Monday, 31 October 2011

The Paris Diaries: Halloween

"Don't move", my own mirror reflection whispers to me as I start re-drawing my eyebrows so they'll look like Vampira's. The eye-liner pencil feels soft and a little ticklish on my skin. "I hope my costume'll look cool enough" I think to myself. "Everyone wears such fabulous clothes in this kind of parties and I hardly had any time to decide what I'm gonna wear. The dark circles under my eyes are perfect for Halloween, though. Where is my Touche Éclat? Damn. I really need to sleep more. Or maybe these things just won't go, whatever I do. Maybe I'm starting to not be so young. I'm not twenty anymore... To hell with it, I feel better now than when I was twenty. I wore denim jackets when I was twenty, for God's sake! I could pass for twenty-three. I could even pass for twenty if I didn't wear red lipstick everyday. Where is my red lipstick? There. Well. Not so bad". I look at the mirror. With my fringe pulled to the sides and my face covered in rice powder I actually kind of look like the original Vampira. The taxi is waiting downstairs. I grab a patent leather belt and tighten it until my waist measures 45 cm and I can hardly breathe;I sprinkle some Black Orchid on my décolleté. thirty seconds later I'm on my way to the hippest club in town.

I open the car's door and put both my heeled feet on the floor. My black velvet dress is so long it trails along the wet asphalt. I actually really like my costume; I bet no one else will be dressed like Maila Nurmi. I bet...
I look at the smirking people in front of me and freeze in panic. Oh no. This can't be. Why do these things keep happening to me? Trying to hide on a doorstep as some kids pass me by and scream the words "David Lynch!", I grab my phone and mark a number. "Ray" I say "get here. Now. No one here is disguised".

From my hiding doorstep, feeling a bit like a sucker version of Orson Welles in The Third Man, I can see the people queuing outside the club. Click click click, every single girl here is wearing towering Louboutins and amazingly short skirts. Luckily I don't have to wait long: soon I can see a corpse bride, an Indian chief complete with plume and all, and a silhouette in a Napoleon hat which looks very much like John Galliano. Proudly they make their way to the door among the sneers of the Loubie-wearing crowd. "Thank God you're here! Wasn't this supposed to be a Halloween party?" "oh whatever. Let's just get inside", says Ray.

We walk through glittering golden corridors and heavy red velvet curtains, turning heads as we go. Looking for our host, we accidentally step into a room with black shiny walls furnished only with several pale tree trunks. A small group of people is sipping champagne, sitting nochalantly in the twisted trunks. It looks more like a Fellini or Antonioni scene than a David Lynch movie. They look at us in bored perplexity. I hear a voice behind me: "You guys look amazing!". Our chic-looking host welcomes us. It is a Halloween party after all.

The dancefloor is a curtained stage with red and blue lights. The DJ is playing 50's rock and roll. I dance for a while before realizing the floor is getting crowded with people we don't know; the girls (is it my imagination or are they all blondes?) are wearing different types of little black dresses, stiletto heels and 2.55 bags and they do the twist with straight-looking boys in checkered shirts. I sit and stare in amazement: I haven't seen so many straight boys together in years. Matter of fact, except in menswear shows, I haven't seen more than one straight boy at a time in years. So this is what my life has come to. Oh well, who wants to be surrounded by straight boys in checkered shirts dancing "perreo" style to ska music.
Then something magical happens. Madonna's La Isla Bonita starts sounding and two friends of Ray come to say hi. One of the boys is wearing a Dracula cape embroidered with ostrich feathers, and the other one is dressed as a zombi and his hair is sprayed the colour of green candyfloss. As we sing "last night I dreamt of San Pedro", the feathered dracula whispers in my ear: "sweetheart, you are a goddess!". I feel at home again.

1 comment:

  1. What a fabulous post! I loved reading about your Halloween in Paris!


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