Sunday, May 2, 2010
Nolita = Little Paris
But seriously, New York is awash with French people, and many of them are inexplicably enamored with Abercrombie & Fitch (they don't know it's not cool, which I find endearing... like the one chink in their otherwise intimidatingly sleek armor). But as I was saying, if you stand at the corner of Mott and Prince Streets, the English evaporates and you might as well be standing at the corner of rue Vieille du Temple and rue des Francs Bourgeois.
Every time I find myself next to a French speaker, I want to tell them all about how I used to live in Paris, but then I realize, they're French and they don't give a f*ck—which makes me like them even more.
But the fact that French people are as obsessed with New York as we are with Paris seems to provide some kind of cultural reckoning—or at least mutual affirmation. As maladroit as I sometimes feel when I'm in Paris, it all balances itself out when I see a perfectly nice looking French boy sporting a hideously branded A&F t-shirt here in New York. It's not OK, but since you're French, je te pardonnerai. I'll let it go.