I see London, I see France, I'm showing my underwear on purpose, OK?
They say fashion has no rules. I wholeheartedly believe it, but my mom and your mom have rules. Usually those rules are something along the lines of, "that's too short," "that's too see-through" or "that's too low." While, I've mostly given up on the wannabe provocative tendencies of 16-year-old me, I still like to occasionally hint to the body usually swallowed underneath vests and boxy button-ups.
I found this thin cotton, maybe a nightgown at one time, tucked neatly in my grandmothers cedar chest. I'm sure its intentions were once demure, used only for dreaming and muffin making if the previous owner enjoying baking breakfast in her pajamas. But, I had other plans for this relic of family members past. I've found, through countless internet fashion browsing sessions that it is socially acceptable to have undergarments exposed when the dress in question is floor length (Girls reference, if you live under a rock,) or are perhaps sporting naval-grazing panties usually reserved for the post-menopausal. I figured my two conditions were almost covered—my naval, entirely thanks to Spanx.
Like many free days in the city, Tuesday was spent discovering street art, stumbling upon fun places to eat and read: i.e. my first macaroon experience. Of course I picked the purple (flavor not even considered. What do mulberries taste like?) because it was covered in sparkly powder. Needless to say, Instagram makes them look a lot tastier than they really are. I did feel chic and extremely French, as did my adorable roommate and now friend Nina. Also, I found sweet tea and I immediately missed home. Really I just ordered unsweet and the man at the counter wasmore than happy to provide an ample splash of simple syrup.