Wednesday, April 26, 2006

No, Darling, It’s Paris France, Not Texas! (or is it?)


My fellow fashionistas and I are in a tizzy. It seems our favorite American in Paris “IT” designer girl, Jennifer Marvin, has been hanging out in San Antonio! We were quite sure she must have been there to hobnob with the adorable French basketball export heart-throb, Tony Parker and entourage. The buzz had it that she was there to meet the beautiful Eva Longoria, and we were all on the edges of our seats to see which one of us would get the scoop on the upcoming nuptials; clamoring to get a hint of the future brides gown choice, sure to be the most dreamy Jennifer Marvin gown yet. (by the way, why is it so hard to see any photos of her wedding gowns and flirty day and eveningwear on line? Marketing geniuses out there, give that girl a call! Her bags are out there, but they are just a part of her story.) My reliable sources say, she didn’t meet with Eva or her handsome beau, though the jury is still out on that one. Was it a brilliant media cover-up? Could there be any truth in the rumor that our Jennifer was there following her passions for recapturing yesteryears by signing a contract with the American Vintage Company’s owner Odilia Avalos Hines, the San Antonio vintage socialite with an exclusive Alamo Heights boutique? I was rather in doubt, but then, Ms. Avalos Hines came right out and announced their plans on Good Day San Antonio! Is the scoop out? Was Ava just too busy to hop on a plane to Paris? The plot thickens! If Jennifer shows up in New York in September I guess we will have at least part of our answer, if wedding bells start ringing in Texas, Eva may very well be up to something with our Jennifer. You heard it here first, y’all

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Spring Forward, Fall Back


I have no very good excuses for not blogging for an entire week now, though, some might agree, I do have some justifications, truly, none of them pass for acceptable. My apologies to the writer of the kind email I received encouraging me to continue writing, this week, I have failed you miserably.

The time has changed in Paris. In the United States we have a little jingle to remind ourselves of which way to move the big hand on the clock: “spring forward, fall back”. Perhaps it has been adopted by other countries as well and translated into many languages. If it hasn’t been, then it should be. I don’t presume that the jingle began in the US, I only assume it, since we have Barry Manilo.

I had an appointment yesterday morning, Monday, the morning after the springing forward was to have taken place. I had a bit of trouble springing from my bed, but I managed it trying to convince myself that it was not really an hour earlier, dressed as impeccably as possible, grabbed the Jennifer Marvin bag as a finishing touch, and braved the time change with self assured dignity.

When I arrived, I found a disgruntled receptionist looking scornfully at me in an attempt to chasten my overly ambitious interviewing efforts in her interesting English. “Vous Americans har holways nevar late, hand today, vous is two hours in advance!” In short, the charming receptionist had fallen back by accident. Not having forgotten the unforgettable, and oh so helpful jingle, I was certain to be in the right. Because I prefer to never argue my point, but rather allow the truth to demonstrate itself, I was sure my dignity would be redeemed by her boss who would greet me, we would laugh, and the poor angry receptionist would be taught a valuable lesson about changing her clocks correctly.

Much to my surprise, my interviewee arrived, briefcase in hand, freshly emerging from the metro, at 11:15. The sight of him brought a smile to my face realizing he had come to the office just for our meeting: though, he was 15 minutes late, I was willing to happily excuse him, after all, we had just “sprung forward”. Instead, he looked at me in a state of confusion, mixed with evident stress making the poor dear man look like a deer caught in headlights. It occurred to me, at that moment, that he had also fallen back. I was beginning to doubt my own jingle as I had, as of yet, found no one to verify it. My personal dignity, if only known to myself, was renewed when I remembered that I had not personally changed my clocks, being a reluctant techy, had not one, but two clocks which fall and spring all by themselves. I was saved by Barry Manilo and validated by technology. I was right, they were wrong.

“Oh, excuse me” I said with a gesture. "I had thought that in the spring time, we moved our clocks forward, and not back". I had hoped they would both reflect, and the ice would be broken with laughter. Instead, they both looked at me smugly and knowingly. I offered to come back later if it would suit him, but he graciously accepted to change his schedule to accommodate the interview, though it was ever so inconvenient.

His responses were quite uninspired, to say the least, and the interview proved to be useless, except to make a point in a blog: Never argue your point when you are sure you are right, just let it demonstrate itself, it is much more classy and effective.

It is now Tuesday, I assume my point has now been made. I think I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when they realized how their haughtiness preceeds a fall….or, in this case, a violent spring forward.

Spring forward, fall back: words to live by!

Bisous from Paris,
Alex

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Unexpected Guests

I have been running to and fro since last weekend, and didn’t make it to Deauville. A plan, you may recall, I had penciled in my diary last week. Not so sadly, however, I spent the weekend hobnobbing with friends who popped into town, unexpectedly. Thank goodness they phoned before I managed to pull myself from the comfort of my bed Saturday morning, or we would have missed making innocently decedent memories together. Rather than breathing fresh sea air, I had to settle for second hand smoke, but it was worth it.

Jules and Marissa flew in From New York on a whim. Marissa had some frequent flyer miles to cash in and decided to grace Paris with her presence; we are so glad she did. She brought gorgeous Jules along to provide the eye candy and charming male conversation. (I feel you blushing even as I write this, Jules) We tried to paint the town red, but it turned out to be more of a light pink. Red is for 18 year olds and senior citizens trying to prove something. We had nothing to prove, and everything to live for, so we went for a more pastel colored weekend rather than jewel tones.

We met for dinner at a bit of a disappointing place, so I will save it the embarrassment of not mentioning it’s name here. It was not terrible, but not extraordinary either. Mind you, we were so busy enjoying each others company that we hardly noticed. The disappointment was more of an afterthought, really.

Marissa is a great dancer and all three of us love a good swing now and then, so off we went to the famous Caveau de la Huchette http://www.caveaudelahuchette.fr . There is so much history there, like stepping back in time, and honestly, I wonder if it is possible to meet anyone there who is not in a good mood. Sure, you have to weather the second hand smoke but it’s just part of the ambiance. A good time was had by all, to say the least. It’s a great place to go if you feel like elegant slumming!

Luckily, I was able to reserve a table at my new favorite restaurant for Sunday brunch. It is a bit unknown as it is still new, but it is sublime. Dare I even mention the price of the menu, but it is reasonable even for the most frugal of the jet set crowd. Since Jules is a hot chocolate aficionado, I telephoned ahead determined to not take “no” for an answer when I asked for a reservation. Luckily, it was not a problem and they were gracious enough to reserve my favorite table. Hands down, the finest cup of hot chocolate in Paris is at Fontaine Fiacre www.fontainefiacre.com . Yes, I know, Angelina holds the known record, but it is a pleasure to discover a secret. I adore that they always let my guests and I enjoy a little coffee aperitif at the charming bar area before we adjourn to the table. Class. Elegance. Wonderful. Not snobby, just sublime!

Everything was packed, and off they flew later Sunday afternoon.

“She never wrote with ink in her agenda”. Perhaps they will write that on my tombstone? If your plans are too firm, you miss life.

Enjoy, and remember to leave plenty of open places in your schedule.

Bisous,
Alex

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Afternoon Tea With Designer Jennifer Marvin

I was fashionably late to tea this afternoon. Lucky for me, my fellow American in Paris understood the difficulties with transportation due to the student demonstrations in Paris on Thursday afternoon. I was relieved to find my guest for tea relaxing comfortably on the overstuffed chair with her sketch pad and pencils jotting last minute ideas following the meeting she had just had with a bride to be. This was not the first time either of us had enjoyed afternoon tea at the Bristol Hotel in Paris, but it was the first time we shared it together, but, I venture to say, probably not the last. Feeling a bit nervous by my tardiness, Ms. Marvin-Letourneux put me immediately at ease with a warm smile and greeted me with air kisses of friends rather than the hand shake of a first meeting.

I was surprised by her little pewter python bag. “Your’s?” I was sure it must have been. “No, no, not at all, it is something I picked up in Italy.” She wore python shoes, presumably from the same maker, beige trousers, a brocade beige and cream jacket stopping just above the knee, a sheer floral blouse with tiger-eye buttons and a organza scarf around her neck not obscuring her signature pearls. She exuded refined elegance in her mélange of Givinchy, Valentino, and Giorgio Armani. I struggled to see one item with her label. She assured me the trousers were hers. Graceful flat front, side zips with covered buttons on the zipper flap. She looked elegant, relaxed and sophisticated.

Alexandra Lampert: “You are very discrete about wearing your own creations?”

Jennifer Marvin: “No, no, I wear my own things, but I really appreciate the work of other designers, as well. I always think the ‘total look’ is always a bit too much, so I like to mix it up.” It seemed she would have rather spoken of the genius of Mr. de Givenchy or Valentino than of her own work. “Their work is and was timeless and two of my greatest inspirations.”

A.L: “How did you initially get into the fashion industry?”

J.M: “I think it was just in my blood. Everyone in my family is creative. My father creates beautiful buildings, my mother stained glass, my oldest sister puppets…”

A.L. “Puppets?”

J.M “Yes, my oldest sister makes black light stage puppets. Really great, I especially like her sheep.”

A.L “So you have been creating all of your life then?”

J.M. “Yes, forever. I was always doing something with my hands. Embroidery, beading, sewing, painting, drawing…always making something”

A.L. “How did you get from the ranch in Colorado to Paris, France?”

J.M. “You know, it is just how life went; I suppose it was just meant to be, I hadn’t planned it that way. I find that if I go with the flow I just end up where I am supposed to be at the end.”

A.L. “So, you just sort of floated here?”

J.M. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

A.L. “What can we expect this coming autumn?”

J.M “I am very excited about the crocodile collection coming out under the label of Vivian Mendal. That will be available for the fall of 2006. The design process has been such a labor of love and everyone on the team is very passionate, creative, and genuine pleasure to work with. We have been having a great time designing it and putting it together, I can hardly wait to see the end result.”

A.L. “This is the first time you have designed an exotic collection, right?”

J.M. “Yes, this is the first time, and it has really engaged my passions. To begin with, Vivian and Mark Mendal are just the most genuinely delightful people you could ever meet. Secondly, the skins are such wonderful quality and Mark has developed such beautiful finishes and effects. The scales, textures and properties of the skins make the possibilities limitless. The pieces can be cut in different ways to produce various effects. Fortunately, we have access to the most beautiful skins and some of the finest artisans in Italy for this collection. It is really a very different niche than working with the leathers I had been used to working with. Fortunately, the traditional craftspeople in Italy were really open to working the skins in innovative and new ways while keeping the traditional techniques.”

A.L.: “What can we expect this fall as far as apparel goes?”

J.M.: “You know, I had really been concentrating on my leather goods, but have continued with some private collections. You know I never stop doing wedding gowns. I can’t seem to give that up, I just love it so much. I am currently considering a new branding opportunity, but it is in the very, very beginning stages. I promise to keep you posted, Alexandra.”

A.L.: “You won’t give us a little hint?”

J.M.: “I’m sorry, I really can’t at this stage. I can only tell you that it would be a very good fit with the leather goods projects I have been working on and it would be a reflection of my favorite styles, so it would be a great pleasure. But, we will see…I can’t let you drag it out of me, you wouldn’t want to jinx it, would you?”

A.L.: “Certainly not! Jennifer, thank you for your time. It has been a great pleasure getting to know you.”

J.M.: “Thank you, Alexandra; I was delighted to spend this chilly afternoon with tea getting to know you. I hope we can meet again without your little tape recorder to chat as friends.”

A.L: “The pleasure would be all mine.”

Meeting Jennifer Marvin this way was a wonderful experience and I am looking forward to that private cup of tea becoming friends “off the record”.

From the Comfort of My Bed


I have been busy, writing, trying to come up with cleaver questions and delightful antidotes. Those of you, who read my humble little scribbles, know of my loyalty to the designer, Jennifer Marvin. Today, she has granted me an interview. It is not the first time I have asked, but it is the first time she has accepted, I’m sure it is nothing personal.

We will meet some place very special. I will tell you where it was, after the fact. Maybe I will even post a picture or two.

The sun appears to be shining, though I am typing this from the comfort of my bed still in my silk pajamas sipping a very strong cup of morning coffee. Yes, I took my liquid breakfast and my laptop back to bed this morning. I had no desire to move too quickly today, and why should I? It should be a day of luxury, elegance, and pleasure, with a little work mixed in for good measure, but not too much.

The weekend will soon arrive and I have no plans. Perhaps I can take a little trip up to Deauville and breathe some sea air. I like it this time of year, though it is a bit windy, and you have to brave the cold, but somehow that chilly bite awakens my spirit and has a healing effect of my mind and body. Ok, unless some unforeseen, spur of the moment thing comes up, I am deciding right in this moment, I will spend a weekend in Deauville, or at least one day.

I like the north of France, yes, it is cold and damp, but it is steeped in history, and they love Americans there, which is always refreshing. Mind you, I have NEVER been mistreated in France because of my American heritage. To the contrary, they often say my accent is cute. Imagine that!

Honestly, if you make an effort, and you are kind, you come with an open mind and not a defensive chip on your shoulder “dukes up, they hate Americans over here!” you will get along just fine. In fact, they will say you are “charming”.

I, myself, have a little antidote about the attitude some of my fellow Americans bring with them on vacation to France. I saw an American couple (don’t ask how I knew, it was just obvious) standing on the street looking at a map and having a bit of an argument about which was the right direction to proceed. I decided to offer a kind gesture of assistance.

Now, everyone, I must say to you, as you know from my writings, I in no way resemble a derelict. That is one thing I can say for certain. How can you wear Manolo Blahnik heals, carry a Jennifer Marvin bag, and, in general, dress to the nines (hey, a girl has a right to enjoy being a girl) smile kindly and offer help and be mistaken for someone who is certainly carrying a gun in her garter ready to pull it out and kill the American tourists? Let me just leave it at that, as their behavior was too embarrassing to repeat, and I don’t want to tarnish the image of the thousands of delightful American tourists who visit other countries without their defense mechanisms in tact ready to a-bomb anyone who offers a kindly gesture. “What do you want from us????!!!!” Oh, my goodness. No wonder the French prefer to ignore and go about their day as if the tourists do not exist. The rejection is very disagreeable and, and why subject such tourists to making such fools of themselves in public places. It is better to just ignore. I do get brave now and again and offer help, and honestly, it is usually very well received.

Notice, if you will, if you simply say “bonjour, excuse moi” when you need to ask directions, even the busiest Parisian will stop and offer aid. In all of my years here have I ever been ignored when I begin with a kind “bonjour” before asking for directions or suggestions. I thought it might have something to do with my being a woman, but my male friends tell me they are treated with equal grace and kindness. In a nutshell, make an effort, and you will be treated with great respect in France. Be rude, and don’t expect kindness in return.

Everything we need to know we learned in Kindergarten, right?

Coffee cup is empty; the hour of 10:00 is quickly approaching. It’s time to get ready for a very nice day.

Bisous,
Alex

Monday, March 13, 2006

The Circle of Life

Wow ! I’m back ! What a wonderful wedding. This past weekend, I can genuinely attest to having had made a memory which will keep me warm at night for many, many years to come.

I promised not to write too much about it, as I am quite sure Monika and Marcus will give their own accounts which I chose not to spoil with my own. They don’t want their private show of affection to be a spectacle judged as a ridiculous expense and gratuitous show of wealth. I respect their wishes as I know the hearts behind the spending of the money. Compared to the support they lavish on their favorite charities, this memorable gift to one another is a very small token.

They will, undoubtedly, disapprove of my mentioning this. However, in my defense, I acknowledge that not to praise only their kindness, but to hopefully raise awareness that some of those fortunate enough to have been entrusted with great wealth understand the responsibility which goes along with personal financial good fortune, and are philanthropists of great causes, quite often, anonymously. In other words, you will never know the secret fortunes people like Marcus and Monika freely give to others as some continue to judge them and use adjectives such as “shallow, materialistic, selfish” and other unfitting parts of speech as they judge people of whom they know nothing about. It helps to have wealth in order to share it with those less fortunate hopefully giving the less fortunate a chance to become fortunate themselves, and in turn, realize their responsibility to give back. It is just a little something to think about.

So, I will privately keep this memory for those who were fortunate enough to witness their beautiful display of love However, I admit to have begged for and have been granted permission to share one little thing with you, because it was just too spectacular to keep secret. Besides, it was surely witnessed by people miles around who were not even invited to the wedding.

I hold the suspense no longer….

Marcus gave a huge box wrapped in white silk damask, tied with a beautiful silk organza ribbon and adorned with beautiful live orchids to his stunning new bride. She was quite surprised as he offered it to her outside, at 11:00 at night, in the freezing cold. She lifted the lid and found only a small remote control within. Everyone laughed in surprise and then silently awaited the explanation Marcus would surely shortly give. We were all instructed to lift our champagne glasses and he simply said, gently and quietly to Monika “press the button, beautiful wife”. She obeyed, and the sky lit up with a spectacular display of fireworks….what can I say, it was magic, simply magic.

Perfect. Absolutely….perfect.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Looking skyward in Paris waiting for Spring

Air Safety

Tomorrow is the big day. Off we go for the wedding of the century, or, at least, that is what I am calling it. Monika and Marcus have more friends than just yours truly over here in Europe, so nine of us have decided to charter a jet. Now, before you go thinking I am being just a little extravagant, even for me, I just have to state Hans gets a discount when we book through Jets International www.jets.com, so we are actually saving money! See how frugal we are being? We do this from time to time. I recommend, if you have the means, by all means, indulge! I highly advise it as we only live once, isn’t that right darling? We are using the excuse that we are less likely to encounter a terrorist attack on a chartered flight than on a commercial flight as our main justification, so, in fact, we are just being prudent travelers! The 9 of us can justify just about any luxury indulgence! We have a lot of practice in such things!

There are many, many good reasons to charter an international flight. First and foremost, it is just so comfy cozy and the service just can not be beat. It is almost a pity to deplane at your destination, which, in our case, will be Aspen, so you know it won’t be too disappointing! Secondly, you don’t have to sit with strangers or demand the name of the travel agent who decided to book a child under the age of six in first class and got away with it. Thirdly, unless there is an extremist in the crew (Raphael is in charge of checking for us), we feel reasonably certain that no one in our little clique will be wearing shoe bombs, as they are just so very unfashionable and surely uncomfortable not to mention the odd odor I hear they emit.

I have a darling little travel kit I keep ready to go at all times. The two most important elements are my silk lined Jennifer Marvin (naturally, who else) cashmere throw (I get cold) and my rabbit trimmed Amy Jo Gladstone slippers. For this trip, I have included a copy of High Diamonds by Margaret Castle. Here is the amazon.com link http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0595006841/sr=8-5/qid=1141932039/ref=sr_1_5/103-4229064-5337451?%5Fencoding=UTF8 I heard about her from a friend who told me it is a real page turner and warns me that I won’t be able to put down. I will let you know if I agree in the near future. It is a must since the action takes place in Denver. I am getting into the spirit of things.

I have flown hundreds; dare I say….several hundreds of times? Could it be thousands by now? Admittedly, I have lost count. I always take note of the little voice in the pit of my stomach before I board a plane, and this time it is just saying “goody, goody gumdrops!” So, I am feeling quite certain this won’t be my swan song blog entry.

@+
Bisous from Paris!
Alex

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

I Love Paris


Call me crazy, but I love Paris when it rains. Mind you, it isn’t good for the hair and makeup, but if you can get past that, it is sublime. I could be just as negative about it as the next adoptive Parisian, I could tell you that I was freezing cold walking to the taxi stand, especially since I had left my kidskin gloves in my other handbag (if I had only gone with my instincts and grabbed that little black Jennifer Marvin evening clutch on the way out …) I could tell you that I couldn’t wear the shoes I had intended to wear that evening in order to avoid ruining them in the rain; or, I could tell you why none of that matters to me when the rain falls in Paris. Maybe tomorrow I will give into negativity if I find that the chill brings forth a full fledged cold. Live in the moment, I always say.

Last evening, I braved the rain to hear beautifully trained voices, and some beautiful voices in training. The cab ride there was ghastly, since it began at the absurd hour of 6:15. Anything beginning at that hour in Paris is best reached by metro. I just couldn’t bear becoming a sardine sandwich on the metro at that hour and decided to take my chances with a cab. The cab driver was exhaling expletives as if it were second nature, which, come to think of it, may have been. Inhale in, expletive out. The rain was pouring down, the streets were congested, and Paris was beautiful.

It is often said by natives of this land that one of my favorite bridges, Pont Alexandre III is one of the most hideous sights in Paris. Perhaps, in the sunshine, that is true, but have these mockers ever seen the glorious gold plated statues which welcome all fortunate enough to use it to cross the Seine, at dusk when the rain is falling, or on a clear evening when the lights of Paris soften it’s brilliance? For those of us who have chosen Paris as a home, or have had the good fortune of being chosen by it by ways other than our birth right, Paris is Paris. And Paris, is a paradise on earth in any weather. The pyramid in the court yard of the Louvre causes no controversy for us, the lightshow on the Eiffel Tower is not a problem, and when the giant carousel came to the Place de la Concord, we didn’t gasp. Paris is beautiful, whatever the weather. The disapproving Parisians only add to its charm.