The Franglaise at work - part two

Here it is, the much awaited second work experience. Back behind a desk again, after a brief interlude packed with attending the Fête de la musique, the Gay pride and the Japan expo (lots of teenage-y things!). This is now my last day working at a local business magazine attached to the region's chamber of commerce, and I have published my first signed article today! Turns out I got lucky : the week that I have spent here has been jam-packed with interesting events. I was sent to cover a filming taking place at the office, and had to interview the director. With my little writing pad, I felt like Lois Lane. 

I am slowly starting to realize how important getting work experience is. I have heard countless tales of people spending a week doing the job of their dreams, and absolutely hating it. I was lucky to experience the reverse phenomenon : I loved every minute of it. My boss is pleased with my work, and I feel as though I am really made to be a journalist. It was just so thrilling, you know, the whole "saying my-name-shaking his hand-can I ask you a few questions" thing. And I just love, love, love to write (as if you had not guessed). I take such pleasure in the minute things, like making sure I use resonating words and that my sentences seem eloquent. Basically, just putting into practice everything I have learned in prépa. 

On the whole, this has been such a pleasant experience. I learnt all the journalistic jargon and tips, and published about a dozen short articles on the magazine's website. I really got to understand how a magazine takes form, and felt as if I was completely part of the team. Rendez-vous at the end of August, for the third and final edition of this year's The Franglaise at work : the decisive internship at an English local newspaper.

What the beginning of my week looked like

Trip back down memory lane : I ventured in a Claire's Accessories near where I am doing my internship. Hadn't been there in AGES, and was quite surprised. They do all the stuff the quaint Parisian shops do, only at a fraction of the price. Hence the rabbit necklace, another addition to my ever-growing collection (of rabbits AND necklaces) that I just had to have. Isn't it the cutest?

I finally found the time to frame my gorgeous Yves Saint Laurent posters that I got from the Fondation Pierre Bergé-Yves Saint Laurent in avenue Marceau. I hunted the blue one down after seeing it in Mademoiselle Figaro, and I finally triumphed. Didn't that sound Parisian, eh? That's because I have FOUND A FLAT and will be MOVING TO PARIS IN AUGUST! Another chapter of the Franglaise's life. Will tell more about my appartement and second work experience soon. Bisous!

What my Sunday looked like

Between flat-hunting and holiday-preparing (the girls are going to ROME!), I enjoyed lounging on my sunny terrasse in these cool hues, sipping a mint iced tea. Life is hard.

About the book : my Geography programme next year is about South America, so instead of perusing boring atlases and books about economics, I am studying the beauty of the continent my OWN way..

scarf and flats - H&M

Souffrir pour être belle*

During my daily Facebook browse, a link posted by one of my classmates caught my eye. It was an advertisement for an event taking place in a well-known brand's shop on the Champs Elysées, where you could come and have an expert pick a shade of lipstick supposed to be suited to your skin tone. I am not a huge make-up fan, but the concept was alluring, so I decided to go and have a look with my aunt during our lunch break.

 

I was expecting to find a huge queue but no, it was just us and an elderly woman sitting on a make-up chair, grumbling. Wondering what was going to happen next, I barely had time to sit down before a tall, tanned (nearly orange), 'glossy' guy flounces in. Not only was I dreading sitting on a plastic chair in front of a flaw-exposing mirror having my face picked at by some random salesgirl, now I was going to be made up by a GUY. Surreal. Anyway, 'Call me David' wears sunglasses inside, reeks of expensive perfume, and moans about the difficulty of finding a decent boyfriend. And looks surprised when my aunt tells him she is (heavily) pregnant. Not that you can see it at all, it's only due in two months.. 

 

After having her face fussed about with, said woman goes off to purchase 150euros worth of make-up. Well, she did look pretty fantastic for her age, after David dabbled about her face. But remember, I am only here for LIPSTICK, so keep it short and sweet please mister. Ahhh, David gushes, but with the deal is included a full makeover, and even when I protest he pins me down on my chair and nearly suffocates me with his scent. Here we go then.

 

First step : the eyes. The guy lines them with a special wax pencil. 'But I already have liquid eyeliner on my top lid, won't it be too much?' Cue David to reply : 'Chérie, c'est moche**. I don't like it, I am taking it off. It makes your eyes droop.' Right. I mentally throw out my beloved Topshop liquid eyeliner. I'll admit what he does is pretty impressive. Bronze eyeshadow, and brown mascara, because apparently black mascara is too dramatic for blue eyes. Well, that's a first. Is this guy planning on busting my whole make-up bag's credibility? 'Vous avez des yeux magnifiques, alors MONTREZ-LES!'***, he screams in my ear.

 

As he fusses around with my face, David lets out a sigh. 'You have a beautiful face, and you are lucky to still be so young. Look, no wrinkles!' At 19, already having wrinkles would be very scary. He then says that he is 40. I gasp. He looks about 20! He is tanned and lean and tight-skinned! And he is 6 years younger than my mum! I start thinking that he must be a serious beauty fairy (no pun intended) to be able to look so young by only using cosmetics. So I take a renewed interest in this impromptu makeover.

 

And voilà, the magic works. As he smoothes in the brand's signature foundation, I glow. Not in a tacky J-Lo way, more in a 'I have just come back from a holiday on the Riviera with my lover' one. Needless to say, a very good look. I am astonished, and so is my aunt. I then act on one of my Yorkshire impulses : I ask the price, then nearly faint when I hear it. Oh well, I'll just have to achieve that sort of glow myself. But SuperAunt steps in and treats me, and I am so so so so grateful. It may be petty, but a good beauty product, that makes you feel beautiful every day, is essential in a quest for a happy life : it's just a little morning gesture, but it goes a long way mood-wise.

 

I saunter out of the shop, clutching my swanky, emblazoned paper bag. In addition to my super foundation, David put in a free lipstick. I open it, full of hope. Bright fuschia. Not exactly my sort of look. A bit too 'Trianon Trollop'. Ah well, it's reassuring in a way, David isn't a complete beauty queen, he can't really be an expert on lipstick, can he? Unless..

 

*Suffer to be beautiful

**Darling, it looks ugly.

***You have magnificent eyes, so SHOW THEM!

Breton tops and the Retail Queen

I do not want to write anything along the lines of 'how French style is superior to all others'. I have read countless articles on how 'French girls do it better', and loads of 'how-to's that I do not particularly agree on. French girls do not all follow the 'breton top-skinny jeans-messy bun' trend, just as Brit girls do not all wear minis with orange legs. Even if there are still many who do, it is a gross generalization to say that all French girls have style.

French style is celebrated as being effortless and elegant. At least it was before the opening of the Abercrombie store on the Champs-Elysées. But what people seem to forget is that UGG boots are considered 'cool' here, because they are English. How many times have I heard 'I'm going to London for the day, just for Topshop'. It is a fact, Cool Britannia is the retail queen. Even I think Primark is heaven, because I go there twice a year, stock up on fast-fashion and impress all my French friends. But then I come back to England and we are all carrying the same bag.. I was discussing it with a collegue recently : French style is certainly not affordable. Parisiennes believe in quality articles, but I cannot afford to blow all my money on one bag and wait till next year for a pair of jeans. I do more shopping than my French friends, not because I have more money, but because I keep searching for bargains. I have a friend who has just spent 150euros on a jacket - from a well-known marque du Marais, but it will probably be out of season before you can even say its name - whereas I have bought three pairs of ballets pumps in a month, at 10e each, that I coordinate with my 'workwear' (get me! words I am not used to writing!). But then I have a shoe fetish.. and I have a bought a reasonable, easy-to-wear pair of black ones, a gorgeous pair of gold ones, and a pair of.. mustard-coloured ones. Mustard! But they are too cute! With little bows on! And they are certainly eye-catching. Not that I would know, as I have not managed to wear them yet. But I call them mes petites moutardes (as I call another -red- pair of shoes mes petites cerises) and I am in LOVE.

Despite these recent acquisitions, I cannot WAIT to come back to England in August to get some serious shopping done, and I am already writing a list of what I 'need'. Including more ballet pumps.

The Franglaise at work, part one

When exam results are in June and the torture only starts in September again, one has to find a way to occupy one's summer. And what is better than spending your days in an office, unpaid, and ignored by most of the staff? You got it, the Franglaise is on work experience.

After unsuccessfully trying to get a job as a waitress and salesgirl, I decided that as everyone was asking for previous experience, I would give them experience. Because France is difficult in that respect, contrary to the UK you cannot get a summer job easily at all. Employers all want you to be qualified and experienced, and when you are 15 and the only type of work you have ever done is babysitting, well you can just get lost. I am not only saying it because I did not find anything, it is the ugly truth. What's more, people generally do not care for fancy studies in basic jobs, they take one look at classe préparatoire littéraire and think we are socially-inapt bookworms.. which is not so far from reality, but come on, give us a chance ! So anyway, I managed to get an internship at a well-know French insurance company. And it may have sounded like I was complaining previously, but I do realize that I am extremely lucky to be here. Then again, I managed to get a spot by using a popular French method called piston, a.k.a. 'It is not what you know but who you know'. So here I am, at my own desk overlooking the avenue Matignon, feeling very pleased with myself.  Get ready for some serious I-have-drunk-too-much-coffee-and-am-starting-to-get-bored posts !

Ascension et Pentecôte

Here in France they are a religion. A perfect excuse to do sweet f-a for a whole day. Obviously the best day for a bank holiday is a Monday, and - strangely - it's often the case. But the French are clever, especially when it has to do with missing work : the second best-day is Thursday. Why Thursday? A random, generally boring day that's not quite in the middle of the week? Because then you can apply the golden rule in French holidays : le pont. 

Basically, it means that if there is only one day between a bank holiday and the weekend... Well yes, you got it, you just don't show up. And don't get me wrong, it is very nearly institutionnalized, most of the time the boss decides to do it and then of course the employees feel that they should follow the lead. Pont meaning 'bridge', it is a sort of pathway from one work-free day to another, resulting in a nice 4-day-long 'weekend'. Of course, absolutely everything is closed so you just have to lounge about at home and chill, although generally it is an excuse to have 'lovely' family time (and family lunches that last nearly as long as the whole weekend, joy). 

I, for one, enjoy being off school/work as much as anyone, especially during college when we had sports on Mondays, but I cannot stand the idea of not being able to go out or do anything. Oh and the roads are completely unpracticable, expect ginormous traffics jams on the morning of the first day and the evening of the last. And people generally need another weekend to recover. Cue Edith Piaf's singing the country's true motto, 'Je ne veux pas travailler'.