paris: go bradshaw big or go home

With barely four hours sleep under my eyelids and a near missed eurostar under my belt (I couldn’t make it to Kings Cross in time and had to quite literally sky rocket myself to Ebbsfleet), granted I had J with me but I was in no mood for any faffing about in France – Paris or not.

Fortunately, a jet-lag induced online frenzy the week before had resulted in me acquiring enough tulle to service a season at the Royal Opera — an atonement for all the ballet & tap I skipped as a kid perhaps –and there in lies the story behind this lewk.

“Enough about the dress, the coat” I hear you ask.

It’s no secret I’ve a close affiliation with anything Bradshaw, i’ve been inhaling SATC re-runs since I was 17 and often refer to J as ‘Mr. Big’ sorry-not-sickbag-inducing-vomit-sorry. And reasoning I was in Paris with the King of Fashion Karl NOT just Big, decked in head-to-toe tulle, I decided it would be sensible to seek out the most fabulous coat on the planet — which I did.

Luckily for me, J had a credit card and I had my eye on the damask and tapestry prize. Discovered in a shop window only minutes from the hotel in Saint Germain. I spotted her enroute to take pictures at the Louvre and as soon as we were done I frogmarched us back to the store to try her on.

“elle était la dernière à ma taille”

Granted she’s not everybody’s cup of tea, she’s a personality in her own right. But with oversized ‘coating’ being so relevant these days and my unrelenting obsession with costume drama fabrics — this seemed like a fairly safe bet.

When people say go big or go home… hell yeah I’m going home AND I’M A TAKIN’ THE COAT WITH ME.

L x