French Lace

How else can I say it? I just felt chic walking through the Parisian flea markets, or les puces as they call them.  Instead of the typical drab flea market attire I usually sport, I stepped it up with a dress and boots to glide through the stalls. Heck, I threw a scarf on for good measure.

I’m glad I did. This market was no joke.

I’m certainly not the first to go through these bending alleys spilling over with what looks like a Versailles yard sale, but these puces have a way of making you feel like you’re the only one. It is this flirtation that has allowed the markets to ask outrageous prices for rusty old farm tools and cracked plates. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted the hoe, I just couldn’t fit it in my bag, and the brown bottles piled in dirty boxes would have made my place much…cooler. The desire for these discarded objects is a testament to the intoxication that is the French flea markets that seem almost infused with perfume.

The markets I attended lacked the pushing and disarray that characterizes my beloved Roman market. I easily bartered with vendors (even with the six French words I know) and, sans pushing, I could glide to the tables to rummage through the antique boxes, jewelry, old posters, journals, mirrors and furniture. I really wanted to take the entire Art Deco mirror collection home, but the lovely and delicate 200-year-old lace seemed like a lighter choice.

The Madame vender may have been full of merde when she aged the linens 200 years old, but I would like to think that the inspiration for the French lace pieces have in some way been through wars and great literature. The derivative jewelry is meant to reflect the elegance found in the Paris flea market.