Hey, kids. For the life of me, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what happened nor do I know what will.

Attention, prepare to do the (stadium) wave everybody. I won’t expect any less.

You see, I quit smoking. Yep. Me, all on my own. No patches, no hypnosis, no weight gain and no hysterics, okay, with a little sob and scream fest.

It all began during the recent NY trip that I haven’t had time to tell you about. Over there was like here, but worse. You can’t smoke anywhere. And given the Siberian cold weather that the city has, smoking outside will really make a warrior out of you. Without realizing it, that was how I came to not lighting up for three straight days. Afterwards, I said to myself it would be foolish to start once again.

And yet, this is ripping my heart. I find it terribly chic to smoke… So unpolitically correct, so frenchy, so like a film noir, so Gainsbourg, so so… so Vogue Paris*!

Ouais, I know. What I tell you is terrifying. But what can I say? I’m very superficial and my beloved boyfriend is American. He hates smoking but at the same time, the cigarettes suffocate him in a cloud of smoky love. Schizo, huh?

So no, I quit in the name of a different kind of chic that I’m announcing right here to you.

The chic of a fresh face,  fresh breath, and clothes scented with perfume instead of reeking in ashtray-smelling odors. The chic of a healthy life, too. Ouais, it’s chic to be alive. After all, life is the ultimate accessory.

Even if the truth is, smokers believe they’re immune to health problems.

Voilà! I’m talking to you about it now because it’s been exactly a month since I made this decision and I’m rather proud of it, even if I know that it takes years to  to kick the habit for good and be completely smoke-free.

Anyhow, where I come from, no victory is too weak; no triumph is too small.

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*Where you see girls being photographed smoking, though a lot of them don’t smoke in real life. Now, aren’t they a clever lot?

Translation : Magali Eva Suárez.