A date with Zadig et Voltaire

Posted by Isabel Dexter at 15:06 on 18 Nov 2009

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A few weeks ago - in between the inevitable shopping for shoulder pads and fending off invites to The Social Club (even with my fake age, I am ten years older than everyone in there. There are certain shades of neon lighting that can wreck a girl's complexion) - I was asked to join a bloggers morning of styling and shopping at Zadig & Voltaire. If Z & V was English it'd be Kate Moss: All disheveled hair, studded ankle boots, well-worn skinny grey jeans and grunge-luxe sequin blazer with plenty of dirty little secrets and surprisingly perfect skin. The French equivalent? I adore Lou Doillon but apparently half the Parisians can't stand her (the female half, peut être?) And those gorgeous girls that go by the name The Plasticines are giving her a run for the euros (or at least a sort of sauntering skip) at the moment with their own take on rock n roll glamour. Very Zadig.

I arrived to find fellow bloggeuses Miss Pandora and Kenza posing and preening in a I-just-threw-this-on-but-am-naturally-stylish-and-gorgeous fashion. Now people, I can do that, but it takes several hours of careful preparation plus a large glass of Berroca.  What is it with French girls and being effortlessly chic? Plus I swear this entire nation is ridiculously photogenic, even walking down Vieille-du-Temple  temple is like hanging out backstage at the shows. In between cooing over the luscious leather ankle boots ('Phoenix' are half cow girl half guitarist in achingly cool indie band. They're like Coachella for feet), slouchy blazers and cashmere cotton knits I made a mental note to have half French children. Hopefully my Derbyshire genes (thick in the arm and thick in the 'ead) will be edged aside and it'll be all modern day Sound of Music, dressed in matching Zadig & Voltaire sweaters. But less blonde. And perhaps less musical. Can you imagine all that 'doe a deer' malarky when trying to eat your morning pain au chocolat? Je ne pense pas.

Amidst much swapping of felt hats, rolling up and down of sleeves on a very covetable black blazer and swapping sequins for leather for denim for knit leggings  ex-The Libertines' Carl Barat and Adam Green dropped by for a little shopping.  Cue a frenzy of photo taking  and mutual compliments from Miss Pandora, Kenza and the boys.  Like the time my Gran missed seeing Princess Diana when she made a flying visit to Ilkeston in the early Eighties, because she had 'popped to the loo', I completely bypassed the entire Carl & Adam show due to being in the fitting rooms in my underwear.

Zadig's Fabien tried to drag me out for a close up but well, C & A aren't French are they? I am saving myself - and my Princesse Tam Tam -  for l'homme de ma vie ('man of my life'). Try not to laugh, people. I don't blame you, I've always thrown out such a jazzy line,  but actually as far as non-Rat romances go... well you shouldn't believe everything you read about English girls. Some of us know how to keep secrets.

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