Oh, to Be French

Since her dear sweet Mama signed her up for her first ballet class, age 3, Miss Impeccable has longed to be French. Really, the media makes it seem ideal- they never get fat, their style is famous world-wide, they eat delicious pastries, smoke lots of cigarettes, and rule in the arts of love. After that first ballet class, I followed with 13 more years of dance. Then 5 years of language study where I learned such useful phrases as “Where is the butcher shop?” and “The dog is under the trashcan.” I read the diet book, where I learned to eat pate’ and chocolate(which would have been all well and good if I had learned that other key, moderation).

But, in my search to become more French, I did manage to find the book of all books, Entre Nous: A Woman’s Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl. Miss Impeccable would like to say she then read the collected works of Sartre and Genet. (She did not). But her paperback copy of Entre Nous has traveled through two moves, a breakup, and an engagement unscathed. It really is that good.

The key pieces of advice I learned within? First, minimize. Own one good quality piece of everything, not dozens of tacky, trendy, soon-to-expire ratty things. Second, make an effort. If it’s worth eating, eat it on real plates at a table. If it’s worth wearing, wear it well and make sure it fits, is in a good fabric, and suits your body. Third, maintain. If you refuse to spend any time caring for your hair, face, and skin, don’t expect them to do you any favors. If you can’t commit an hour a week to a full body routine, then you have misprioritized your time and put yourself last.

Ooh la la. Miss Impeccable loves it (and gives copies to her impeccable girlfriends). I’m off to grab a croissant and a manicure ladies. The French kind.