Gift of the Day: The perfect accessory for my next masquerade ball…by Agent Provocateur

Let me say just one thing : Parisians don’t party like New Yorkers party. And vice versa. After extensive analysis, I’ve got a theory… It comes down to this:

The Parisian night is private. The New York night is public.

I had to deal with the cultural gap even before I moved to New York. It happened when, one night, I was out at the Boom Boom Room and I told a friend about my project of moving here.

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Gift of the Day: salt & pepper shakers…by Jonathan Adler.

This weekend, I was in Istanbul with Scott for the Elle Style Awards ceremony. Some day, if you play nice, I’ll tell you about the fiasco when I went to get my award for Fashion Blogger of the Year, yeah! But for the moment, I’m still recovering from the PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). In the meantime, we’ll just talk about all the great stuff that happened.

Yep, I was back in Istanbul and yep, still love it. And plus I got an award, and that’s just plain classy. After, we partied and I met tons of super cool people, and one of them was Ceylan.

I love her style. Ceylan is a fashion editor and she has a blog as well, which seems great even though I can’t understand any of it.

And Ceylan has short hair and it works diabolically well on her… Do you see where I am going with this?

PS : Look at her blog, I’m seeing that it wasn’t long ago that she had long hair. So I’m thinking that deserves a short-hair interview, just to ask her what effect it’s all had. What do you think?

I would like to dedicate my Moroccan pictures to my grandmother. And for the first time translate this text I had written, three years ago…

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Friday : I’m in a big hotel room, alone and far from home. Tomorrow, we are going to bury my grandmother. For a few days now, life has been painted in richer, deeper colors. Everything is saturated and yet, I don’t feel sad.

For the first time, I am walking on this land, the land she had wanted to return to, the land where people that I don’t know love her too. I met them all today. They welcomed me with a cup of mint tea that burned my tongue and foods I had never tasted anywhere other than in the coolness of her kitchen.

We don’t understand each other, I don’t speak their language. My mother translates, and I smile.

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Sorry, this entry is only available in Français.

I remember as a kid, I only thought about one thing: travel. As soon as I was old enough, around 14 or so, I started working summers to pay for my first trips. First with host families cause I was super young, and then quickly, all by myself.

I loved flying. I loved the mix of excitement and apprehension that came over me every time I landed in a new country.

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