I realize that I have been lying to you.

Partially lying, to be precise. Against my will, in reality.

I realized this recently, as I was inspecting my extreeeemely harmonious Instagram page, which, when you look at it closely, tries to reflect some kind of “perfect life” (whatever that means).

Yes, it’s me on those pictures.

Yes, the outfits and the jewelry are mine.

Yes, these are outfits that I wear for different occasions.

But what I don’t tell you is how wearing a Marchesa Notte gown doesn’t prevent me from letting cusses and swears out with alarming ease.

What you don’t know is that I may wear a sovereign air as I walk down the street in a divine Yves Saint Laurent coat, only to trip over my own feet in that very same street wearing the very same coat and at that moment I will be the first to laugh at myself.

What you don’t know is that I go home wearing a pretty and delicate dress and still juggle between a vomiting seven-year-old – preferably vomiting on me – and a a little princess whose fingers are full of chocolate – also preferably placing those chocolaty fingers on me.

What you also ignore is that I struggle just as much as you do (well maybe you already knew that, I hope so at least). Mothers who cross paths with me in the morning would never believe it if you told them that I run a fashion website. I think they would actually have a good laugh, given my face at 8:30a.m. when I drop the kids off at school (understand: without any cream on my face most times, because I DIDN’T HAVE THE TIME TO DO IT, without any makeup, obviously, in my worn jeans and battered flats without any socks even when it’s -2° outside)

At home, three people of respectively 17, 7 and 3 years of age talk to me simultaneously and continuously and I must obviously answer immediately. Sometimes, I answer everyone in one sentence, and it sounds like a mashup of barbies AND comets that may just destroy planet Earth AND teenage drama (you will have guessed that no one is ever satisfied). 

So I’ve become somewhat schizophrenic and I’ve begun wondering if I shouldn’t buy a speaking stick so that everyone would have to wait for the stick to be allowed to speak. 

I’ve also become a bit of a magician, in that I can do several things at once (I am capable of reassuring a little prince at 3a.m. AND change his sheets AND not throw up myself).

I’ve also become slightly asocial, because I’m not allowed to go out in the evenings (quote unquote – « what, you’re going out again? » in deep outrage – key word « again »), when the last time I went out to have dinner with grown-ups was… easily a month ago.

I find working much more restful. I find peace in legal technique and it is excessively exciting (especially the sensation of control, it’s so good).

At the same time, everyone shares their problems with me (I must have that girl-you-can-talk-to-about-all-your-problems face) and I always share the solutions that come up (because I also have that girl-who-has-solutions-to-offer face too. That doesn’t mean I can give any guarantee of the viability of my solutions, though).

So… At home I am a slave to three people-in-construction. At work I’m no one’s slave, because at least I get to choose my forms of slavery goddamnit, it can be everywhere!

Which explains why I can leave a meeting having passed all of my requests after intense and masterful negotiation and still be fooled by a three-year-old troll who got “one last sweet”, when it was explicitly forbidden.

In those situations, just like in all other situations, I try to react with humour, because it is the only tool that I found which has the power to conjure and ward  off everyday life’s abrasive or simply irritating character.

I wouldn’t that this form of humour is not accessible to all.


My seven-year-old little prince, more dramatic than an ancient greek comedian:

“I’ve got a bruise on my leg, help me”.

(Knowing that we’ve already massaged it with arnica for 10 loooong minutes)

Me, going toward the kitchen to get a knife with the most serious face possible:

“I think the only solution is to cut your leg off, right?”

(My son understands my humour very well so he laughs and gets the message but just imagine the look on our guests’ faces).

And our lives pretty much follow the vibe. I wonder to what degree my children will be at odds with the modern world.


(This post makes no logical sense but there is one essential message, here goes):

I realize that I only present one aspect of my life to you and it’s naturally the easiest to apprehend, the smooth aspect. It’s not that I don’t believe you capable of taking more, on the contrary, I guess I just wanted to bring an extra touch of beauty and elegance in this world that I often find mediocre and egoistical. By doing that, I may have underestimated you. In the end, I know that just like me, you are multi-dimensional, you understand how humour can make it’s way into the worst puke-moments, how grace often alternates with the horrid and that it’s just something we’ve all got to deal with.

Good luck to us all, I want to say.

October 5, 2017

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marquis Paris - Le Flore en l'Ile janvier 2018

Marni coat – Gucci heels – Loewe handbag – Agnelle gloves – Tara Jarmon top – Prada jacket – Zapa skirt – Face A Face sunglasses