Was I, a magazine editor turned freelance woman-about-Paris, the right person to write a guide to a city during fashion week? Ostensibly yes. I’d been traveling to France twice a year since 2021, and this time my schedule was lighter—which meant more time to party and shop. But it turned out I wasn’t big on nightlife or spending this season. Instead I was focused on meeting deadlines and taking in the city between shows: posing like Carmela Soprano on the Pont Alexandre III, riding e-bikes in my YSL Tributes, and enjoying cappuccinos with excessive amounts of foam. In other words: I was practicing being present, because there’s no better place to be tired and anxious than Paris, as long as you’re eating well. Below, a list of the places and spaces that kept me going.
DAVID MALLETT SALON
When I showed up to the palatial salon, just a few steps from the Ritz, I expected a great hairdo. I did not expect a palatial room replete with a giant stuffed ostrich, Hermes-toting elites, and general ambiance that screamed Emily in Paris, but chicer. They even gave me an espresso for my jet lag. It’s no wonder that David Mallett has become the go-to salon for fashion journalists like Lauren Sherman, even if a simple blowout is priced between 60 and 1800 euros, depending on your stylist (oui, my appointment was comped). A trip to David Mallett will change the way others perceive you, and save you time getting ready before shows. My only regret was not booking a second session for the end of the week. 10/10 experience.
LE CLOWN BAR
I really wanted to stay mad at the men working at Le Clown Bar, who forced me to order and sit with plates of appetizers while I waited for my Tuesday night date, who I explained would be arriving 30 minutes late (he was closing a magazine, people!). I don’t mind dining alone, but I prefer to begin with a glass of wine if I’m expecting a companion… Long story short, when the mystery man finally showed up, he wooed the servers with his beautiful looks and Canadian French, and we all came to a detente. But it was the succulent duck marinated in pear and black olives, that won me over. Le Clown Bar may seem like the only place in Paris with a time limit on the tables, but the food is certainly worth it.
CHARVET
Icons like André Leon Talley had been collecting Charvet for decades before creative director Matthieu Blazy sent a Chanel collab down the runway last spring (it was later announced that the centuries-old custom shirt retailer was being acquired by the house). Yet I seemed to be the final fashion person to make the pilgrimage to the world’s first shirt shop, which sells ready-to-wear blouses starting at the cool price of five hundred and twenty Euros. I was not particularly taken by the stuffy old man energy permeating the wood-panelled boutique, but when a sales associate took me up to the woman’s floor and insisted that I try on a crispy white shirt, I suddenly felt like a character in Au Bonheur des Dames. It was snug on the shoulders, and the cuff grazed the middle of my hand—sexy. But when I saw the blouse back on the hanger, all crinkled up after being pressed into my old Dakota jeans, I realized that I was in no position to take care of an everyday item so expensive and easy to stain—VAT refund be damned.
DIRTY DICK
I’m not sure if this bar is a thing most of the time, but the Pigalle tiki lounge—covered in problematic decor—was popping after the August Barron show on Wednesday. Come for the long drink lines and stay for the loungy section in the back. This is a great place for men who like to pick up other men. It’s also a convenient spot for a little pre-party kiki before fighting your way into Foiles, where the hedonistic end-of-week Cicciolina parties happen most seasons.
NICE PIECE
There are five thousand overpriced vintage stores in the Marais and I have decided that Nice Piece is my favorite. Why? Because it’s giving Grace Jones at the afties in Paris. Everything is a little sexy and strange and out-there, like the pair of gold skin-tight Cavalli pants I was too lazy to try on, and the snatched waist leather coat with faux fur cuffs that I swore I would go back for. Next time I’m giving myself an hour to peruse.
THE PARIS METRO VENDING MACHINES
These bright beacons packed with cold beverages were the only thing keeping me from seeing a desert mirage on the runway this season. I made it my little ritual to tap my credit card and score an ice-cold bottle of Evian whenever I had a minute or more to wait for the train—a Red Bull if I was feeling naughty.
FOUQUETS PARIS
The hotel where industry hot shots and editors-in-chief stay and take their meetings. It also happens to have a great classic brasserie downstairs and an intimate dining lounge on the second level called Joy. Go for the pornstar martini and stay for the post-meal chartreuse vert and massive chocolate mousse that they serve with candied hazelnuts and various drizzling sauces. Delicious.
SIMPLE RAINBOW
Flats have been back in fashion for so long that I’m low-key sick of them but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to cute ass Instagram accounts promoting cute ass stores that sell little well made shoes for a reasonable price in literally every color. And I’m not the only one who’s enamoured by Simple Rainbow. When I visited there was a New York Froyo-level line snaking down the block. I did not have good luck shopping this season.
WESTFIELD FORUM DES HALLES
I ended my Thursday shopping stroll at a random mall to catch a glimpse of the first Re{form} Zara collection designed by John Galliano that was, in fact, only being sold at a pop up in the Marais (oopsie).I didn’t even know they had a Westfield in Paris, but I can safely say it felt the same as any other Westfield anywhere else—messy, busy, and stuffed with an excess of on-trend clothes that served as a not-so-subtle reminder that us fashion editors and journalists are cogs in the machine that encourages people across the world to buy buy buy. Welcome to the landfill.