Have you been keeping up with @dressingdaphne's insta-jealousy inducing Paris antics? She just spent her birthday among the glittering French fashionites. New York may never sleep but Paris never ages, which is why Daphne always is sure to be in Paris each year on her birthday. She greets the day with reckless abandon, throwing open her shutters like Belle in Beauty and the Beast to shout Bonjour to all in sight.
Always a natural at making female friends, Daphne has conquered even the most resistant of all companionship challenges and has befriended three Parisian female standard poodles. The poodles is an animal known for its lack of time or energy for cultivating other, less fluffy women. Notoriously unfriendly, looking condescendingly down their aquiline noses, and poised for dagger-like comments about other house pets, these three queens of fluff have taken Daphne under their wing and always make time for her when she's in Paris.
It has been said that Paris Fashion Week would be an empty shell of an occasion without Daphne. She's been attending shows, front row, since she was barely old enough to wear a Dolce & Gabbana onsie. (She rocked it, of course, wearing it with shoulder pads, it was the 80's after all). This year for #PFW day one, she chose to toss caution to the wind and wore a completely sheer dress. Feminine and demure in it's tailoring but flagrantly outlandish in fabric opacity. Just the right amount of black silk appliqués cover bits that ought not be uncovered when strolling down the Champs-Elysées.
Daphne and Doxie love any occasion to linger over a meal. In Paris, breakfast or, petit-déjeuner, is king. Déjeuner et dîner are often too immersed in a fog of oysters and absinthe to really count as meals here anyway as Daphne adheres to a strictly Hemingway-ian approach to life when visiting the city. They spend their mornings on the terrace of their flat savoring the croissants brought up by Martine, an elderly gentleman who has been bringing Daphne and her family morning croissant deliveries for as long as she can remember.
An unexpected highlight of this visit was spending rare and cherished quality time with dear friends Ben and Owen at Valentino. Those two are the only men that Doxie will allow to pick her up. She senses their positive energy and gladly curls up in their laps and eats from their plates when they catch up over dinner.
Much like the mystery of how Daphne's family came into possession of the head of Winged Victory of Samothrace, certain other art world rumors circle darkly in the ancient whispers of Daphne's ancestry. It is said that they may know the truth behind Mona Lisa's subtle smirk, which is why every trip to Paris is incomplete until Daphne has visited her to smile back, knowingly.
And of course, Paris for Daphne means a constant string of paparazzi trailing her, and catching glimpses of her and Doxie's outfits. Here they are after a visit to their milliner. Doxie sporting a traditional Parisian beret jauntily tilted to the side.
And later, they're spotted near La Tour Eiffel, Daphne in up-and-commer Rosie Assoulin's distinctive geometrically pieced gown and Doxie in a black Hermes collar, stepping out for diner.
Like any good fairy tale, Daphne's Paris trip comes to a happy end. Her Paris closet is bursting with new acquisitions, Doxie's hat collection has been rounded out nicely, it is time to move on. She and Doxie pop into Cafe de Flore one last time, for one last espresso and one ... or maybe two last croissants. And then, as evening slips like a lace negligee over the sparkling Tour, the two are up and away flying to an undisclosed location...
Each year, the Paris trip is ceremoniously ended with a week spent at Daphne's ashram. It is somewhere in India and is said to be lorded over by some of the worlds top yogis and transcendental meditation gurus.
Namaste, my friends, be well. Daphne will greet you back in NYC in no time...