A Personal Ad

I have to admit it, Personal Shopping is a marvelous thing. Bill set me up with an appointment as a birthday present, so I showed up yesterday afternoon at the Galéries Lafayette (one of Paris’ famous grands magasins) to find out what it was all about, and hopefully find some pants that fit me in this country!

After waiting for maybe three minutes, Isabelle came over and introduced herself, then showed me to a private, heavily mirrored dressing room with lots of bars on the walls to hang clothes on. Two bright pink chairs amounted to all the furniture in the room, in which we sat, and she asked me a few questions. What colors do I like or dislike? What size am I, approximately (ugh, at a 40/42, I am at the top of “regular” women’s clothing in this country. The French really are smaller than they may appear on tv!) How am I looking to enhance my wardrobe? What is my goal? (That answer could have gone on for a while, then I realized she meant my goal for the afternoon.) And, what kind of budget are we working within? This was a key question, actually, because one item from Louis Vuitton or Chanel could have cleaned me out. So, I told her how I really like green, with pink and purple coming in after that, how I haven’t been able to find a decent pair of jeans in 2 ½ months, and that I have a lot of neutral colors and solids in my wardrobe and would really like to expand into some florals or other patterns. Living in New York, black on black on black seems to be the most common and easiest way to go. I remember being glad to have a brown winter coat that I could wear with a brown and black scarf and brown gloves, just to be a little bit creative. There’s certainly room for growth in that area!

Here in Paris, women tend to wear more colorful clothing on the whole, and they are much more interested in expressing femininity in their wardrobes. So, after bringing me a coffee, Isabelle left me alone in my dressing room for maybe 15 minutes, probably less. She returned with an armload of clothes – some separates, a bunch of blouses and tops, two jackets, and several pairs of blue jeans and black pants. I tried on the separates with a button-down – everything was gorgeous. That’s when Isabelle told me I should make an appointment with one of their beauty consultants, because I have nice skin, a beautiful mouth, and a lovely smile, but my eyebrows are much too heavy and I have to have a better haircut and to cover the grey hairs. No pussy-footing around here!!! Well, okay then, the separates were great, and I loved the scarf she selected to go with them (grey with a darker grey paisley print and small sequins on the ends).

I looked at one price tag, for a jacket, and gasped. “Vous n’êtes pas obligée du tout (You are not at all obliged),” said Isabelle. A lambswool and angora sweater coat was a much better deal, and part of the Galéries Lafayette exclusive line. Cool!

Then I tried several pairs of black pants that for a variety of reasons were no good. One pair that Isabelle really liked on me left me cold. “Non, non,” she said, watching my face, “ça ne vous plait pas (You don't like it)” and she whisked it right out of the room. Similar story with the jeans, that she thought were great but I thought seemed way out of style, between the high waist, the extended yoke, and the pegged shape.

Around this time, Bill called. “Faîtes-le vous voir (Make him come see you)!” insisted Isabelle. “You are a new Catherine!” Isabelle disappeared for another 10 minutes, instructing me to try on some more tops in the mean time. I liked practically all of them – a sheer floral, a green and black t-shirt with scalloped sleeves, a pink, grey, and white button down with ¾ length sleeves, a turtleneck with a patented (!) design, a patchwork-type button-down with sheer fabric offset by red and blue striped trim, a black v-neck t-shirt with lace on the neck and sleeves, just a terrific variety of items.

After Bill arrived, Isabelle returned with more jeans and more black pants, saying “I think we are almost done here, Catherine.” She got me a Perrier and Bill a pot of tea, and I kept on trying things on. A pair of low-rise Calvin Kleins in a dark blue denim with a hint of stretch looked great (“look in the mirror at your bottom – it is beautiful!”), and then there were a couple of pairs of black pants that were nice, but didn’t flatter as much as Isabelle wanted them to. After I narrowed down my choices, Isabelle called in the alteration girl, who agreed with me that the sleeves on everything were just fine, I just needed some length taken off the pants. This adjustment indicates that a French woman who wears my size (about a US 8) would normally be about an inch taller than me (and I was wearing heels). See what I mean about the sizing? Anyway, one pair of pants needed to be nipped a little, too. Isabelle wanted to make sure I was very happy with the items, of course, and reminded me that I’d be happier wearing them if they fit properly.

By this time, she had already told me what a nice bosom I had, and how I should never wear jeans and sneakers, and that I needed to get some high, pointy, very feminine shoes. I’m not sure I’ll be following her advice on that, but I will admit I unbuttoned one more button than I normally would when I put on that ¾ sleeve oxford shirt this morning…