She Loves.

She Loves. by tabbybrower featuring a metallic skirt

And I was like Baby Baby Baby Oh!

People are all about Paris in the spring (unless they’re Woody Allen, then it’s all about Paris, in the 20s, in the rain. Which is fine by me.) But Paris in autumn is where it’s at. Coming out of the metro into air that’s fresher than it probably ever is in Paris, you just wish you could devour the city with your eyes. My friend Elise from South London pointed out that “Paris just seems like it knows it’s beautiful, and tries a bit too hard.” And there’s absolute truth in that. But there’s the rub – Paris knows it’s beautiful.   Er, because it’s beautiful.

It’s funny that as I write this I’m not in Paris anymore – it’s off to Chartres for a few.  But I’m coming back in December with my best mate and I’m stoked. It’s going to be nippy noodles for sure, but all nice and moody and grey and gorgeous.  (& mmm, Christmas.)

Paris, it’s been good times, and it’s early days yet. You are, how do the French not say it, le bomb. As the few creepers that stalk your streets whisper in my ear, so I will declare you: “la bebe”.  And I was like baby baby baby oh! Paris…it’s been said more than enough. Like, hey, girl, you’re a classy city, but your ego’s liable to get too big for your own good if one more person tells you they love you. But I just can’t help it. Something about your river and your people and hey hey hey, your bread.

Hey, Paris?

Je t’aime.

 Love, Tabby

 

God bless Monoprix.

Writing from McDonalds on my iPod because our "borrowed" wifi at the hotel has gone mental on us. So expect this to be short. Basically...Paris is so amazing. I took today really easy because yesterday was v exhausting - and we were at the Louvre til nine thirty! And it's INCREDIBLE- but so surreal, and I almost died over the Davids and Delacroixs (and Mona is every bit as beguiling as people say - it just took seeing her in the flesh to really fall in love with her.) But exhausting for sure. Last night I was so knackered it was only a question of finding any flat surface at all to sleep on, so I figured it would do me well to relax today. Read: bath, crossword, magazine, & baguette & pain chocolat aux amandes by the little island\trail in the middle of the Seine by our hotel.
C'est la vie...la fab fab fab vie.
Write more later?
Peut-etre.
Lovin this gorgey-porgey place though.
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby

Also God bless Monoprix. Green & navy bowtie blouse, red leather (which I didn't know...and now I feel much more justified in their price) old lady loafers that are just the coolest. Also Monoprix has a sweet graphic designer working for them, it's official. Clearly the rest of the interwebs thinks so too, check out this picture:    

 

At the end of the day, Paris is a mass of really pretty lights.

I don't imagine I'll get a lot of time to write after tonight - it's just that tonight everyone is major jet-lagged, so add that to our "not going out alone" rule and you have me chilling here with David Sedaris, Gorillaz, and a baguette. Er, yummm. The sun's falling behind a hill clustered with white buildings and trees and France's bitty Statue of Liberty is just outside, holding up her torch to a Paris I can't quite see for massive apartment buildings. Add the dark ribbon of the Seine rolling past my window, a boat loaded up with tourists, and the lights slowly coming on across the city and you have something remarkably like bliss.

Our hotel/apartment (little suites with baby kitchens that are perfectly equipped to make mint herbal tea) is ten minutes walk from the Eiffel Tower. From the other side of the hotel you actually get an aewsome view of it - so a bit depressing that our room happens to be on the wrong side, but then again, the Eiffel Tower, so obviously glorious, is only just a fair competitor for the completely endearing Little Lady Liberty.

 

(Classy crazy zoomed in picture of classy Miss Libertay.)

 



And catching a glimpse of Le Sacre Coeur, set up on the hill, gorgeous and exotic and Parisian as anything, as we shuttled/bussed/metroed/walked into the city was totally one of those perfectly framed, breathless movie moments found in such enduring classics as Passport to Paris or that other well-acclaimed Olsen film noir, Winning London.

And the energy of this city is gorgeous, said with only a bit of throaty enthusiastic sarcasm. We've got a Monoprix on the corner, mais oui, and it was only after buying an armful of groceries that I realized that they don't just give you shopping bags. And the cashier I asked for one really was pissed, especially when, after begging her for one in half broken French, half desparate English, I produced what I thought was a five cent Euro coin, but what was instead a pound coin that had been floating around in my bag. And it was stressful as anything, because, I dunno whether you've noticed, but I feel like French stores move fast. I feel like I had better know exactly what I'm getting and exactly how much to hand over and God HELP me if I hesitate. The point of that? I love that there's this whole city moving around me that doesn't give a crap that I made a fool of myself for a second at the Monoprix. Not like most cities, or towns, or even villages would give a crap, but for some reason it's like, yeah, that kind of stressed me out. Being embarassed does that to you. But who cares? Because the Seine is chillin outside my window, and I get to have croissants fourrés (although I just googled that so I could use the accent on the e, and found a recipe for it using curry. Que??) for breakfast every morning because, hello, chocolate and croissants? Heaven. And I get to make new friends in one of, if not the, most gorgeous cities (y) in the world and I get to live ten minutes from the Eiffel Tower for a week and a half and I get to watch the sun set over Paris and leave the sky the same warm, drowsy hue as the rest of the city lights. Paris, je t'aime.

 

 (Paris is bloody hard to shoot zoomed in, out a window, at night. So we make it intentionally blurry and call it style.)

There! That's better. I dig the different shades in each strip of the picture. Way to go, Paris. Well done.

 

xxx

Tabby



Adieu darlings!

This is the last day at home before I go, kids!
Next time I talk to ya'll, I'll probably be in Paris. Anyone else weirded out/madly excited/OUT OF THEIR FREAKING MIND about that? Anyone...? Just me...?
Okay, just me.
I am slam-bang absolutely totally madly thrilled about this, with just a little lump in my throat called "mypuppiesandmyfamiliaandautumnhere".  But I think I wouldn't be normal if I didn't. But you just know if I'm homesick on the road, I'll miss the road like crazy when I'm home. Enjoy where you're at, bloom where you're planted, etc., etc., we have got to come up with a better metaphor than that, is the moral, I suppose.
Mes petites amies...let me leave you with a word of advice before I head off.

LISTEN TO GORILLAZ "PLASTIC BEACH". I think ma favorite album evA.

Wise advice, my friends, wise advice.
From the heart.

(And I googleimaged "best tour eiffel pictures" to give you the best possible parting picture. And, mebs due to the confusing amalgamation of languages, Google gave me this. And with that exact look of weird excitement on my face I say, adieu.)

 

 

SEE YOU IN PARIS, KIDS!

 

xxx and all that jazz,

Tabby

 

 

 

Oh, and ps, I probably won't be on here a great deal...but follow me on Instagram - enthusiasmandanthologies - I can guarantee I will be on that far too much. S'laters!



Paris Holds the Key to Your Heart

D'ya'll know what today is?
Yeah, d'ya'll.
Well, besides being Ben Affleck's fortieth...(thank yooou, Crushable.) (That link was to a very funny, very true article about his sexiness and adorableness. Well done as usual, Crushable.)
It's an anniversary...of a sort. It's like a reverse anniversary! A count-down milestone.
In a month from today, I will be in Paris. IN. PARIS. Not understanding a word, despite eight years of on-and-off French lessons and French 102 and 201 freshman year. Desperately jet-lagged. Probably with swollen feet from my flight.      
Thinking "Je t'adore, je t'adore, je t'adore!" because that is all the French I will retain.
I've been waiting to go since I got accepted in, what, January? So you understand that being in the inimitable Paris in a month is a big freaking deal.
In honor of this lovely day...pictures of Paris! Consider this the first post in a series of "Look, I'm going here, and here, and here, and I'm freaking excited, because I've dreamed about this since I was like ten, so I WILL brag, thanks, but oh, LOOK AT IT ALL!"
Oh, aren't you excited.
At least it's not those Take Away Shows in Paris, eh? You've been force-fed quite enough of those. But cheer up, dolls! It's Paris! As Anastasia's grandmother said, in the "no, no, no, I'm quite sure Anastasia lived in real life and married Dmitri, who, yes, was voiced by John Cusack in real life as well" version of reality: "Together...in Paris."
Not like I'll actually be "together" with anyone whilst in Paris (Camille LaCourt? Are you reading this?) but hey, ho, it's Anastasia, and if Paris is mentioned in it, then that's plenty of reason to use said quote.
But to be more relevant, and still Anastasia-centric (because, I mean, come on! Dmitri! Pooka! "Be grateful, Anya!"!):

Paris holds the key to your heart.

And as fireworks explode over the Eiffel Tower, animated French crowds cheer "Ooh la la, Ooh la la, Ooh la la!"
Also who wants Anastasia's Chanel (!!!) dress? Everyone? Right-o.

And now I'm sad again that Anastasia isn't Disney, and therefore a Disney princess.

Aaanyways! After that completely necessary and fantastic tangent, pictures! (Although can you beat Josephine Baker striding down the street with a jaguar? No, you can't.)

 Paris, darling, you look so hipster, and I love you.



Edgar Allan Poe graffiti in Paris. Just in case you weren't totally convinced it's completely and ridiculously awesome there.

This image courtesy of the fantastic Paris vs. NYC blog, run by an excellent graphic designer who loves both.

 Oooh, exciting, a picture where I can actually give credit where credit is due. The rest of these pictures are the result of haphazard GoogleImaging and whatever pictures I drug up from my massive "Travel" folder.  But this, this is Solange Knowles, could you tell? And this awesome picture is from Her Damn Blog.

(No...I mean...her blog is called mydamnblog.com.  I would not call her blog a damn blog. It is an excellent, totally envy-inducing blog. The end.)

 And I do think this is from The Sartorialist.

 Oh and 11:11...make a wish? Listen to Regina Spektor's thus-titled album? Me, I'm totally wishing for that woman's dress. Just look at it. Fabulous doesn't begin to describe it.

 Opera-Bastille.

 As you may be able to tell...I am getting excited by the plethora of French images in my folder. This is clearly not Paris. But it's cute...therefore, alright? But, hey, you knew about my short attention span when you got into this.

 Well, okay, this isn't either.

 And I'm not entirely sure this is. But you forgive me.

The inside of the absolutely insane Palais Garnier.

The outside by day.

The outside by night.

And, true story, when I GoogleImaged "Palais Garnier night" a picture of Anastasia was ON THE TOP ROW of results. So there. Paris and Anastasia go together like two matchy things.

But this picture. I die. Absolute #travelporn.
Also I'm stuck using hashtags, I want to bloody use them when I talk, for goodness' sake.  #Instagram is #takingovermylife. #takingovermylife is a real hashtag. What does that prove? That #Instagram is an EPIDEMIC and HARD CORE ADDICTION wrapped in one nice hipster package.

Hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and hide yo husband cause it's gettin eeeeveryone out there.

Credit to KTaterPhotography, obvs. Come on, guys. It's elementary. #elementarymydearwatson. #yesthatsarealhashtagthankgoodness. #andnothatonewasnot.

as for credit for this photo, go ahead, decipher that annoying watermark. Gold star.

And we end on the insane and fantastic Sacre Coeur.

xxx and all that jazz mes petites amies!

Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurve, Tabby. 

Me Talk Pretty One Day, Me Use Organization?

Well, Lianne La Havas has a show October 11th in London. Moral of the story: If we're not back from Amsterdam by then (as our program directors are mostly but not entirely clear on boring old things like dates...) ...I will cry big old "My love IS big enough, Lianne, but the Van Gogh Museum waits for no man!" tears.
HERE is the link, in case you read that and were like, screw it, I want in.
In an unrelated vein, we're going to have dinner at Dove Cottage in November. Dinner. At Dove Cottage. Also known as home of the mega-brilliant, mega-famous poet William Wordsworth. Ring any bells? It rings mine. So. bloody. excited.
This is the excited face. Are you ready?

 

That was exciting, eh?

(SPOILER: of a sort-ish: If you're not essentially ADD, this blog post (and any and all others) will be hard to follow.) (Which is probably completely unrelated to what my writing teacher described as a desperate "lack of organization". Completely unrelated.)
Check out this band that goes by Husky playing this song called History's Door. It's pretty rad. Pretty darn. Alas, I can't seem to make the embed code work for the life of me. Linksies!
So here's some inspiration pictures, as per usual, until I get sidetracked and write about something else. Moral of the story (yes, I know, I'm like whatsit, Aesop, going on about morals and thingummies all the time): Enjoy them while you can!
Sidetrack (already): David Sedaris. Me & Me Talk Pretty One Day had a real nice weekend together, although I think I like When You Are Engulfed in Flames just a smidge more. Oh, don't worry, I always say annoying phrases like "a smidge". Wonderful, ain't it? Possibly my favorite part of Me Talk Pretty One Day is this gem of a phrase from the mighty Sedaris. On "boys like me who kept movie star scrapbooks and made their own curtains":

When asked what we wanted to be when we grew up, we hid the truth and listed who we wanted to sleep with when we grew up. "A policeman or a fireman or one of those guys who works with high-tension wires."

I love the image of this kid being like, "Um..." while picturing a fireman with massive arms in those jumper things. Which for some reason reminds me of that FRIENDS episode where Phoebs is two-timing with that sexy, sexy, sexy firefighter. The end.

Pictures credit of Refinery29, Lianne La Havas, Stockholm Streetsyle, and the one, the only, Man Repeller.  Madonna...I don't know where she came from.

 How absurdly gorgeous is this?

And Refinery29 did a whole series on awesome suits. And now I want all of them, please and thank you. These are SO sick.

Acne rocks. Always.

 Mango.

I would boy this thing up.

Elizabeth and James. Clahssay. Like my spelling. Also the color.

Reed Krakoff. This...this, I love.

The ManRepeller, doing what she does best. Which is not, as you would guess, manrepelling. It's being a stylish, envy-inducing beast.

Iridescent Doc Martens, it's cool, nbd, whatevs.

Capes, you say? Mmm, okay.

London.

 Paris.

Lianne.

 Leandra Medine, being fantastic.

Awesome woman in Stockholm.

Awesome model in Stockholm.

"For the last time, Papa...don't preach. Fishnets are fashion."

Oooh. And this gem I just found on Stockholm Streetstyle:

Eat your heart out. This girl rocks.

xxx and all that jazz,

Tabby