Style that never gets lost in translation

You can't talk about France without talking about style. People always want to come to France and see what is à la mode (in style) by shopping at major fashion houses on the Champs-Élysées. Ask me if the French are more fashionable and I will tell you this: people are people. Much like in the US, you find people who can dress to impress and people who fall short of spectacular – that isn't to say there aren't serious differences.

Major Fashion Differences (according to Cyd):

• They aren't as big into sportswear as we are back home. I have yet to see someone wearing sweatpants or sweatshirts outside who isn't in route to or from the gym.
• Women wear heels like it's nobody's business. Work!
• Hairstyles seem to be pretty different. Dark hair is very popular and I see a lot of women with dyed black tresses (which frankly doesn't go well with most skin tones).

In contrast, French people haven't quite figured out my hair yet...and understandingly so. Most of the black women I've seen in France have weaves or wigs going on (and if I'm going to be super honest, terrible ones at that...if I see your tracks—which I often do – your weave is not doing it's job). However confused the people here may be in regards to my hair, they still seem fascinated by the most wretched of styles that I end up unintentionally sporting. I'll press my hair and sculpt it into a fashionable coif, and by midday after the humidity bomb has hit, my hair is left as an explosion of untamed curls and bobby pin shrapnel.

Exibit A

Exibit B

But they seem to love it. One of my retirement home neighbors ran her hands through my braids. "How did you do this? It's just so pretty!" Others inquire, confused, “Did you do something different to your hair?” The more curious, “Ooo, can I touch?” “You look very pretty today Miss Black,” one little girl says (in French of course). I don't even feel embarrassed anymore like I would back home.

Back home the exchange would be much different. “DAAAAAANNNG CYD! You look like you got bushwhacked!” I can imagine my older brother teasing (For my foreign readers, that means that it looks like I literally got whacked...by a bush.). Or, “It's not THAT bad, “ my mom would assure me, and then in a swift change of approach, “Stop caring so much about your hair...It's what's inside that matters.” Not very assuring, Mom. Nice try.

This is making me miss home.

My point is that in France my style (or lack there of) translates in it's own little way. Sometimes what wouldn't work at home works really well here. And vice versa. For instance yesterday I wore this rustic yellow turtleneck which I tucked into belted blue jeans paired with suede ankle boots. I was looking good! My colleagues here had nothing but compliments. “It's very 1960s!” two colleagues said, “I really like turtlenecks,” another shared, and “I would really like to see how you do your hair every day” (my hair was slicked back into a ponytail with a blue headband and the day before I wore an afro).” In contrast, my friends back home couldn't get enough of the fact that I was wearing a turtleneck. Tosha specifically keeps pointing out that she can't shake the image of the 1990s fad fail (I'm telling you, Tosh, they're making a comeback!)

Me in the turtleneck

Me, with friends, in the turtle neck (see, people like)

Anyway, I can gladly say that generally speaking the French dress just as well as we do back home (excluding the people that wear pajamas to go to Culvers...smh). I'm even happier to find that however I dress, it works for me, whether it doesn't work in the US or in France. At the end of the day, I've been able to rock the looks of my own choice on both sides of the ocean and feel good about it. And lucky for me, confidence hardly ever gets lost in translation.

Getting used to...well, the not city.

When I first applied to the Teaching Assistant Program in France (TAPIF), a 7-month program designed by the French government to bring in foreigners to their schools to assist secondary language teachers in the classrooms, I was excited to mark Lille as one of my top choices for city placement. Lille, a major city in the north, is on the opposite end of France in a more industrial area than Montpellier (I studied abroad in Montpellier in college). Also, it's strategically located within an hour of major european travel destinations: Brussels, Paris, London, Amsterdam, Cologne...all only within an hour or so from the city.

So here I am, placed in a town about half an hour from the Lille center and 10 minutes from a smaller city. My town is in Pas-de-Calais which is known as the most hospitable region in France. Also, they're known for their accent and being in the “sticks.” There's a famous French movie called “Bienvenue chez les cht'is” (Welcome to the sticks) that's about this region, and there's going to be an American remake of the film starring Will Smith. Everyone asks me if I've seen it. I haven't.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bienvenue_chez_les_Ch%27tis

It took me about 10 days to get pretty well set up at my retirement home. I forgot to mention: I'm living in a retirement home. Rather, an assisted living apartment building. It was the best deal I could find and the town mayor said they'd negotiate a lower price for me if I spend time with the residents and share my culture etc. I'm even on their blog: http://lavieaufoyerleonblum.over-blog.com/article-anniversaires-et-arrivee-d-une-americaine-86458118.html (of course my eyes are awkwardly closed in the picture)

I feel like I need my own reality show. I'm a 22 year old Black american girl living amongst the French elderly in the “sticks.” At first I wanted to cry about it, but after 3 weeks, I'm actually really grateful I stayed. This apartment is a steal. I have my own kitchen, bathroom, closet, TV, sleeper sofa AND queen sized bed. Also, everyone is so great.

One of my neighbors brought me bread and beignets (with apricot filling!) from her leftovers and also stole some butter and cheese from the building kitchen (she placed her finger over her mouth and shushed me not to tell.) It's not like she'd get in trouble though. She's in her 70s with four 50-something sons and a butt load of grand babies. Also, she's wider than she is tall. I mean, really? Who's going to pick a fight with her??

My other neighbors are funny too. In my hallway there are 3 other women who live in the apartments next to mine. One is nearly deaf, one talks to me like I'm slow (which kind of offends me but at the same time leaves me grateful that I can at least understand), and the other parks her walker outside of the door and doesn't talk much. The deaf one told me I could play my music loudly if I want. Score.

Downside: The first week here everyone thought I was a nurse and kept asking me to give them check ups.

My quick illustration of the retirement home:

There's

• The cook who brings me food sometimes
• The ladies who sing in the choir and always invite me to come and listen to them.
• The the landlord who helps me with anything technical and who likes to practice his English with me.
• The group of old women parked in their wheelchairs who stare at me as I walk by, always exchanging “Bonjours” or making small talk with me.
• The old man down the hall, who told everyone at lunch the other day that it was his 18^th birthday (though I'm sure it was more like his 88^th) and he's always asking me about my relationship status.

Also, the food is amazing here. There are these savory crepes called "galettes" that I LOOOVE. I found this picture on the web...but they look like this:

The best part about living in this smaller town versus the city is that I feel like I've established a bit of a network that I wouldn't have been able to do in a bigger city. I walk down the street and people know me, not everyone obviously, but if I'm outside for more than 30 minutes I'll run into some familiar face and strike up a conversation. I was so afraid that living in a small town I would feel isolated from the rest of the world, not to say that at times I don't, but I think that if I had been placed in Lille proper I might be experiencing a different kind of isolation. The kind where you have a lot of people around you but no one to talk to. Not saying it's better or worse. Probably just different.