Like so many young women with a wide swath of romantic inclinations, I was quite certain that the first city in Europe I would experience would have to be Paris. And that Paris and I, we would get along very well.
And so we did.
You know how your memories of a place can color your experience of it? My memories were borrowed, but worked in the same way. I was full of other people’s moony love affairs with the city, what with those books about life on the Left Bank, all the movies, the Edith Piaf songs. I even wrote “Non, je ne regrette rien” on the cover of one of my high school text books, such a ready-for-zee-luscious-life little lass was I.
Suffice it to say that you tend to find what you’re looking for, and I found a city brimming with mystery, passion, beauty, and lots and lots of buttery sauces. I had a good time.
This Zesty Shrine features a coquettish dancer lifting her full, layered skirts in a saucy salute. And oh, those pink shoes, where did she find them? Mostly, though, I covet her chartreuse, emerald and flamingo pink head dress. I have embellished “Flirty Skirty” with found pink coral, sequins, a tiny rosebud, a flourish of unknown origins, and a remnant of vintage silk that I like to imagine was ripped from the hem of a show girl’s dress to make it just a smidge shorter.
