A Taste of France

My fascination with all things French has always been part of me. I have French ancestry. I am reasonably fluent in French. In fact I am descended from no less than three generations of 17th Century French hairdressers. It was pointed out to me that some of their clients may perhaps have fallen victim to the French Revolution. My Great Great Grandfather was a French chef to an aristocrat. My experience of narcissistic abuse has somehow left me yearning to rediscover my French heritage. My aunt was proud of her French heritage and had introduced me to Edith Piaf. I remember buying Dior tights as a teenager and developing a desperate yearning for French perfume. To this day whatever else I may have gone without , I will never part with my French perfume. Wasn’t it Marilyn Monroe who mentioned the only thing she wore in bed was Chanel no. 5.

I had even vaguely had plans (pre Brexit) to live in France one day. As I have recovered from narcissistic abuse, I have stumbled upon Chanel fashion shows online. The craftsmanship has amazed me. Delicate flowers, lovingly pieced together and other intricately sewn details. Every beautiful facet of the clothing, exquisitely hand sewn. I have managed to buy myself a little Dior on Ebay. I can feel the quality as I hold it in my hands. I loved the film The Devil wears Prada. (I found its description of the fashion industry amazing. )

Through the magic of You Tube we can all now watch Chanel fashion shows. Chanel fashion shows are particularly stunning. Models wander barefoot along beaches, with waves coming in, through an airport lounges, or board an ocean liner. The backdrops are as creative as the clothes.

A few months back I nervously visited Chanel. They made me feel very welcome much to my surprise. For me following narcissistic abuse, I have longed for quality and beautiful things which last.

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