Lilies, luck and labour

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Muguet vendors at the place d’Alesia, on 1 May 1950, by IZIZ (Israëlis Bidermanas), courtesy Paris d’antan; the place d’Alesia was then known as Victor Basch

Le premier mai is La Fête du Travail, a national holiday held in honour of work. Its symbol is le brin de muguet – a clutch of lilies-of-the-valley. Almost overnight, these spring up all over Paris. The gift of a brin serves as a porte-bonheur or good luck charm. So, starting the day before, you see people going home with the flower tucked in their pockets and purses. Stores such as florists and supermarkets offer a selection: a single sprig, three sprigs, brins in a pot.

Virtual muguet à la ancienne

Virtual muguet à la ancienne

Vendors also spring up on corners and near public transport. The reason being that, on 1 May, anyone can sell the flower. Your goods can be from your own garden or be picked in a (legally) public place. Their price and presentation are up to you. The only rule? Sellers are supposed to stay 40 metres away from any florist.

Parisians like the custom. A survey taken the night before found that a majority had budgeted between five to thirty euros for the morning. This was so they could bestow brins on friends and family. Said one, “It’s little gestures such as these that make us French.” Coming home late that night, so many people carried muguets the streets themselves were scented.

Notre Dame du Travail, pic: Steve Sampson

Notre Dame du Travail, pic: Steve Sampson

La Fête du Travail reminds me of my favourite church: Notre Dame du Travail, Our Lady of Work. This fine example of socially-conscious Catholicism dates back to 1899. It embodies the vision of an activist abbé called Soulage-Boudin. Much of his parish was employed in building the Universal Exposition, whose construction provided brand-new jobs. The abbé wanted a church that would represent this flock.

That’s just what its architect gave him. Jules Godefrey Astruc was an admirer of Eiffel’s emerging tower. He had also studied under the man who built the d’Orsay train station (now, of course, the Musée d’Orsay). Astruc managed to come by some massive arches, which had once held up the “Palace of Industry”. That 1855 relic was being demolished, to make way for the Grand Palais.

Notre Dame du Travail, pic: Steve Sampson

Notre Dame du Travail, pic: Steve Sampson

Astruc’s finished church is an impressive, downhome version of the Eiffel aesthetic. It also includes murals to the saints behind various labours: metalworking, silversmithing, market gardening, etc. The new People’s Pope is also present in spirit – thanks to one mural’s depiction of St. Francis as a sponsor of poetry and ecology.

Notre Dame du Travail held no special service on May Day. Nevertheless, it’s a great place to give thanks for employment. Unlike so many churches whose stone makes them chilly and bare, this one remains a reflection of its founder. Said Soulage-Boudin, “The workers remind our church of its mission. But the church must make itself familiar to them. They must feel at home and surrounded by their regular milieu, encircled by the iron and wood their hands transform each day.”

Belated happy May Day; now, go forth and join a union! *

3 * Suggestions? The National Union of Journalists!

Boris Vian in Africa

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Chick and Alise in the wedding scene of Michel Gondry's film

Chick and Alise in the wedding scene of Michel Gondry’s film

The novel L’écume des jours * is a much-loved French romance, so posters for Michel Gondry’s film of it are all over Paris. A sugary trailer hints that the film is even more fantastic than the novel – which helped make author Boris Vian a French household name. Vian, then 27 and a jazz fanatic, created a cocktail of absurdity, puns and poetry all his own. This reflected what his characters were feeling. But Vian was also writing in 1946 so, unsurprisngly, his themes were not cheerful. Soon after they meet, his lovers’ world disintegrates.

The film turns all of this into a joyride of “Hollywood” emotions – a full-on, star-studded, big-league action romance. Gondry’s special effects don’t leave your imagination room (or air) to breathe. Everything is loud, unsubtle and, up to the very end, non-stop.

Laughter, Horro and Death poster (detail); pic, Musée du quai branly

Laughter, Horror and Death poster (detail); pic, Musée du quai branly

However I went to it right after seeing the Musée du quai branly’s Laughter, Horror and Death (Le Rire, L’Horreur et La Mort).** This is a tiny and lurid exhibit about a handful of African “Z films”. Those were the staples of Ghanian video clubs in the Eighties – and they feature demon cats, businessmen who become serpents, bossy sacred trees and breasts that grow in the dark. The heart of the show is a handful of posters  created in cheap paints on old flour sacks.

Laughter, Horror and Death poster (detail) Musée du quai branly

Laughter, Horror and Death poster (detail); pic, Musée du quai branly

Of course, these video clubs also imported Hollywood horror, which is what most of the posters depict. But the real – and most popular – Z movies were African. First they came from Nollywood, i.e. they were made in Nigeria. Later, Ghana also briefly had her own Ghollywood. Z films were the work of would-be auteurs or film collectives. Besides imagination, none of the makers had any resources.

Laughter, Horror and Death video club (Ghana) Musée du quai branly

Laughter, Horror and Death video club (Ghana); pic, Musée du quai branly

As displayed in a very short montage, the result is a Africanised boulevard theatre. Its horrors may be simple. But they’re mostly so surreal they manage to have you gasping AND laughing at once. On the tiny screen, basic things hold hidden terrors – protagonists are menaced while they sleep, walk, eat or pray. People are vaporised, altars pop up out of nowhere and a loquacious talking devil kills with words alone.

Laughter, Horror and Death (detail of poster from which film clip is shown), pic: Musée du quai Branly

Laughter, Horror and Death (detail of poster from which film clip is shown)

It’s all just a few pieces stuck away in mezzanine and their presentation in the museum seems like an afterthought. The local films and their world only appear in the clips, in a few documentary photos and one audio track you enter a booth to hear. It’s like seeing something out of the corner of your eye.

Yet it has a crazily touching poetry all its own – one that would certainly appeal to Boris Vian.

Laughter, Horror and Death photo of video club (Ghana) Musée du quai branly

Laughter, Horror and Death photo of video club (Ghana); pic, Musée du quai branly

* Even the title is difficult to translate. The word écume means ”foam”, sometimes implying “dirty foam” since, as a verb, écumer means “to skim”. It seems the most respected translation settled for Froth on the Daydream.

** A title which would also work for L’écume des jours

Laughter, Horror and Death photo of video club (Ghana) Musée du quai branly

Laughter, Horror and Death photo of video club (Ghana) Musée du quai branly

What talent looks like

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Graphic designer Fifi Mandirac; pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Graphic designer Fifi Mandirac;  pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

It’s hard to count the reasons why I love Fifi Mandirac’s work. While she’s a graphiste of great sophistication, she is equally interested in the work of others. Her many gifts include generosity and discretion. Fifi started her freelance life making distinctive papers and les faire-parts (announcements of births and weddings). Yet she has since turned her skills to many things: home décor, children’s clothing, “boxes for treasures” and an art event, le Super Market. All her communications come with good manners and a smile.

Fifi also often gives designs away as downloads. For several years, at Christmas, she created a free “advent calendar” in daily installments. In a world where blogs fetishise every possible holiday just to merchandise meaningless “crafts” (or pimp out their kids for page views), Fifi does something simple.

She shares her work and some things that inspire her.

“Wallpaper” and poster by Fifi Mandirac;  pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Now her lovely DIY book Cartes has been reprinted. In celebration, here is her portrait by the equally talented Claire Curt , who did its photos.

• Fifi runs her own online store and if you follow her blog, les Surprises, it will make you happier. She’s just re-designed it, so treat yourself!

Stationery by Fifi Mandirac; pic; Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Stationery by Fifi Mandirac; pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Paper flowers by Fifi Mandirac; pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Paper flowers by Fifi Mandirac;  pic: Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Poster by Fifi Mandirac; pic; Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Poster by Fifi Mandirac; pic; Fifi Mandirac, all rights reserved

Zlatan versus Beckham

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BildBryan’s view of Zlatan, aka Ibracadabra

The French get a serious charge out of adopting verbs. A talented actor might be Césaré * for a really great portrayal. A different thespian, plagued by scandal, will find himself mediatisé. But my favourite term yet has to be zlataner. Promoted by football fans rather than the Academie Française, zlataner entered Parisian life along with Swedish football ace Zlatan Ibrahimović who, in mid-summer, joined the team at Paris Saint-Germain.

The 6-foot 5-inch star is a mass of extreme tattoos riding on an even more extraordinary talent. He appears in the French press as regularly as the weather. Zlatan’s only real competitor in this realm is Johnny Hallyday, whose most recent scoop was announcing he will transmit his 70th birthday live – in concert.

As a verb, zlataner means to dominate or overwhelm. It was introduced by les Guignols, the satirical marionettes French television created in homage to Britain’s Spitting Image. Zlataner rapidly made the jump into schools, offices, sportscasts, public transport and the press. Pretty soon, of course, people wanted it in the actual dictionary. But Larousse and Le Petit Robert have resisted. “We decided it might vanish as fast as it appeared,” said Alain Rey, the god-like and immensely popular “king” of French dictionaries.

At Christmas, however, zlataner was accepted by the Council of the Swedish language for Swedish dicos. (Zlatanera: jag zlatanerar, du zlatanerar, Zlatan zlatanerar, etc.). A huge furore ensued because – after all – the expression had been invented in France!

Zlatan himself just seems to go from strength to strength with Parisians. The French translation of his best-selling autobiography, Moi Zlatan, came out a few weeks back. His tough teenage years became an immediate talking point. The book is still everywhere – in stands throughout BHV, next to the FNAC cash register and for sale in trendy clothing boutiques. Madame Zlatan, a soignée blonde eleven years older than her partner, is much appreciated in the fashion pages. There’s even approval for Zlatan’s hair, whether worn in a ponytail or his signature casual chignon.

David Beckham, Guignolisé

Now it seems Ibra himself has been zlatané – and by no less than fellow player David Beckham. The Spice Boy circus came to town in January. Not long after, PSG commenced a marketing makeover. Its billionaire Qatari owner has now remade even their logo. (He dropped its representation of Louis XIV’s cradle – which was of course the symbol for “Saint-Germain”).

According to Parisians, PSG has been beckhamisé. This new term means “to be drenched in the limelight” or “to have joined the bling-bling society”. Nor are Zlatan and his team the only ones to suffer. When hapless Thierry Henry signed with Canada Dry as a spokesman, he was excoriated by the media back at home. Wrote one commentator: “Since he reached the United States, Henry has appeared non-stop on talk shows, for ads and in nightclubs. He has made himself into an exotic product…he has been definitively beckhamisé“.

Zlatan in the unwelcome clinch

Beckham – aka le beau gosse, l’icone and Le Brand – is indeed a limelight-grabber. Since this was saluted by the creation of a Beckham puppet on les Guignols, it is frequently noted that he has been Guignolisé. After the first PSG goal of le clasico, the Paris team’s annual grudge match with Olympique Marseille, the English striker leapt into Zlatan’s arms and kissed him. But, as the Swede later stressed, it was not Beckham who had scored – it was Zlatan. When the match ended in a 2-0 PSG victory, Ibra turned away from Beckham and handed his jersey to a visiting Ronaldo.

Ex-World Champion Ronaldo, at least, was clearly zlatané.

* Receive the César, the French national film award

Chocolate forestry, digital Jesus

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Church in the window of the Polish bookstore, pic: Steve Sampson

We are in the grip of les fêtes, those holidays which run from early December until early February – seemingly all the way to St. Valentine’s. Noël is followed by la Saint-Sylvestre (New Year’s), which is then succeeded by Epiphanie (our “Twelfth Night”) and la Chandeleur. Each brings its own distinct set of foods and rituals. Like those six-course meals served on Christmas and New Year’s eves, this calendar takes you through a Rolodex of treats: hot wine and roasted chestnuts give way to foie gras and oysters, then come les galettes des rois and, finally, les crèpes.

Student bookstore Gibert Jeune during Noël, pic: Cynthia Rose

Although Noël is reserved exclusively for family (New Year’s Eve is the celebration to share with friends), there aren’t many articles about “seasonal stress”. Even with extra effort required in every department, the string of festivities seems to lift everyone’s mood.

Ice rink at the Grand Palais, pic: Mairie de Paris

Perhaps it’s because les fêtes bring plenty of public treats. This year, for instance, there is ice-skating inside the Grand Palais. But, then, every monument tries to measure up. The vast Madeleine church – a monument to Napoleon’s army – hired stylist Gaëtan Duthu, 28, to design them a “modern nativity”. The result is Reseau Celeste, an all-white digital crèche in which Joseph and Mary attend the baby Jesus in front of a screen. (At midnight on Christmas Eve, it revealed an actual newborn).

Digital nativity at the Madeleine church, pic: Steve Sampson

Crèche, l'Eglise de la Madeleine, pic: Steve Sampson

Duthu’s crèche has been seen by around 100,000 visitors. But my favourite nativity is the one at Eglise Saint-Roch – a battleground site of the French Revolution, which has become the church of actors and artists. The sculpture is a very famous and beautiful one by Michel Anguier (interior decorator to the mother of Louis XIV). Mary, Joseph and Jesus pose beneath the divine glory – giant Rococo rays and cherubs – by Etienne-Maurice Falconet. Falconet’s great fan was Madame de Pompadour, who put him in charge at the Royal porcelain factory of Sèvres. Until, that is, Catherine the Great hired him away.

Nativity at l'église Sant-Roch, pic: Steve Sampson

None of these tony reputations hinders the gaudy Christmas impulse. Last year, Saint-Roch showed off its holy family with a two-story river of gold lamé. This year, it’s a forest of arty silver branches hung with tinsel twinklers. It may not quite put the litter in glitter, but it’s a pretty cool blend of high and low.

Nativity at l'église Sant-Roch, pic: Steve Sampson

So, in a different way, is that seasonal sculpture la bûche. A bûche, the mandatory dessert at la reveillon de Noël, is supposed to look like a chocolate version of a Yule log. But, for weeks, we’ve gaped at windows filled with “designer bûches” – exotic concoctions you have to order in advance. (Newspapers love reporting how Parisians bring these home, only to be bested by a humbler family-made counterpart).

Designer bûche from Pierre Hermé, pic: Pierre Hermé

On Christmas Eve, our local bakery needed an outside tent the whole length of its premises just for clients coming to collect their bûches. From 6.45 am to 8 pm, the bûche biz caused traffic jams. Were people understanding? Well, pretty much. After all, it was a vital part of les joyeuses fêtes.

Christmas Eve at the bakery, pic: Steve Sampson

Christmas Eve at the bakery, pic: Steve Sampson

• There are a lot of great films about les fêtes, but one of the best is La Bûche, by Danièle Thompson. It doesn’t explain the customs it shows (like the pervasive fear of ending up with thirteen at table). But there’s no better guide to the season’s triumphs over family dysfunctions.

Sabine Azéma and Christopher Thompson, La Büche, 1999

• Best place to find delicious crèpes for la Chandeleur? For us, our pals City Crèpes at 73 rue de Seine 75006; if you’re in Seattle, head for Rony Brown’s Crèpe de Paris in the Pike Place Market.

Une saison de paix à Paris

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Vitrine de Noël, jeweller, rue de Tournon, pic: Steve Sampson

It is now the season of peace, goodwill – and window-dressing.  Whatever the size of their establishment, everyone’s gussied up their place. This includes even our lovely dry cleaners, who are being evicted at the end of this week! Some of the homemade windows (vitrines artisanales?) are every bit as inventive as fancier offerings.

Vitrine de Noël, Tobacco store, Blvd St Germain, pic: Cynthia Rose

Speaking of peace, too, many people here are quite proud of the EU’s Nobel Peace Prize. You may think they aren’t impressed – or that, in light of la crise, they view it as some kind of joke. Certainly these are themes which the press, the anglophone media and numerous blogs have beaten to death.

Balcony, EU Commission Paris, pic: Mairie de Paris

Yet, in a city that has suffered three major wars,* avoiding any further ones is taken seriously. As the Nobel presenters noted, just enumerating problems also misses the point. After all, the continent’s newest generations live their lives as ‘Europeans’. In Paris, you meet kids from everywhere (Greece, Spain, Poland, the Balkans), most of whom are very vocal about improving things. They are also more multi-lingual, more well-travelled and more connected than any earlier generation.

That’s partly the hope of Europa, la vraie auberge espagnole.

Tour Eiffel, day France took her turn as EU leader, pic: Mairie de Paris

* The War of 1870 plus World Wars I and II

The feudal past, now just a faery tale? pic: Steve Sampson

• “We are not gathered here today in the belief that the EU is perfect.  We are gathered in the belief that here in Europe we must solve our problems together. For that purpose we need institutions that can enter into the necessary compromises. We need institutions to ensure that both nation-states and individuals exercise self-control and moderation. In a world of so many dangers, compromise, self-control and moderation are the principal needs of the 21st century.

Eighty million people had to pay the price for the exercise of extremism.

Together we must ensure that we do not lose what we have built on the ruins of the two world wars.

What this continent has achieved is truly fantastic, from being a continent of war to becoming a continent of peace. In this process the European Union has figured most prominently. It therefore deserves the Nobel Peace Prize.” (excerpt, 2012 Nobel Peace Prize presentation)

• Full text of presentation speech

The strange case of Miss Satin

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La Dernière Mode, pic: Christian Poulot, www.lemodealogue.fr

This year’s blockbuster show is the Musée d’Orsay’s Impressionism and Fashion. It mixes Impressionist paintings with outfits from that era, and decorates the walls with praise for the elegance of les Parisiennes. One of these quotes is credited to a “Miss Satin”.

"Impressionism and Fashion", pic: Musée d'Orsay

That name, so perfect for a burlesque queen, somehow doesn’t sound like it came from the 1870s. It isn’t given as “Mademoiselle Satin”, either. After it, in parentheses, appears the name “Stéphane Mallarmé“. This was the famous poet – whose day job happened to be teaching teenagers English.

"Impressionism and Fashion", pic: Musée d'Orsay

That quote proved a teaser for one of fashion’s weirdest stories. “Miss Satin”, I discovered, contributed to an 1874 journal called La Dernière Mode.* This paper dedicated itself to popular subjects: fashion, fashion news, theatre listings and book reviews. However, it also ran recipes for chicken gumbo and gave DIY instructions for “decorative” false ceilings. Its diktats and reports came from numerous sources. In addition to Miss Satin and the editor Marasquin, there were Marguerite de Ponty, a cranky theatre junkie called “Ix”, interiors guru Marliani and the food critic, who was a chef at Chez Brébant.**

"Impressionism and Fashion", pic: Musée d'Orsay

La Dernière Mode ran for only eight issues and I’ve read them all with delight. They often made me laugh out loud, but they also made my jaw drop. Even today, this is great fashion writing – and a great parody of it. Each contributor has his or her own special way in which to mock, flack and extol.

But what is so riveting about this dusty publication, one whose print run never even topped 3,000? Well, the whole thing was actually written, designed and edited by Mallarmé alone. This fact, which perplexed his friends at the time, has driven all kinds of experts bonkers ever since. Theories and critiques abound – but no one has actually solved the riddle that is Miss Satin.**

The real Miss Satin

Was it all an art project? A vast conceptual poem? Or just a wicked vendetta against materialism? The short answer is: absolutely no-one can say! To its reader, however, one thing is clear – when it comes to fashion, Mallarmé knows his onions. The Musée d’Orsay expo is unique in revealing the actual colours and textures Impressionist painters saw. But because we no longer have those colours or fabrics, critics have lacked a certain purchase on the movement.

Enter Madame de Ponty. Her lavish descriptions of fashion may be double-edged but they have an almost insane precision and vividness. Her portrait of the Impressionist painter’s target is…unparalleled.

La Dernière Mode, pic: Christian Poulot, www.lemodealogue.fr

It’s easier, in fact, to tear oneself away from the paintings than it is to stop reading La Dernière Mode. Whether with regard to this week’s Vogue or craft-crazed blog, this strange journal still offers peerless parody. Was it really written 138 years ago? In the form of its original copies, the Musée d’Orsay has proof.

Yet Madame de Ponty and Miss Satin remain timeless – now as then, both promoters and subverters of le high life.

Gustave Caillebotte, "Famme à sa toilette, 1873", 1878

• Bits of La Dernière Mode are scattered all over the Internet. But there is a full English translation of it as Mallarmé on Fashion, by (and annotated by) P.N. Furbank and A.M. Cain. It is easy to order from the publisher, Berg.

* Even on the masthead, no one is really what they seem. Madame de Ponty eventually reveals that Miss Satin is not “an English correspondent” but a “Parisian lady” using an English pen name. Similarly, Marliani is not just “an upholsterer”. He turns out to also be “Chief gardener for the city of Paris”.

** Chez Brébant (still open as as Le Brébant at 32, Boulevard Poissonnière) was famous for feeding literary celebrities during the 1870 siege of Paris. When the city was starving, chef Paul Brébant supposedly fed his guests animals from the zoo in the Jardin des Plantes.

Shoplifting and window licking

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Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

Le Bon Marché has now unveiled its Christmas windows, with scenes set among snowy Paris streets and rooftops. The stylised photos they use are stunning and sort of evoke Bohemian attics. But equal time has been awarded to landmarks.

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

The Eiffel Tower and the Musée d’Orsay fly apart, to reveal marching toys and flocks of Christmas doves. Of course, the Bon itself is a landmark – and one that helped shape the neighborhood around it. The massive Hôtel Lutetia was built for tourists coming to shop there and exotic La Pagode – currently a cinema – was created by the store’s manager. The Bon also popularised the French term for window-shopping, which remains faire du lèche-vitrine (“do some window-licking”).

Le Bon Marché in its Noël windows, pic: Steve Sampson

This year’s Noël windows include the novel inspired by the store. This is Emile Zola’s 1882 Au Bonheur des Dames, published in English as The Ladies’ Paradise. Zola saw department stores as the epitome of his era – which was one of frenetic acquisition. His book describes the growth of a fictional Bon, whose manager is focused on “the conquest of women”.

Zola in the Bon Marché windows at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

To him, fashion is all seduction and deception. But shopping transforms the novel’s female characters, turning them into shopaholics and kleptomaniacs.*

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

Actually, the great entertainment craze of the era was theatre. But, as Zola himself discovered, the rage was not for highbrow works.** What Parisians of his day loved were called pièces à femmes – dramas where ballets and costumes outshone the plots. Just as popular were féeries, or full-on spectacles. Féeries existed, wrote critic Alphonse Daudet, to reward naïveté with “a spectacle for the eyes”.

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

A hundred and sixty years later, these windows are proving his case. Their mesmerising décor grabs the busiest passer-by.

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

* From its very birth in 1882, the department store had serious problems with theft. Fascinated Parisian psychiatrists viewed this clinically; they soon dubbed it la nèvrose des grands bazaars.

** Paris was home to 41 “regular” theatres plus 70 other venues. Yet Zola’s 1874 play Les Héritiers Rabourdin proved a notorious flop.

Bon Marché at Noël, pic: Steve Sampson

• The Bon’s 160th anniversary has produced over 300 special products on sale in the store. A great documentary (Au Bonheur des Dames: The Invention of the Department Store) was also made, by the French-German TV channel ARTE.

Dior and the super-dolls

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Dior at Printemps (left, John Galliano 2010), pic: Steve Sampson

In Paris, fantasy windows at big stores are a Christmas delight. While the rest of the world uses wireless animatronics, Noël puppets here are real marionettes. To orchestrate their mechanised strings, all the prestige stores rely on one puppeteer: Jean-Claude Dehix.

Dior at Printemps, pic: Steve Sampson

Dehix did his first Christmas windows thirty-nine years ago. They were for Printemps who, this year, have vitrines by Dior. By mixing couture classics with later robes by John Galliano, the maison uses them to focus on its heritage. Their poupées are shown amusing themselves in a snowy Paris: skating and waltzing and lifting off in balloons. This combination of charming scenery and retro costumes recalls the long-forgotten Théâtre de la Mode. That combination of dolls, couture and Paris made a special tour of the world after World War II. It was le Théâtre‘s tiny poupées who saved the French couture industry.

Dior at Printemps, pic: Steve Sampson

After its liberation in 1944, Paris was beset by shortages and hardships. Although there was nothing with which to make dresses, the haute couture houses remained determined to make a comeback. Working together, its maisons created 233 small ambassadors, beautifully-dressed dolls posed in Parisian scenes. The city’s best designers, milliners, artisans and artists volunteered to produce miniature sets and mannequins. These finished dolls were sent on the road, where their flair convinced the world that Paris remained serious fashion’s centre.

Those poupées were dressed by the great names of pre-War fashion, including Grès, Lanvin, Carven, Balenciaga and Nina Ricci. One of the project’s prime movers was Lucien Lelong. At his house, the design itself was handled by two men: Pierre Balmain and Christian Dior.

Théâtre de la Mode doll, Dior for Lelong, pic: copyright David Seidner (link below)

After its success, the Théâtre de la Mode was abandoned in America. When a professor studying Dior chanced to discover them, he launched a campaign for their restoration. Over half the dolls have survived and continue to supply a “missing link” in fashion history. They show how several designers in Paris anticipated that ‘New Look’ which launched the fame of Christian Dior.

Dior’s famous ‘Bar’* suit from that era appears in this year’s windows. But seeing such fashion classics on puppets in the snow is spooky. It recalls the winter which produced Théâtre de la Mode – one of the very worst in all of French history. Thread froze in the hands of the hungry workers as they stitched, while hairdressers struggled to thaw out the dolls’ coiffures. Shortages became so acute that Christmas was described by Le Figaro as “without fuel, without electricity, without shoes and without clothing.”

Théatre de la Mode doll, Lelong, pic: copyright David Seidner (link below)

So Théâtre de la Mode remains an inspiring accomplishment. At a time when Santa could not even scare up lumps of coal, haute couture summoned up the power to realise dreams.

Théâtre de la Mode dolls by Piguet, Schiaparelli, Balmain; pic: copyright David Seidner (link below)

* It was designed for what Americans then called “the cocktail hour”.
• The late fashion photographer David Seidner produced beautiful photos of Théâtre de la Mode, whose dolls remain today at Washington state’s Maryhill Museum of Art.

Girls, girls, girls

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Judith Chemla by Baudouin Winckler from 75 Parisiennes

November is always Month of the Photo in Paris. So there are zillions of great photographs to see. One amusing group comes from Baudouin, a 35 year-old who freelances around town. He likes to immortalise strangers chez eux with his Hasselblad. Baudouin’s November exhibit 75 Parisiennes (original title: “I am a Parisian Lady”) is selected from his new book by that name.

Marine Mann by Baudouin Winckler from 75 Parisiennes

How did he choose its subjects? By stopping women who appealed to him – in the street, in supermarkets, in cinema queues and at funky events. Some are well-known, others simply interested him. The project dates back so far he contacted some through MySpace.

Melanie Guerin by Baudouin Winckler from 75 Parisiennes

It’s limited to those who believed Baudouin was on the level, but the odd collaborations make for a funny oeuvre. Clearly, most women proved enthusiastic participants.

Kumi Akamoto by Baudouin Winckler from 75 Parisiennes

The range of feminine décor on show is a little dizzying, although it is circumscribed by the basic truth of Parisian life. (Meaning: apartments here may be microscopic but a girl still has to dress, read and surf the web…) The in-your-face sense of fun is what I found contagious*. That – and the fact that it’s light years away from Apartment Therapy.

What’s up next for Baudouin? Apparently, les hommes at home!

Adrienne Pauly by Baudouin Winckler from 75 Parisiennes

* What many reviewers liked was decoding each domicile. They focused less on how the photographer had talked his way in than on more vital questions. Such as: what quartier did the subject inhabit? How had this lucky resident found a flat? How had she managed to make her improvements (was there help from Mum or Dad – or did she need to use an agency)?

• The best way to keep up with photography here is the mairie‘s Photo Blog.