- Fashion Blog
11:03 am

Lowest of the LOW

23/12/2005, Paris

Lowest of the LOW

Yesterday morning was insane. I’ve hit a new personal low and I forgot to bring my camera. What happened yesterday totally ruined my entire day.

After a night’s worth of clubbing with 2 French guys and a Dutch person, we all went to the Hotel Plaza Athenee to have our petit déjeuner – it was 8AM and we didn’t have any sleep whatsoever.

The breakfast was scrumptious, especially the pastries and the omelette. The service was excellent. The people at the cloak rooms were friendly (I wore my chinchilla). Heck, even our waiter was cute. In fact, I think I’ll stay at the Plaza Athenee the next time I go to Paris, just like Carrie Bradshaw. The hotel is absolutely beautiful.

Apres-breakfast, the boys and I quickly strolled Ave Montaigne and revel in the plush surroundings – all the designer boutiques were right in front of my eyes. Took a quick look at a couple of shops… decided not to buy anything. Not when these 3 guys are with me. Shopping is best done when you are alone.

Before having breakfast at Hotel Plaza Athenee, they promised me that they’ll take me back to my hotel, (which is in Le Marais 3rd arr.), via taxi, because I didn’t have cash with me at that time. I literally had 1 euro in my handbag… which is around US$1.20 and my visa card. I thought I don’t need to bring my ATM cards or other cards because it’s just one night out.

The horror started when we reached Champs-Elysees. They all wanted to stroll along Champs-Elysees. I wanted to go to my hotel and sleep… it was fuckin 10 in the morning; I’ve been awake since 2PM the other night.

Since they promised me they’ll drive me home, I gave hints on how I’m tired and exhausted, that it’s very late and I have to go etc. I hope that would prompt them to stick to their promise, but now, one of them wanted to browse the Virgin Megastore.

I told myself "fuck it". I told them I’m going home. By metro or by slow boat, it doesn’t matter. Thank god I have my 1-week metro pass. I don’t care to take the metro, even if I reek of smoke and alcohol, looking like a prostitute. I would’ve taken a cab, like I always do, if I had more money in my pocket or if the cab takes cards.

Sadly, it’s rare for a cab to take credit cards in Paris… a taxi with a credit card terminal is probably nonexistent, unlike in the Scandinavian countries where taxis are ultra modern, complete with GPS guides, credit card terminals, push-button screens and more.

So off I went to the metro from Champs-Elysees. I was supposed to change train at Hotel De Ville but there was some incident at Chatelet station so they closed it down. Somebody apparently got killed in the tracks or wotsit.

I went on a different metro line and ended up at Arts et Metiers station.

Believe it or not, I got LOST and walked around the area for 3 WHOLE hours. I literally couldn’t find my hotel’s street. I didn’t have a map with me – I felt soo stupid for not bringing it.


To top things off, some vicious and street tramp teenage-looking ethnic girl and her boyfriend (presumably animal rights protesters) pulled my Chinchila jacket, causing a HUGE rip at the back.

I would’ve reported that incident to the police but I really could not be bothered.

So there I was, in the middle of Paris, freezing my ass wearing nothing but jeans, a striped red t-shirt and a pearl necklace on.

To top things off, I somehow ended up on this street where there’s a ton of sex shops selling sex toys, costumes and "live peep show" girls.

I went into one of those sex shops selling sex toys, with tears on my eyes, asking for help with directions. This scruffy-looking guy, a tout for the sex shop I assume, must be in his 40s, who had that dirty "I’ll give you a good fucking" look in his eyes, tried to help me with directions, in spite the fact that he doesn’t speak English. At all.

This is what his handwriting looks like. Mind you, the directions were wrong.


There were also 2 strippers who were in the sex shop, trying to look around whether there’s a sweater for me. There was this fake leather bondage and discipline-like coat but I told them no thanks, I’ll pass.

I went out of the sex shop, walked for about 30 more minutes and found a cheap store that sells 2nd hand clothes and I bought a knee-length, olive-green, "army" coat for like 30 euros.

To cut the story short, I looked from one bus stop to another (map) and finally found a route to go back to the hotel… at 2PM!!!!!!!!! Full blown blisters on my feet and all.

It was literally the worst day ever. It ruined my evening yesterday. Not even my gorgeous hotel room, designed by Christian Lacroix, can remove the repugnant stench of yesterday’s event off my head.



Breakfast at Hotel Costes

I thought I’d share some pictures from last Tuesday. Keep in mind they were taken at around 9AM at Hotel Costes. My eyes are red from the booze and I’ve gained weight.




More updates soon.


4:28 am

When Your Hair Fails You…

21/12/2005, Paris

When Your Hair Fails You…

My hair had grown sooo long I don’t even know how to fix it. Every day is a bad hair day here in Paris… it’s alright, the couture is more important than my coiffure. I don’t give a flying french franc euro even if I look like a school teacher gone wild.












Ensemble: coat by Zara, cashmere turtleneck and boots by Yves Saint Laurent, cashmere cardigan by Marni, watch, bag and belts by Chanel, eyeglasses by Alain Mikli, gloves by Hermes.

I know you’re all excited with my loot. I’ll post them when I have the time. Soon. Goyard. Vuitton. Chanel. The most fabulous jeweled bag from Charles Jourdan. Sephora. Longchamp. Colette.

Time is precious, time is valuable. I’m in the most beautiful city in the world and I’m not gonna waste any precious second of it.

I love you all and I miss you.


3:21 am

Vive à Paris!

18/12/2005, Paris

Vive à Paris!

Paris, is no doubt, the most beautiful city in the world.

Fuck it though; the most important thing is the fact that looking at some of today’s pictures, I realized that I actually have a jawline!!!!! Seriously. For years, I’ve always thought I have a double chin and a nonexistent jawline.

Even my gal pal asked me whether or not I had an operation done.

What fuckin operation? Has it occured to her that there’s actually healing time involved when it comes cosmetic (surgical) procedures?


Enjoy these pictures as much as I did.



(Yes, I had to do the metro, even once, despite wearing my Lagerfeld Gallery fox)

(It’s always great to have one of your gal pals with you.)


Highlight of the Day: Effortless Entrance at Vuitton

I really wasn’t planning to go to Louis Vuitton because I like to delude myself into thinking I’ve matured and switch to Goyard. But since we’re on Champs-Elysees anyway, we just had to go inside the mamoth building that is responsible for fucking up everyone’s finances.

As we walked near the store, we noticed about 500 people waiting in line just to get in. No, there wasn’t any event – it was just a regular LV shopping day. I think they let people in batches of 4 or 5.

I told Tina, I ain’t joining THAT queue. I’m gonna go straight to the door.

So I did.

I asked the doorman politely… "bonsoir. are you still open?"

Doorman shot me back a scary face… then smiled… "for you, yes. come in!"

And off inside the store I went.

No queues. No hassles.

Tina on the other hand, ended up outside – I was almost done by the time she got in.

BTW, I know most of you go here to read what I have to say (and not look at pictures and just… well… pictures) – I know it’s been one huge pictionary event in the past month.

I have to admit I’m a bit exhausted of travelling. All I want to do is come back home.


More updates later as always.


1:36 pm

Magical!, Beat That, Oprah!

17/12/2005, Paris


Paris never ceases to amaze me.

The architechture, the intricate details of each and every little (and large) thing constructed in this city, the lights and sounds of Champs-Elysees, the boutiques along (and off) Rue St. Honore, the glamour of Place Vendome… I’m trying to digest and absorb as much as I want but this city is just pure sensory overload!

If Paris is sensory overload to me, then I must be sensory overload to them.

I’m telling you…. I walked for about 4-5 hours and no less than a hundred of Parisian boys (and men) from all walks of life whether rich, poor, groomed, business-man suited or public works (one of them is a garbage truck driver and another one was a delivery person) waved, hissed, smiled, winked, "blown a kiss", whistled, stopped, looked, said "hi!" and screamed "where are you from?". I’m sure it’s this exotic piece of brown ass that they want to fuck.

Let them eat cake!

Boulangerie et Patisserie rather.






Beat That, Oprah!

I saw this teeny, tiny, unknown-to-most-folks, shop while strolling around along Rue St. Honore.


Most of the other shops were closed because it was rather late.

I stopped to look at the windows and saw there was 1 guy (presumably store manager/sales staff). I opened the door and being the gentleman, he let me in.

I told him I’m looking for x bag in x color. He brought it, I didn’t like it and asked for another color.

After a minute or two, I said, "I’ll take it". We chatted where I get my Goyard, I said Harvey Nicks HK.

I asked him, "what time do you usually close? I’d love to come back tomorrow."

Then he said "Normally at 7, but you’re special so I’ll open the door for you."

Tina asked the gorgeous man as to what time it was… the guy said it’s 8:20PM


I giggled like a school girl and whispered to my gal pal Tina

"Beat That, Oprah!"

Meet my latest acquisition.


It’s 6:35AM here in Paris. I’m going back to bed.