Nothing was ever said about the 52km i walked under the Parisian skies a week ago. Taking in the city by foot or by train and soaking in the city’s brilliance was perhaps met equally with being disregarded in the high end designer stores. The unwelcoming vibes to someone who isn’t someone was indeed real. Influencers at every bend and the unhinged civility i witnessed towards the waiters and staff by the privileged was just as real. This was less than a week since Winter Fashion week. High end designer wearables and jewellery seemed to be used as yardsticks to measure someone’s worth. But amidst of the drama, the best people i found were wearing ordinary sweaters. Nor was my best meal at some Five star Michelin restaurant but rather at an old vietnamese couple who ran a modest family business selling Pho at a quiet corner in the street. Amongst all the cities i’ve been, Paris has been the greatest, if you know where to look. There’s absolutely no need for any remote sense of entitlement that comes along with what we put on our bodies and disappear into that good night. For me, my half blistered feet are what’s in this season. They allowed me to watch the city of light dance through the spring leaves for miles. And yes, I’ll always be dreaming of the next train from Jourdain to Châtelet with the rest of the disregarded, the ones who need “influencing” so they might say. The ones who can’t afford high fashion, but yet can afford to appreciate what truly matters. And that, to me, will always be on-trend.
