It's funny how memories strike us at the oddest of times. I was on my way to meet a friend for brunch a few weeks ago and as I walked down the street I was musing about the various pins on my leather jacket which I was wearing. The pins are from a French company, Macon&Lesquoy, and can be purchased here in Vancouver, with a fairly decent collection to be found at Boboli, located in the South Granville neighbourhood.
I happen to have four - each one is meticulously hand embroidered with a nod to European military history. However, some are pure whimsy. One of mine is a silver and red wine glass. I started thinking about others in the collection which I would eventually like to buy, one being the bottle which goes nicely with my wine glass, the other a giant lobster (I don't even eat lobster), and a tiny lit cigarette. I don't even smoke. Have never smoked. Have no intention of picking up the habit. In fact, I feel guilty for wanting it in the first place and wonder if it will make me look like I'm trying too hard to be chic.
That brought me to another train of thought (yes, all this thinking just walking a few blocks to the restaurant. Good thing I wasn't chewing gum at the same time). I was thinking about Paris and how everyone smokes. Paris, what a drag.
Especially the young girls. And they still look way hotter than us. With smoking, comes the rumpled slouching, accessorized with bed head.
I never wanted to smoke so much in my life. And also to have bad posture.
If you don't believe me, take another look. Notice the casual throw on elegance of the smoker.
Even when they are not obviously smoking, the intention is there. Usually some hard ass brand like Gitanes laying next to them on the table, like a Chanel clutch bag.
Everyone smokes in Paris and they still look great.
These mannequins snapped taking a well deserved break from posing in one of the most stylish shopping malls in the world, the Galleries Lafayette, would smoke if only they were alive.
I think I should go back to do more research (I'll buy that pin and wear it proudly as long as I'm there).
Oh, and PS - this ashtray isn't mine. I'm just holding it for a friend.