L'etole

I wanted to buy something fabulous and European on my trip to Paris. My initial thought was a bag. Bags are a girls best friend...isn't that how the song goes? Or some sort of clothing/footwear that screamed Euro chic!!!
On my shopping adventures of Saturday afternoon, I eagerly went in search of my prize. First stop, not quite Parisian, but we stop at Zara.
One thing that I've noticed in Europe is that stores make me feel a little overwhelmed. For the seasoned shopper that I (thought) am/was, this is a little disconcerting. It does sorta make sense though. Even in Toronto, I don't like shopping in stores that are cluttered. I like organized racks that aren't too full and folded merchandise that isn't strewn about. I tend to have problems at factory outlets where everything's in disarray. As great as I know Winners is for deals and variety, rummaging is necessary, and I'd just rather not. European stores have what seems like the square footage of your average store, but then they pack in the merchandise, and then surprise, your square footage is tripled because a little boutique is actually a three leveled emporium. It's a little extreme.
So basically, what I was getting it was that Zara was huge and little scary. By the way, have you heard that Mango is coming to Canada? I predict it'll catch on like Zara and H&M did. It's a pretty good store. Some nice stuff.
I really wanted to go to La Fayette because I'd heard so much about it. It really was a Holt's on steroids. Going on a saturday afternoon near the start of the Christmas rush probably didn't help matters. I was in bag heaven. But for some reason I wasn't readay to dish out the cash. They all just seemed...there. Nice, but blah at the same time. I couldn't help laughing at the fact that there was a line up at the Louis Vuitton counter. Like, 30 people long. I think it was a whole tour group waiting to purchase their goods. After wandering through clothes, we passed the scarves and hats. I noticed what I like to call a "fling-thing". A wide scarf/shawl object. Something that I thought was sophisticated and somehow European (don't all Europeans fling things over their shoulders and look divine?) It was lambswool. Thick and cozy. A little bit more expensive than I wanted to pay. I hemmed and hawwed, but decided to pass. I could always return, and we were wasting precious shopping time.
Rue de Rivoli was really fun. Sephora's always enjoyable. Lots of crazy cluttered stores to shake me to the core. We stopped at La Samaritaine which was also a department store on drugs. Again, nothing really stuck out to me. More boutiques and other chain stores later (I wonder if Promod will also zoom to Canada at some point?) I haven't found It.
We happen to stroll upon BHV and I'm sort of close to buying a Sequoia bag. Nah, it's actually very similar to the Fushia Rugby North America, er, I mean m0851 bag I thought about buying fall line '03 so not that special. On the way out, we see, yet again, the fling-thing. I guess I left out the fact that ever since leaving La Fayette, I've been discussing the merits of purchasing this item. I hem and haw some more, but in the end, make up excuses why I don't want it. One being that it'd be so much more fabulous if it was cashmire.
The final moments in Paris (seriously, the last 15 minutes), and we're dashing around for the last minute perfect item. I'm now REALLY tempted by some bags in a boutique in the Marais, but decide to pass. I'm not sure why, but I did. I've given up hope, because not only have I not made my special purchase, but the fling-thing won't be happening because there's no time to go back to get it.
Just a couple minutes left before we really have to leave, so we wander a little further. We walk by a poster of the ISU Grand Prix event being held this year in Paris. I stop for a snap and thought how great it was that I got to see the poster up close before leaving. My eyes scan to the right and notice...fling-things in the window! I look up and see that it's the store of the main sponsor of the skating competition, Eric Bompard. It's a sign! Not lambswool, but cashmire. Now I have no excuse. I go in...look at the price...freak out a bit...model...worry when they might not have it in black (sorry, it's a staple item)...they do...worry about the price...so soft and dreamy...hem and haw...look at the price again, put my foot down..."I'm buying it!". The whole time, I'm speaking English with my friend, the saleslady hovers (this is one of those stores that gives you super personal attention) and we chat in French, I see out of the corner of my eye a North American (speaking English without an accent) father waiting for his wife and daughter to make a decision on a cardigan and glancing over at me every so often. As I pay the large sum of money, the saleslady mentions that I have just bought an "etole". Hmmm...I notice that it's only one letter away from "etoile"...how curious. Too many coincidences. I know I've done the right thing. We joke about my journey of the perfect purchase. The father also compliments me on my purchase, and only helps me confirm that it was all meant to be. I won't say how much it cost, but it was quite substantial. More than I'd imagined spending on such an accessory and even on a "splurge item". Yikes. But that's what I'm here for. To enjoy myself, and to treat myself to something special when I want it.
I'm very proud of myself and of my etole.