Oh man it’s so cool to be back in my little Parisian apartment.

Actually, the second I set foot in Paris, I felt a sense of calm.

And I gotta say, I haven’t so any time at all to tell you about my life as New Yorker, but between work, parties (yeah okay, maybe I’m just writing that, because we ditch out on way too many parties, way way too many, and when we finally do get to one, we FILM it cause we don’t even believe we’re there dancing), the manicures (ahahah how do I spend so much time talking about this yet I ALWAYS HAVE cracked nail-polish?) and working out (yeah, WORKING OUT — I have to tell you about how I almost died in Bikram yoga)(It seems everyone does)(People are so masochistic), I have the impression that days go by in a blink: NYC, it’s on MeGa Speed.

So the thing is, you’re supposed to workout to decompress. But working out takes time and so you’ve got even more to fit into your day. So you need more decompressing. So you need to work out more.

I swear, I know tons of people who get up at 6 a.m. to go running! Even me, I’ve thought about doing it! Of course it didn’t happen because I’m utterly lazy!!! MY GYM OPENS AT 5 IN THE MORNING!!!!!!! Are people totally insane or what?

And get this, the control freakitude and search for physical perfectitude never ends! Calories are indicated on EVERYTHING! A cookie, that’ll be 500 damn calories please!!! And Starbucks is paranoia-land. You really don’t want to know how many calories are in a Frappucino, trust me on this.

It would never be like that in Paris. Well, okay, maybe in my Paris. You get croissants, cigarettes, and spend your day on the café terraces. Yep, no guilt either.

So some day I’ll have to give you a play by play from my gym. We’ll crack up together.

All this just to say that last time when I was getting my nails done at Jil Sander, I was in the middle of a conversation when suddenly I see the two coolest girls (one of them had on a khaki Equipment shirt. I don’t even have to tell you about how badly I swooned!) who where looking at me out of the corner of their eyes.

And then in true hostess form (=totally drunk) I introduced myself, greeted them, complimented them and we started into the most sizzling conversation that only New Yorkers know how to have, funny enough for an episode of Sex and the City, but better (I can’t tell you all the details because I don’t really remember = I was drunk).

And that is when the conversation took a troubling turn. My two new best friends looked around all Conspiracy Theory like, and then they turned to me and off they went,

“Garance, we’ve come over for one reason, and it’s to tell you that we’re scared for you. Please, don’t get trapped in the rat race. It’s okay if you’re manicure isn’t perfect, you don’t need abs of steel, and you really don’t need highlights in your hair (I swear, I’d never thought of that before… Hmmmm… Ok. Maybe?). We love you just as you are (flattery x drunkery = extasy). Imperfect as you are. Normal, with knots in your hair (Ok, that one I made up, but you get the idea)… Parisian!”

I made them promise we’d have some coffee together after I get back from Europe, and I promised them that no matter what happens, I’ll never be perfect.

It’ll be really hard. So very hard to work against this perfect Garance that is blossoming from within me. But I’ll get there.

Send me some cookies.

(Shit, seriously?  500 calories?)(Ahhhhh!!!!)


*”Reminder : Go to the gym” : is what’s written on my gym card. First time I saw my coach (and last, ahah), he had a board with “No Whinning” written on it. Crazy !

Translation : Tim Sullivan