Scott - Lessons from madame chic: 20 stylish secrets i learned while living in paris

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Contents

D IET AND E XERCISE

S TYLE AND B EAUTY

H OW TO L IVE W ELL

For Arabella and Georgina

Introduction

I relax in the upholstered living room armchair. The smell of tobacco lingers in the air. The grand windows are open, allowing the warm Parisian night breeze to flow through the room, and the exquisite tapestry drapes end in an elegant puddle on the floor. Classical music plays on the vintage record player. The dishes are nearly cleared away but the last coffee cups still remain on the dining room table, along with a few crumbs of that days fresh baguette, so eagerly consumed earlier with a slice of Camembert cheesethe roi du fromage .

Monsieur Chic sits smoking his pipe in tranquil contemplation while nodding his head slowly to the music as though conducting the orchestra in his imagination. His son paces by the open window, holding a glass of port. Madame Chic walks in, removing the apron that so efficiently protected her A-line skirt and silk blouse. She smiles contentedly, and I help her remove the final coffee cups from the table. It has been another satisfying day in Pariswhere life is lived beautifully, passionately.

In January 2001 I went to live with a French family in Paris as a foreign exchange student. I left the casual comforts of Los Angeles, boarded a plane with my fellow students from the University of Southern California (with two very large, overstuffed suitcases), and embarked on an adventure that would alter the course of my life in the most profound ways.

But, of course, I didnt know that then. All I knew was that I was going to spend the next six months in Paris. Paris! The most romantic city in the world! I confess my excitement was clouded by some concerns. When I left California, I had only taken three semesters of Frenchmy command of the language was clumsy at best. Also, six months is a long time to be away from ones family and country. What if I got homesick? What would my French host family be like? Would I like them? Would they like me?

So a few nights after I landed in Paris, when I found myself sitting in the formal and austere dining room of Famille Chic, partaking in a five-course dinner, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows and precious antiques, I was already in love with my new, fascinating family. This family who was beautifully dressed, eating a well-cooked homemade meal (in courses!) on their best china on a Wednesday evening. This family who took tremendous enjoyment from the small pleasures in life and who appeared to have mastered the art of living well. This family with their nightly rituals and immaculate customs, built on tradition. How could this simple California girl, who was so accustomed to flip-flops and barbecues, have found herself living amongst the Parisian aristocracy?

Yes, Famille Chic (the name I will use to preserve their anonymity) were of an aristocratic heritage. Their tradition of fine living had been passed down to them from their illustrious ancestors, and generations upon generations of Famille Chic had practiced their art.

And who was this enigmatic Madame Chic? She was a mother and a wife. She worked part-time and volunteered. She was very traditional in her style; she never wore jeans. She was a brunette with a no-nonsense Parisian bob. She had very strong opinions. She was kind and nurturing and she could be bold and blunt (as you will see). She was a woman who knew what was important in life, and her family was the most important thing of all. She was the head of this household that lived so well. She made all of those delectable meals. She managed the intricacies of everyday life. She steered the ship.

In the beginning of my stay I thought all French families lived like Famille Chicin a traditional and ceremonious manner. Then I had the pleasure of getting to know Famille Bohemienne (another host family in my study abroad program). Their household was run by Madame Bohemienne, a single mother with curly hair, a rosy outlook on life, and warmth and charm that illuminated her wild dinner parties. In contrast to Famille Chic, the Bohemiennes were casual, relaxed, boisterous, and well, bohemian! Yes, the two families lived their lives very differently, but both families lived passionate lives and lived them very well. It was my pleasure and privilege to observe them both.

This book originated on my blog, The Daily Connoisseur, when I did a series called The Top 20 Things I Learned While Living in Paris. I received so much interest from readers, I decided to elaborate on the lessons I learned from Famille Chic and Famille Bohemienne and record them in this book.

Each chapter presents a lesson I learned while living in Paris. Many of these lessons were learned directly from Madame Chic, whom I had the pleasure of observing in her own home and who so kindly took me under her wing. I learned some of the lessons from Madame Bohemienne. Some lessons I learned from the City of Light itself.

As a young college student, I had many ideas about what Id learn while living in Paris, but I didnt expect to learn so much about how to live life. How to really live it. How not just to exist, but to thrive. Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself...

Chapter 1

S NACKING I S S O
N OT C HIC

W hen living with a different family (especially in a foreign country), one finds many causes for anxiety. One cause, for me, was food. Back home in California I was used to grazing all day long. A handful of crackers here, an orange there, some cookies here, a yogurt there... Would I feel comfortable going into Famille Chics kitchen and foraging as if I were in my own home?

A few hours after my first dinner with Famille Chic, I began to feel hungry. I had had a delicious dinner, but being slightly nervous around my new host family, and feeling anxious about conducting an entire conversation based on three semesters of college French, I hadnt eaten as much as I would have liked. So I thought Id tiptoe (in my pajamas) to the kitchen, which I had, up until then, yet to visit.

Famille Chics kitchen was not easily accessible. It was at the back of the apartment, down a long, dark hallway, and was not attached to any other room. I thought Id sneak down the hall and have a peek. Perhaps there was a bowl of fruit for me to nibble on.

Of course the door to my room (being as ancient and fabulous as it was) let out a grandiloquent squeak as I began my stealth mission, and after a few moments, Madame Chic was down the hallway in her dressing gown, asking if I was okay. I assured her I was and that I was simply going to get a glass of water. She said shed get one for me. And apart from the strange look she gave my pajamas (which I will address in another chapter), everything seemed to be okay. Except it wasnt. I wanted my midnight snack!