I am in Paris. The lighting is dim - always generous - and my hair smells like smoke.
Hotel Costes on Rue St. Honore lives in a state of permanent midnight. It is saturated in sweet scented candlelight, blaring mood music and deepshades of red. No matter when, it is forever sexy sexy midnight at the Costes. There's a pool in the basement lit by candlelight and the hotel has it's own chillout soundtrack for sale at global hotspots. My pal Bruce and I are in heaven there.
We are within walking distance of the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, Picasso museum and Pompidou, which has some sort of Scorsese retrospective. We've skipped them all and have been on a mad search for a store we heard about which sells nothing but Madonna-related products.
No trip to Paris is complete without a stop at Colette - a sort of fashion superstore with books/media/knickknacks on floor 0, it's own soundtrack for sale, and hyperdrive fashion upstairs, a la Jeffrey. Where better to be completely insulted and raped of Euros by anorexic homosexuals?! Je t'aime, Colette!
This week Colette is showcasing a full line of apparel from Comme des Garcons covered in the classic Rolling Stone lips icon pattern. Dresses, pants, shirts, and shoes range from hundreds to thousands of Euros.
I can't imagine anyone buying these (Gaudy? Awful) Commes des Garcons fashions but I'm the guy who laughed at those Ralph Lauren shirts with oversize Polos all summer.