From the Diary of a Real Frenchman

I admit I don’t know squat about the French. Hell, I even lived in France when I was younger. I attended school there, spoke their language, ate their food, rode their public transportation, squatted over holes in the ground they call public toilets (don’t count on toilet paper, ever). I ate so much of that cake with the little figurines hidden in them; if you find it, you’re king or queen for the night. What was that cake called? What holiday was it for? Whatever. I am as ignorant for being an American as the French are consumed with being French. Louis Vuitton. Oui oui oui.

Ten years later, a Frenchman fell in love with me. He was a foreign exchange student that stuck out like a sore thumb for being so well-dressed with an accent to make every girl’s ears perk up. He was intelligent, sophisticated, and romantic. The guy loved shopping with me (he always bought more things than I did). I know every fashion girl is supposed to (practically) be fluent in French, but I am as uncouth and uncultured as they get and literally remember ONE sentence from living in France and that is “Je mange les petits enfants“. He loved me anyway. And I say love because it’s been three and a half years and he is returning to the U.S. and has sent me this love message:

“Mon amor, when I get out of UPenn, I’ll be a rich kid. I will take care of you. You don’t have to do anything, except cuddle, and buy yourself clothes, shoes, and lingerie. Because that’s the only thing I will miss about France: lingerie. The only three websites you shall ever visit. Aubade, Chantelle, Maison-Close.”

I guess this post is really about lingerie, uber sexy lingerie that only a Frenchman could possibly suggest. Here is the low-down; this is how the French do sexy. I may never grasp French sophistication, but here is a window into the culture of love. Remember these three true French houses of lingerie…


Aubade, lingerie de femme


Chantelle, 1982 ad



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