pastels in paris

Sketch of Paris

Returning to my Jacksonville house means returning to a room filled with all things Francais. I’ve harbored an obsession with the City of Lights ever since I was little. As a six year old I consumed Madeline books like they were chocolate chip cookies. I wanted to be just like the title character — a smiling little Parisian girl with a fluffy sidekick, her dog Pepito.

"The smallest one was Madeline"

About a decade later, my Francophilia emerged once again, as I signed up for French classes in high school. Learning the “language of love” was certainly a struggle (who knew living room furniture had a specific gender?) but throughout the four year journey I continued to tell myself that it would all pay off one day.

It hasn’t. At least not yet. So far the furthest I’ve ventured outside of my sunny, comfortable Floridian bubble has been good ol’ New York City; but still I haven’t found myself in any place where my knowledge of past perfect and present perfect tenses of la langue has been put to use.

Hopefully this changes one day, as Paris still holds the spot atop my bucket list. I want to see the stitches of the haute couture, smell the potpurri of pastel pastries and cigarette smoke, and obviously climb all the way up the Eiffel Tower. Sure, Paris is a cliche tourist destination, but I want so badly to be one of those tourists.

An old map of Paris hanging on my wall

On myself:

BCBGeneration shirt, Forever21 shorts, and a scarf from Charming Charlie. I absolutely love pastels for summer; the pale, pretty colors remind me of everything I love about the season — pink wildflowers in the yard; frothy ocean waves; and soft, melty vanilla ice cream.

On my mind: There’s nothing better than sleeping in past noon.

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