illustrated journey of an american in paris
When I first moved to France 10 years ago, my personal style was Carmen Miranda meets Chiquita Banana. Immigrating to France means contractually committing to becoming French. This isn’t American where you can show up in a diaper and someone will say “I <3 U". My sartorial choices were tutti frutti at best...
How to not be a bonehead in Paris. Visual Do’s and don’ts for your next trip to the City of Light.
The khaki shorts, the socks hiked to the gods, puzzled eye contact, general clustering and moving in masses. Thanks for visiting Paris, tourists. We see you! Yes, we’d all love the superpower of fitting flawlessly into any destination, but no one can truly blend in on a hop on/hop off bus. Here are a few do’s and don’ts to prevent you from getting jumped for your Rick Steves money belt. -jkw
