Traipsing Through the Streets of Paris

by: Bryn Caralto

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My summer plans this year are potentially the best summer plans I have ever had. I’m goin’ to Ireland! And England! Oh, and Paris! Yep, I’m going on the Senior Trip and I couldn’t be more prepared for takeoff. I have been preparing for this trip for two years and it is so close, I can smell the potatoes and croissants already. I am having a hard time understanding the “One carry-on suitcase” rule because I have a vision of how I want to dress on this trip. I HAVE to live up to the photos I have pinned on my many Pinterest boards. I’m talkin hats, dresses, and cute vintage neck scarves. I want to look like the 99.4% European that my 23andMe says I am! 51% of everything I do is because of the outfit. I have no shame in that. The way you present yourself to the world is important, not shallow. I see my style as an opportunity to brand myself as the best version of myself possible. I take pride in dressing with intent. No matter what, I will find a way to make those seventeen days individually different and stylistically unique. There simply is no other way. If I have to physically layer days worth of outfits on my person to the airport, you bet I will do it.

I have a dream. A dream that plays through my head every so often of me walking down a cobblestone street in Paris, heels, a twirly dress, a wide brim hat, and a beautiful shade of red lipstick. I have a small bag containing a book, sunglasses,, and a hand held fan. I approach my favorite coffee shop with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, and I sit there, sip my coffee, and take in the beauty of my surroundings. Then all of the sudden I am approached by a dog: no collar. I look around for the owner but see no one in sight. Then I look up and see a sight that brings every butterfly that ever existed to my stomach. A dark haired, pale eyed, rosy lipped French boy: the owner. He thanks me for keeping an eye on his runaway dog nd graciously invites me to dinner. There is a breif intermission and I run to home to my Parisjan loft to change into a vintage black dress with white polka dots and black bow sash. I walk back to the coffee shop to see him waiting there with a single rose. And the rest is history. I know this may be idealistic to consider this dream a possibility, but what can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic. I intend to live up to my dream this summer, outfit and all.

Abby Lisk