Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Liberté, egalité, fraternité
Monday, July 14, 2014
Bonne fête nationale, mes amis!
Monsieur Gainsbourg chante sa version de "La Marseillaise," l'hymne national de la France.
Sort of.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Lolita go home shopping
Wow. And the French think we have no sense of style. Who dresses this chick--Humbert Humbert?
Say bon jour to Karine Arsene, the woman I most often see reporting the international weather on TV5Monde, the 24-hour French TV channel for which I pay Verizon FIOS $10 extra a month to keep me entertained.
So far, so very good.
This bad take on the "baby alone in Babylon" look is no fluke--our dear Karine often dresses to cause me to digress. Recently--and dang it all, me without a camera phone at the time!--she wore what looked like a floral-patterned sarong, showing off her tanned, bare shoulders, with her hair wavier and less hot-combed than usual (or whatever it is that women do to give their hair that ironed-straight-and-shiny look).
The effect made her look like Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Papeete, France's own Tahitian Treat. I half-expect her at any moment to show up in a grass skirt with a coconut bikini top, the only way forward to tell us that it's hot as a Tottenham TV in the Middle East or as cold as a job creator's heart in North America. Or maybe go really tribal with a bone through her hair and a sabre-toothed tiger print dress, à la Ann-Margrock in The Flintstones.
It's possible that Karine does indeed have South Pacific Islander heritage; France does still have a few territories Outre-Mer, after all. So my apologies if I'm being a slightly racist jerk. (Editor's note: Sometimes I will say anything for a laugh.)
Nevertheless, despite my snickering, I have to give props to Karine and French TV for going non-traditional in the wardrobe and looks department. In the U.S., so many reporters and news anchors look like the waxed fruit of Ken and Barbie's loins, with the plastic personalities to match. Their style and grooming, though, is strictly Barbie-and-Ken-get-MBAs-and-open-a-marketing-firm. Oddly very '80s Inside-the-Beltway but going just a tad lighter on the crude oil-based haircare products and rabbit-tested makeup. Still, given my nightmares of seven years of Washington fashion and fraternization, my guess is that, behind the desk, the women are all wearing sensible running shoes, and the men, well, the men "accidentally" forgot to wear pants. Again.
I do think in the U.S., despite our rugged individualist mantra, we are at times afraid to see anyone look too different than anyone else. It scares us, perhaps, or in our resolutely Calvinist, no-nonsense mindset, looking different ticks us off. Who are you to think you're so special, getting to dress and live anyway you want? You need to be just as miserable as the rest of us in order for everyone to be truly happy!
The difference pops out, nonetheless, but with fits and starts and always oddly. Thus, you can't go to a trendy restaurant in a big city without being served by a generation that shops at The Gap and Old Navy but still has time for full body tattoos and ear plugs.
Bon appétit.
Say bon jour to Karine Arsene, the woman I most often see reporting the international weather on TV5Monde, the 24-hour French TV channel for which I pay Verizon FIOS $10 extra a month to keep me entertained.
So far, so very good.
This bad take on the "baby alone in Babylon" look is no fluke--our dear Karine often dresses to cause me to digress. Recently--and dang it all, me without a camera phone at the time!--she wore what looked like a floral-patterned sarong, showing off her tanned, bare shoulders, with her hair wavier and less hot-combed than usual (or whatever it is that women do to give their hair that ironed-straight-and-shiny look).
The effect made her look like Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Papeete, France's own Tahitian Treat. I half-expect her at any moment to show up in a grass skirt with a coconut bikini top, the only way forward to tell us that it's hot as a Tottenham TV in the Middle East or as cold as a job creator's heart in North America. Or maybe go really tribal with a bone through her hair and a sabre-toothed tiger print dress, à la Ann-Margrock in The Flintstones.
It's possible that Karine does indeed have South Pacific Islander heritage; France does still have a few territories Outre-Mer, after all. So my apologies if I'm being a slightly racist jerk. (Editor's note: Sometimes I will say anything for a laugh.)
Nevertheless, despite my snickering, I have to give props to Karine and French TV for going non-traditional in the wardrobe and looks department. In the U.S., so many reporters and news anchors look like the waxed fruit of Ken and Barbie's loins, with the plastic personalities to match. Their style and grooming, though, is strictly Barbie-and-Ken-get-MBAs-and-open-a-marketing-firm. Oddly very '80s Inside-the-Beltway but going just a tad lighter on the crude oil-based haircare products and rabbit-tested makeup. Still, given my nightmares of seven years of Washington fashion and fraternization, my guess is that, behind the desk, the women are all wearing sensible running shoes, and the men, well, the men "accidentally" forgot to wear pants. Again.
I do think in the U.S., despite our rugged individualist mantra, we are at times afraid to see anyone look too different than anyone else. It scares us, perhaps, or in our resolutely Calvinist, no-nonsense mindset, looking different ticks us off. Who are you to think you're so special, getting to dress and live anyway you want? You need to be just as miserable as the rest of us in order for everyone to be truly happy!
The difference pops out, nonetheless, but with fits and starts and always oddly. Thus, you can't go to a trendy restaurant in a big city without being served by a generation that shops at The Gap and Old Navy but still has time for full body tattoos and ear plugs.
Bon appétit.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
My new boyfriend
Mesdames et messieurs, je voudrais à vous présenter mon nouveau copain, Laurent Debesse.
A man who no matter how tired or bitter the news on TV5 Monde always manages to look, how you say? Ah, yes, frais et savoureux . . .
I say "I would like to present"--well, I think I said I would like to; who knows?--because, hélas, il n'est pas . . .
At least for now.
Anderson Cooper, you just got served.
It's hard to imagine living in a country where someone this lovely reports the news to you every evening. How would you ever hear anything he ever said? "Le Président, Nicholas Sarkozy, aujourd'hui a annoncé que la France a entrée guerre contre les immigrés et la Belgique." (Editor's note: Or something like that.)
Oh la la. I'd miss the whole declaration of war because I'd be too busy watching Laurent's lips move and wondering what's French for "He's so dreamy!"
It's France, so already the aesthetics are off the charts, number 1 with an impeccably designed bullet. But Msr. Debesse seems extraordinarily handsome, which, in my limited imagination, can only mean a couple of cruel things--
- He is too pretty to be taken seriously, and, thus, he must just be a mere TV talking head.
- He is too pretty to be real, ergo, he's a very well done CGI simulation.
- He's real but considered so normal-looking by French standards that Paris Match has let him enjoy his nude romps on the beach in private.
- He's real and real serious, a reporter who just happens to look like a supermodel but is extraordinarily talented at his job. So his more enlightened countrypersons don't dare defame him by putting up posters of him in their bedrooms, culled from the pages of the French equivalent of Tiger Beat.
Je suis désolé, Laurent. I hope to fly to Paris later this year to offer my apology in person.
Drinks maybe? Dinner? You pick the spot.
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