Paris may have some of the cleanest water around (best tidbit I learned on my tour of the sewers!), but it does a number on your beauty routine. The high calcium content in the water could turn Goldie Locks' tresses into a dull, mess of hair and Snow White's flawless face into a crackly desert. My first few months here my face was sporting sexy red spots that just wouldn't go away. Fed up with looking like a 25 year old with a chronic case of chicken pox, I decided it was time to see a dermatologist. What did the doctor tell me? Don't let your face near water ever. Um, tricky, but manageable. And it's worked. The no water business has saved my skin. Spotless since January! I didn't stop washing my face either, eww! Here are the products I've been using to keep my super fun rash from making a comeback:

Dexeryl: use as face or body lotion (available at the pharmacy in a variety of sizes; works miracles on eczema too!)
Physiogel: rub on face morning and night then wipe off (available at the pharmacy although they may have to order it)
DemakUp Wipes: rub your face with the gel and wipe off with these cotton pads (available at the grocery store)

The water + hair situation isn't much better, but Rapunzel worthy shampoo and conditioner helps prevent total mane destruction. I've also started soaking my hair and washing it in white vinegar once a week. I'm convinced it makes my hair super soft and strips out all of the Parisian water gunk. Vinegar is basically amazing--cooking, cleaning, cosmetics. Mr. Clean and the Brawny Man have nothing on vinegar. 

My new love--a satchel designed by Coq en Pate for Amnesty International. I snapped it up at Le Super Market on Sunday and it's been attached to my hip ever since. The giant heart makes me happy, but I love what the bag says even more: the rights of children are the responsibility of adults. Teacher Lindsey says true that.

Have a happy Tuesday.

P.S. For a description of Le Super Market check out this post on Pret A Voyager. 

These shoes have been squeaking sweet nothings in my ear since I first laid my peepers on them. You could say it was love at first sight. I thought it would be a short romance, but it's turning into a long, drawn out love affair--one that is quickly driving a wedge between me and my wallet. Why am I lusting after inanimate petites souris? More importantly, how am I going to keep my credit card from magically buying me mouse shoes? I live in a fashion capital and mouse shoes are going to be my demise! Ridiculous!

Like most Paris dwellers, after a long, cold winter in the city, I was feeling pretty tired and worn down, so when a friend suggested that we try out the Hammam steam baths at la Mosquée de Paris, I jumped at the chance to re-charge my batteries!

With an extensive list of treatment options available to us, we all agreed that the full works was the order of the day. We chose the 49 euros option which included savon noir (a tub of luxurious liquid soap for smoothing & moisturizing your skin), exfoliation, use of the baths & communal areas, mint tea & a massage.

Armed with our tub of savon noir, we headed into an ornate room with vaulted ceilings and mosaic tiling, to be greeted by women massaging this soap into each other’s skin.  Every straight guy’s paradise?! In fact, bikini-bottoms-only seemed to be the liberal choice of many of the frenchies, who enjoyed letting it all hang out. But being British & all, I wasn’t ready to get into my birthday suit just yet!

I did however put my heat-aversion aside & forced myself into the next room with the plunge pool. The heat mixed with the freezing cold water made for a really amazing sensory experience! Next was the gommage (‘exfoliation’ in English). Any anxieties or hang-ups I may have felt about revealing my knockers to my fellow hammam-ers went out the window when I saw how the women treat you like nothing more than a sheep waiting to get their winter coat shorn off! There is certainly no privacy to this part of the experience as the Arabic women give you a good scrub in full view of the line of women awaiting their turn. And so, with inhibitions cast aside by this point and skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom, it was time for the pièce de la résistance – the massage!  And man, it felt goooood!

I would fully recommend a visit to the Hamman, or if you’re not feeling quite so brave, you can chill out in the Mosque’s cute courtyard café and grab a mint tea & something delicious to nibble at the pastry counter! Either way, you really must go and experience this small piece of Arabic culture!

The mosque is found at 39, rue Geoffrey St-Hilaire on the Left Bank, about a 10-minute walk from Île St-Louis or Rue Mouffetard. Metro: Place Monge.

My nails look like a kindergartner's. I may have been the proud owner of a Nail Art Book by Klutz, but I never got past the first page and have had short, stumpy nails ever since. On the occasion that I want to feel like a grown-up, I splurge on a manicure and have someone give me an awkward/enjoyable hand massage. This luxury came to a screeching halt in August when I jumped the pond with M. Frank. I could barely go to the grocery store without inducing a panic attack. Forget going anyplace with women wielding sharp weapons like cuticle cutters until...two weeks ago, dun dun da da! I decided to go with the Nike flow and just do it. I could mime my way through it if I had to. Pointing out my fav nail polish color couldn't be that hard, right? You can read about my excursion into the world of French nail salons on Posted in Paris :)

Have you heard about the shower situation in France? I'm talking about the lack of tubs, sub-par engineering (water goes on the floor instead of down the drain), and anything else that would make showering a remotely relaxing experience. Showering is all about the acrobatics. Washing your hair and scrubbing your body are manageable (if you have a shower head on the wall and if you have water pressure), but when you need to shave it's a whole different story. Get your game face on because you need to channel your inner circus freak. Shaving is an art, a delicate and dangerous juggling of water, razor, and limbs. Perhaps this is why the French women go au natural...

Here's my step-by--step guide to getting super smooth stems:

Yesterday I went from this:

To this:

A bit rash, but boy oh boy do I feel free. I was starting to feel like Cousin It from the Adams family. I had planned to get a haircut when I was home next week, but couldn't bear the long hair any longer. I decided I just needed to buck up and get my first haircut in Paris. I cheated though...I went to an English speaking salon.

Emma, senior stylist at Stylepixie Salon, made me feel totally comfortable with my decision to go short. She chopped off my locks with ease and frequently checked to make sure I was satisfied with how my new "do" was shaping up. Emma and salon director Victoria work in a super artsy warehouse building that makes you feel way cooler than you really are. When you first enter the building, you get the impression you're doing a photo shoot for an America's Next Top Model except without the acrobatics and Tyra. Inside the salon is tres chic and the stylists make you feel like you're their only client. I enjoyed my experience so much that I've already booked an appointment for February.

Stylepixie Salon is located 2 minutes from Metro Pierre et Marie Curie on 2 rue Edouard Vasseur - Ivry sur Seine 94200
01 46 70 25 69

I'm always the last person to pick up the latest fashion trend. You'd think with subscriptions to Rue La La, Gilt Groupe, Salemail, and Swirl I'd be all over what's hot right now. If you don't know what Rue La La or the others are, don't go googling them. If you even mildly like shopping and sales, you will become addicted to these sites. Just avoid them and don't torture yourself. Despite the fact that I live in the fashion capital of the world and ogle boutique windows like it's my job, I'm just not hip enough to jump on trends. Everyone, and by everyone I mean publicity "stars" like Kim Kardashian, say your style should be about who you are and not about trends, but trends are cooooooool and I want to be cool. Who takes Kim Kardashian's advice anyway?

Case in point. I needed new glasses and really really really wanted a pair like these:

Weird, but cool, right? You're probably laughing because the glasses are a little ridiculous. I live in Paris though. The city of all things chic and these frames scream geek chic. With some new frange I could totally pull these off...

Alas, I lust no more. The optician covered by our insurance doesn't make these trendy glasses. I had to pick something else not as fun. My new frames are "safe" but not nearly as happen'. With my luck, if I had actually gotten these puppies, the glasses wearing population would have moved on to another trend within the hour, so probably better for me that half of my face isn't going to be covered by over-sized frames. I'm still going to get the frange a.k.a bangs though. See? I am learning some French!

Being behind the trends gets me particularly down when it comes to packing for the holidays. I stare at my closet and scream the typical, "I HAVE NO CLOTHES." Of course I have clothes. I should be yelling, "I HAVE NO CLOTHES I WANT TO WEAR." I'm so tired of staring at the same outfits and wish I could get my hands on some cool duds to wear for the holidays. And that's exactly what trends are for--helping the fashion handicapped slob put together a few outfits. Except, except...I'm en retard with the trends and end up falling back on old faithfuls in my closet. J. Crew Christmasy plaid dress from 2 years ago? Check. I leave for the U.S. in a week and am contemplating wearing the same exact outfits I wore last year for all of the holiday get-togethers. Same outfits, another year. I desperately need a packing game plan. Who can help?

Remember when I said in my Holy Moly Harrogate post how boys need to step up their dressing game? Check out the link about menswear in this post on my friend's blog birdsofapleather.

I'm talking about headphones. While it seems the rest of the world has spent the last ten years consuming sleeker, smaller technologies, Parisians are all about the big, honking headphones. Forget ear buds. Those are just glorified Q-tips. Parisian headphones are like all-weather ear muffs. I'm not a technology buff, but I'm pretty sure bigger headphones do not equal "bigger" sound. So why is it that Parisians insist on attaching giant saucers to their ears? I did some nitty-gritty field work questioning my one Parisian friend to find the answer.

Me: Why do Parisians wear big headphones?
French guy: Because it's funny.

Me: Do you think big headphones are fashionable?
French guy: I think they can be fashionable now. They can make very fancy headphones with different colors and from different designers. Yes, you can be fashionable with your headphones. Don't you think so?

(No, I don't think so and why is it Parisians decide to use headphones as their only expression of color? Let's extend color beyond the face! Maybe slip in a red jacket here or there.)

Me: Do you wear your headphones outside of the Metro?
French guy: Yeah. If I go to the bathroom, I put on my headphones. If I go to the kitchen, I put on my headphones. It's not about the music. It's about the style.

But wait, the true answer is revealed with some honest commentary from peanut gallery listening in on the interview:

Peanut Gallery: You wear the headphones to say feck you to the world, don't disturb me. I'm not going to give you money. I don't care if you have callouses on your left foot. I'm still not giving you money. They keep your ears warm too.

Me: What goes through Parisians' minds when wearing big headphones?
French guy: So many people are crazy, some not, some smell, it's my work, feck you guys.

Me: Interesting. I think I'm finally getting the gist of this growing style.

So what is the true logic of big headphones? It's the Parisians' way of flipping the bird to anyone who dare tries to interact with them. Obnoxious headphones successfully maintain the barrier between the Parisians and everyone else. I guess if I really want to act Parisian I need to invest in a pair of ear numbing headphones, but I'm pretty sure this emblem of anonymity is one trend I don't want to adopt.

As soon as I got back on U.S. soil I put on sweatpants. (I landed back in the States on Monday and have been rotating pairs since.) I love sweatpants and would probably wear them everyday if I could get away with it. They're warm, cozy, perfect for sleeping, being lazy, working out, doing errands--quite frankly sweatpants are the ideal article of clothing. You see sweatpants everywhere in the U.S.--the gym, the grocery store, in school, at the mall...sweatpants are not discriminated against. In Paris, it's a different story. Despite having more than ten pairs of sweatpants, I did not pack a single pair in my luggage for France. I knew I would just be too tempted to put some on and would end up embarrassing myself. You NEVER see sweatpants in Paris. I think French women would rather wear a brown paper bag then put on sweatpants. Honestly, I don't think they even sell them in stores over there. They have no idea what their missing and I've decided that I just don't care enough about fashion to abandon my sweatpants. So as I sit here typing in a pair of bright cobalt blue, cotton sweatpants with bright green writing down the leg (watch out!), I'm contemplating how many pairs I'm going to bring back to Paris with me. I need at least one for the snuggling on the couch, maybe another pair for stepping out to the store...the possibilities are endless. Let the sweatpants revolution begin!