Every morning I think I'm late, but even in my hurry down the stairs into the Porte d'Orléans metro station I can't help but notice this lady. She's printed on a huge ad by the entrance, bending over in little white undies, orange fake-tan butt cheeks on unabashed display. Think pinup girl + fruit of the loom + gratuitous focus on the cheeks. At first I just credited it to my off-kilter neighborhood, figured someone messed up and ran a butt-toning and tanning cream ad 3 months too early, that nobody in their right mind could possibly be worried about their butt's outward appearance in 10 degree weather. Butt no (sorry, had to do it!). I still have much to learn about this people, things beyond UCLA's fine faculty.Yesterday the receptionist at work, this really cute French/Madagascarian girl around my age, asked me if I wanted to spend lunch with her and, as I heard it, "get nail stuff." I of course said yes, and we whisked off on the metro to this neighborhood called Chateau d'Eau. It's like a combination of a turkish bazaar and downtown LA, but 90% hair or nail shops and 99% Franco-african. We were hustled before we even got off the metro platform. Well, SHE was hustled. Apparently I don't look like a good candidate for an African coiffe. Basically, there are tons of guys everywhere trying to persuade you to go to THEIR hair salon or THEIR nail salon, shoving little coupons and postcards in your hand. Er, my friend's hand. I was skipping along in my little raincoat, swinging my Marc Jacobs purse and may as well have been invisible.
So we got to the place where she goes when she feels like having fake nails. I took a seat and admired the walls full of ponytails, braids, and who-knows-whats in every color nylon can come in. Your hair can be highlighter yellow if you want. C'est un république (Français for 'it's a free country')!!
There was a celeb magazine which I read a little shamefully knowing that I had a Barbara Kingsolver book and an unread newspaper in my purse, but listen. You can take the girl out of LA...
OH MY GOD CELEBRITY BUTTS!!!!!! That's right. Mischa Barton? I know what her butt looks like. Paris Hilton? You wouldn't believe it, but she has some funky cellulite. So many pictures, all shamelessly invasive (and probably photoshopped). I don't think I'd ever really felt bad for a celebrity until then. I didn't want to know, but there it all was. Something tells me even THEY don't know what's here for all to see in these vicious European magazines, or worse things than obscenities/umbrellas would be thrown at paparazzi. This little featurette was followed by a 15 page segment on how to smooth your butt in time for summer. Frequent exercise was not on the list. Who knew the French could be so preoccupied by something so... oh there's got to be a pun for this...
Too much, even for a native Californian and one-time Los Angelan. Too much for overcoat season. If I wasn't so busy marveling about this, I'd make a pair of jeans, paper doll-style, and cover up that poor orange-butted girl.
(photo taken this weekend at the Jardin du Luxembourg)
No comments:
Post a Comment