for unlimited cups of thick green tea, unagi bento box, sesame creme brulée and gossip. I remember him telling me last year that while I didn't understand why everything was happening, he assured me that there is a good reason and I was exactly where I was supposed to be. At the time, I resisted this theory because I was in so much pain and couldn't see how this was all for the "best". Now a year later, it's clear that I really was supposed to have these experiences because it has sharpened my awareness, my judgment to be more selective on how who I let in and improved my self-esteem with the knowledge that I can persevere through anything.
After lunch, we took a cool stroll through the neighborhood where he introduced me to all of the owners of all of the little shops in the neighborhood (where I found a darling notebook), he filled me in on his exciting news and intense travel schedule promoting his books and we talked about life, love and living in Paris. It was the perfect way to spend a quiet Thursday afternoon in February.
There are special people to me here and Hervé whom I see once a year, is without a question one of them. He says that I keep him young with my stories. With everything that I've shared with him over the years he shouldn't age for another ten more years because I just keep them coming...
Kokoya
3, rue des Batignolles
75017 Paris
