Well, I am officially finished with the sales in Paris, even if Paris isn't yet through. I have found my share of beautiful clothing and beautiful underclothing, and have spent the weekend parading my newfound embellishment much to the pleasure of my amused significant other. Of course, it doesn't actually mean anything, but making myself up, wrapping myself in swaths of soft, delicious fabric has its pleasures. The game is always on.
Sunday, I decided to explore a clothes market, near Arts et Métiers. What a sorry sight awaited me. This ws the anti-sales area. Only 3 vendors surveyed their racks of grandmotherly coats, polyester pants, and leather jackets. This was their daily market, and it was dying. The interior space was vast, and lines for tennis courts traced the floor under their feet. There was emptiness, so contrary to the market culture that France has long valued. I know there are other clothing markets elsewhere, but this one touched me. It was like seeing an elderly relative breathe her last.
Nothing to do with the food market near Nation. Because it was the marché guadeloupien, the air was filled with the scent of exotic spices, bright colors, new flavors, and foreign tongues. There was life, movement, and purpose. Perhaps change is a good thing, even if it is sometimes difficult to accept. Out with the old, in with the new. People don't want to go to Arts et Métiers for their clothing anymore, why bother when the Galéries Lafayettes are just a stone's throw away? And why do your grocery shopping in a stuffy, cramped supermarket, when the outdoor market offers more freshness than you could ever find in a box?
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