The first time I went to Paris was with my mother. I was about ten-years-old and I wore pink leather shoes with bows on them and ate frog’s legs on the bateau mouche. My next trip was in my late teens to see Tartuffe and explore the Musée d’Orsay with the school. We spent a lot of time sitting in tabacs smoking Gauloise, drinking coffee and painting our nails rouge noir. Clichéd I know, but so cool. Jason and I stayed in the latin quarter in the winter of 1999 and explored the entire city by foot and shared the best steak frites and tarte tatin we’ll ever eat. More clichés, more cool. He bought me a pair of Stephane Kélian shoes that I’m pretty sure I still have in a box, somewhere. We went back again, with Iole fresh in my belly, and bought beautiful bras from the Bon Marché, spent seven-minutes in the Louvre (to wave at ML) and had our first taste of a Ladurée macaron (before they were a cliché). One day, I’ll take Iole to Paris to buy a vintage umbrella and drink hot chocolate at Angelina’s. And yes, we’ll ride the bateau mouche.