Shopping Knows No Language (Thank God)
Wherein I admit that I can't speak French & how that's never stopped me from thrifting in France
Bonjour, mes amis! Welcome to the third of four posts I’m writing about my recent vacation to France.
Visiting France, while always magical, is not very unique: millions of Americans visit each year. It’s not like I went to Antartica or something. So, my perspective on it from a destination standpoint probably isn’t especially illuminating, as it’s already been covered, many times, very thoroughly, by far more observant writers than I.
But then you’re probably not reading this particular newsletter for broad travel tips. Knowing you, knowing me, you’ve probably turned in for my take on shopping. I got you, friends.
This week, northern Normandy; next week, on to Paris, when I’ll share a list of must-see vintage shops and an ode to my favorite French department store, the mighty mighty Monoprix.
P.S. Don’t forget to check out the “kicker” section at the bottom of the main post. This week: the brand launch of my new client, the chic AF women’s golf brand Honors. Taking a break this week on the Best Costume for the Day (that’s a Little Edie Beale/Grey Gardens reference if you’ve been wondering). It will be back starting next week, with another look pulled from my closet and archives.
I don’t speak French. Or at least that’s what I tell French people. Je ne parle pas français is without doubt the phrase I use the most when I’m in France. Parlez-vous anglais? is a close second.
Languages have never been my thing. Despite my lack of a knack, I took several years of French in high school where I did OK and at Hollins College, where I studied it both on campus in Virginia and for a semester at the school’s Paris campus, where I was most certainly not a star student. During that time, despite my lack of fluency, I somehow managed to write papers about sophisticated subjects like medieval architecture en français. My poor, poor professors.
So you’d think I’d at least be able to carry on a casual conversation in French. Mais non
I wrote a whole paragraph here where I psychoanalyzed the situation and then erased it. No need to beat a dead cheval. But suffice it to say, I have had every opportunity to learn how to be conversational in French and it never clicked.
It seems silly now, but back then, I think I was worried that if I tried to have a speak to a stranger in French at any length, I’d fuck it up. What I never fully comprehended back then was that of course I was going to fuck it up. That’s how you learn. Le duh. (As you can see, I have mad franglais skills.)
Even if I didn’t come back fully conversational, I got a lot out of Hollins Paris. I loved that our classes were very focused on Parisian history and included a lot of local field trips. Reading about the French Revolution is one thing, but reading about it and then walking a few blocks to the Conciergerie to see the prison cell where Marie Antoinette was held before her execution leads to a whole new level of understanding. (Fun fact: Twelve years later, as a fashion editor, I attended an Alexander McQueen show in the same space.)
But I’m not a total loss. I remember enough French nouns and verbs that I’m usually able to pick up on the gist of (slow) conversations happening in my vicinity. I understand directions, most public signage, and can read price tags and ask how much things cost — essential knowledge if you shop as many flea markets and small-town antique stores as I do. I’m pretty cool with numbers, too.
Would I rather not have to use Google Translate to read historic markers? Yes. Do I wish I could walk into a restaurant now and have a flirty interaction with a cute waiter? For sure (until he calls me madame and the illusion is blown). But I’ve never walked away from a monument not knowing it’s purpose or left a restaurant hungry. So I guess I’m doing OK.
Alright — enough about my French skills or lack thereof. Let’s dive into a subject that transcends language: shopping.
While at Saussard, I spent a lot of time poking around online, looking for brocantes in our general vicinity (see last week’s post for a refresh on the location). Most antique stores in France, and especially in the country, are only open a few days a week, with one or two of those typically falling over a weekend. That schedule didn’t line up with the time of our visit (late Saturday to early Friday AM), so I had to be clever.
When I wasn’t eating, making things to eat, or getting ready to eat — thank you, Reverie, for keeping us all so well fed! — I’d take my rental car and drive deep into the Normand countryside in search of antique shops.
Shopping excursions are my favorite way to learn my way around new regions. Antique stores are rarely located on main drags, which means you’re often exploring off the beaten path. You don’t get to see the “real” parts of a city when you only cruise the high street.
Many of the antique stores I found on Google Maps were a bit of a haul from the chateau. I didn’t mind: drives in rural France are beautiful. But those jaunts started to feel longer when the disappointments mounted. Some stores weren’t open for their posted hours; others were on summer vacations. Others just weren’t very good.
The reasons for their mediocrity were the same ones that cause many antique stores in the States suck: too much new stuff, poor quality old stuff, or a boring edit of all stuff. And then there’s overpriced stuff, which is rampant everywhere, but especially in touristy France.
There were two brocantes where I managed to score.
Puces du Moulin, near Gisors, had a good quality, eclectic mix, and super-reasonably prices. I bought an white cotton men’s waistcoat from the early 1900s and an antique French memorial wreath made from bent wire and beaded flowers. I’ve seen these things go for lots in the states, and, while this one is going to need some love, it was a steal. It will look great in my guest room, which is covered in a custom-made wallpaper based on an early pink and black print by electra eggleston (I’ll post about this fabulous space sometime soon — maybe when I get the wreath ready for public consumption).
The brocante where I made out the best was also the junkiest, something that’s never deterred me from poking around.
There is precedent here. I once bought an authentic vintage Fornasetti umbrella stand for $15 out of the trunk of a guy’s muscle car at a swap meet in a Walmart parking lot in southeast Tennessee. And then there was the time I found a signed Pierre Cardin 1970s chrome 11-piece dining room set (here’s a link to the credenza on 1st Dibs) for $1,500 at a country flea market that was otherwise full of Bocephus banners and NASCAR memorabilia. It’s those thrilling one-offs that convince me to stop at joints that most sane people would drive past. I will always take a chance on junk. You never know where you’ll find something awesome in the muck.
I digress.
This second spot was also the best-named: Les Tresors de Gisors (a French rhyming pun!!). As a whole, it wasn’t all that. But it was worth the trip for the stash of pristine vintage linen napkins and dishcloths that I found. There were dozens; I bought twenty.
Now that I’m home and have given a few away as thank-you-for-making-sure-my-house-didn’t-burn-down gifts, I’m considering hoarding the rest. I should have bought them all, ensuring that I’d have life-long coverage for my kitchen and hostess gifts to last the rest of my dinner party-going life.
If anyone reading this ever receives one of these linens from me as a gift, you’ll know that our love is real.
Golf Clothes for Cool Girls
Women’s golf clothes are not cute. This is ironic since the golf industry’s take on womenswear has long been to take men’s golf clothes, cut them smaller (hour-glass waist, y’all), and make them in adorable (sarcasm) pink fabrics. “Shrinking and pinking” is the actual industry term for this. Not kidding.
Amy Anderson, Huntley Rodes and Jenna Walter are three smart women golfers who are way too cool and stylish to fall for shrinking and pinking. For years, their choices were to wear athletic clothes intended for other sports on the greens or suck it up and give in to the dopey pastels and infantilizing patterns of mainstream pro-shop women’s apparel. No more.
This week, they launched Honors, a design-forward golf brand for women. The first Honors collection is a veritable festival of chic — stylish, beautifully cut separates made of performance fabrics in a low-key color range of black, cream, navy and sand. It’s like if The Row made golf clothes.
I don’t golf, but I’m still going to get one of their blazers. It’s such a stunner that I immediately clocked Huntley wearing it at a meeting a few months ago. I had made a mental note to ask her who made it before it was revealed that it was one of Honors’ hero products. I love this touch: on the inside pocket, in kelly green embroidery, is this: “my other jacket is green.” Right on.
Honors is currently hosting a pre-sale on their website. Even if they weren’t a client, I’d be telling you to check them out. I am not blowing smoke — this is good stuff.
Have a safe and happy July 4th!
Libby