"...We are beginning our descent to Paris , please go back to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."
I twitch with excitement as I put my seat back up.
I know a car is waiting for me at the airport, ready to take me to my hotel, where I will spend most of my first night preparing notes - and an outfit - for the shows tomorrow. Paris Fashion Week is kicking off, and I was sent by the U.S. Vogue in the City of Lights to report the best shows and trends this week.
Louis Vuitton , Christian Dior Couture, Chanel... great designers will once again make us dream through fabulous staging, and pretty much dictate what we will wear next Fall.
This is my first series of fashion weeks. New York, London and Milan have passed, leaving stars in my eyes. Shimmering and colorful furs defied traditions, bringing texture and boldness to otherwise simple designs. Horizontal stripes, historically banished from the wardrobes of anyone who wanted to look skinnier, have been very successful on all fabrics. Organza was king at Fendi , floating and vibrant, combining shades of Coral which reminded me of the sunset on a Senegalese beach. I felt the same excitement all along, but Paris is by far the city that exceeds the most my expectations. The most famous and successful fashion giants compete for the attention of those who make and unmake fashion.
Give me a Chanel show and a box Ladurée macaroons, and my week is perfect.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived in Paris Charles de Gaulle..."
I wake up right when we land, and look around and realize reality is knocking at my door. I am in Paris. But I'm not going to Fashion Week. I'm taking a cab home, to work on paperwork for school. It's only me, my backpack, and my VOGUE. I only read it, I don't write what's in it. But hey, a girl can dream right?
