Viva Las Vegas

If you haven't yet seen Steven Soderbergh's Behind the Candelabra you need to drop whatever you're doing and watch it right now. For Michael Douglas's amazing acting and for the rare pleasure of seeing Matt Damon walking around in skimpy swarovski-embroidered speedos, but also because it's a turning point in film history: this is the first time a TV company hs produced a movie that has the same quality as any traditional Hollywood feature, to the point of premiering at the Cannes Film Festival. Soderbergh had problems rising funds since the story was deemed "too gay" by studios (and they say there is no censorship anymore...), so he got picked up by HBO. I personally hope this is the beginning of a long line of movies with innovative plots that will give the industry a much-needed shake-up.

Behind the Candelabra has had a great impact on me for all of these reasons, but also because it has rekindled my love affair with the city that Christian extremists have dubbed "a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah". Las Vegas is truly fabulous! As Joe Pesci said in Scorsese's Casino, "it's a city made of money" where the concept of good taste doesn't exist. In Paris - where the constant focus on tasteful living and understated chic can get quite oppressive - I always feel like I'm committing some sort of capital sin when I express my love of (cue French people cringing) Dolce & Gabbana, Playboy magazine or long gel nails. What I think most French people don't understand is there's an art to "good" bad taste and tackiness too. And no city masters it like good old Vegas. So in case you had forgotten how great the worldwide capital of gambling is, here are 10 reasons to remember:

1. Las Vegas is the only place where it's acceptable for a man to dress like this.

Or this,

or this.

We don't see nearly enough silk, sequins or fur on men in the rest of the world, which is a shame.

2. It's the only place where this is considered elegant jewellery.

Liberace does it better. That is all. 

3. It' the only place where it's acceptable for a decent(ish) woman to dress like this:

Or like this.

We, the women from all other cities in the world, have some serious catching up to do on feathers, gold and chinchilla.

4. It's the only place on earth where it's acceptable for a house to look like this.

Enough said.

5. With 300 sunny days per year, Vegas is the only city in the world where wearing fur coats when there's 30 degrees outside is in.

This might be changing though. I hear in Dubai the latest fashion for wealthy princesses is turning the air conditioning full speed and inviting your friends for a fur tea party. But Vegas has a unique brand of fur glamour though.

6. There must be something wonderful about Vegas when entertainment royalty such as Frank Sinatra, Liz Taylor, Mohamed Ali or Joan Collins goes there to celebrate birthdays and other milestones.

Who wouldn't want to celebrate his birthday amidst a cloud of marabou feathers and girls in sequined bikinis?

7. If it wasn't for Vegas we wouldn't have Showgirls, that utterly vile masterpiece of film history.

I've seen softcore porn movies with better plots and dialogue. But somehow this movie is iconic and addictive, so it must be good in an Ed Wood kind of way.

8. And speaking of showgirls, flooziness reaches a whole new level in Vegas. Which is obviously fascinating.

I must confess I've always been intrigued by Vegas floozies. I saw Casino when I was about 10 (yeah, probably a tad young, but it taught me a valuable life lesson: the house always wins) and I was enthralled by Sharon Stone's Ginger. That girl certainly got around: she knew how to properly gamble, how to tip casino employees to her advantage, how to get 100 dollars out of Robert DeNiro by just saying "I need to go powder my nose" and how to attach her hairpiece flawlessly. It takes a real skill to be a professional Vegas hussy. Chapeau.

9. Elvis's legend and his sequined overalls wouldn't have existed without Vegas.

We've got a lot to be thankful for.

10. Vegas has generally made an art form of tackiness and bad taste...

... so don't be afraid to apreciate the goodness in good bad taste and to indulge in it all. After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Heart to Heart with Lou Doillon

 

A couple of months ago I interviewed the very lovely Lou Doillon (aka we met at a café and talked for two hours, mostly of our love of Leonard Cohen). The interview is featured in this summer's issue of Wonderland Magazine. I thought you might like to read it...

Sipping a café crème in her camel hair coat, maroon fedora and unruly bangs, Lou Doillon looks like the epitome of contemporary French chic. But as soon as she starts talking - in perfect English, “bien sûr” - it becomes clear that the singer is hardly the typical Gallic girl. “I feel very English whenever I’m in France, and vice-versa. At home in Paris I constantly bake pies and we only eat British food; I think that comes as a bit of a shock to my mother, who took up French nationality in the sixties and knows the Marseillaise by heart.”

The 30 year-old daughter of Jane Birkin and filmmaker Jacques Doillon was born in Paris, yet grew up listening almost exclusively to American music: “I used to sit at the back of the car on trips and listen to the tapes my father played. That’s how I discovered Nina Simone, Patti Smith and, of course, Bob Dylan. I remember the day I first heard him, I was amazed at the wittiness of his lyrics.” All of these artists have unconsciously influenced the eleven melancholy ballads that compose Places - Doillon’s first album. However, the singer/ actress/ model had only one inspiration in mind while writing her songs. “Unlike Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen had a real influence on my album. Dylan might be the best songwriter, but he is never kind. Cohen on the other hand is, as the French would say, 'bienveillant'. His lyrics are rather raw, but there is never any viciousness or reproach in them. As I was writing, I tried to remain as graceful as him… Although my songs speak about heartbreak, I ended up taking all the anger away from them, and thanking past lovers for the pain and the lessons they taught me.” 

A rather unusual point of view, considering today’s musical landscape. But then again, Doillon's upbringing and family are hardly conventional. Her parents separated when she was nine years old, and she spent most of the time with her mother. Doillon's close family also included Serge Gainsbourg and Charlotte, Jane Birkin's daughter by the legendary French singer. “My family had different and sometimes difficult relationships, but they had a rare kind of honesty about them. I had my father of course, but Serge was also very present in my life; none of them were ever scared of using their relationships to make their art. They didn’t believe in a simplistic interpretation of love where if you are in a couple you are happy and if you are loveless you are sad. Things are so much more complicated than that and feelings shift constantly.I think the French are able to understand and accept that better than other people.” Has that shaped her music? “A sense of vulnerability in love did, yes.” 

Uncertainty, frustration and longing fill her lyrics, which are perfectly complemented in the blue notes of an accompanying piano and the hints of a western guitar. Her low-pitched voice, far removed from Jane Birkin’s fragile soprano tones, vibrates with despair. “I’m not a 20 year-old girl anymore. I’ve screamed, cried, laughed, smoked and drank a lot in my life. I guess my voice reveals those extremes. Etienne Daho, my producer, once told me it reminded him of Karen Dalton, the American folk singer. I have been listening to her a lot since.” 

Daho - one of France’s most respected singers and music producers, who has worked with the likes of Françoise Hardy, Air and Vanessa Paradis - was the first person to hear Doillon’s songs. Under his wing, Places received critical acclaim upon its release. It was also an unexpected commercial success, selling more than 200.000 copies. But the singer remains somewhat puzzled: “I’m a newcomer. So far I’ve only sang 10 gigs, and when I listen to the album I still can’t believe those are my songs. Maybe that’s because I work very fast. The writing process takes over me when I’m in a dark place. I never really look for writing because as soon as I do I can be sure nothing will come out.” 

Music is simply the latest of Doillon's creative outlets (she's also worked as an artist, designer, model and actress), but it's definitely her favourite. “It allows me not only to reveal myself in all my vulnerability and brokenness, but also to understand myself better. Songwriting is a very unconscious process, sometimes I don’t know where what I’m writing is coming from. Etienne says it takes three or four years to understand your own songs; it is probably true. We’ll see!” However, her plans still involve all kinds of different projects. “The need of expression is so powerful... Why explore it in just one way? I think more than caring about getting really perfect at one thing we should aim at being curious and exceptional and simply enjoy ourselves. After all... we only live once.” 

Unconventional Style Icons: Glenn Gould

 

About two years ago I wrote a post titled "Unknown Style Icons: Natacha Rambova", about the eccentric 1920's costume designer and wife of Rudolph Valentino. I really intended to do a whole series of posts on some of my personal style icons who are generally not identified as so by the mainstream media. However, a random reader wrote me an appalled e-mail telling me sarcastically that "he was very glad I had at long last discovered Rambova but that she was by no means unknown and I should research more before talking without having a clue". That made me feel like such a loser I stopped altogether the unknown style icons series. But, hang it, after two years I've finally gotten over it (sensitive, me?) and decided to start it again, only this time I'll call it "Unconventional Style Icons" so as to not attract more hate mail calling me an ignorant idiot. 

Anyway, after Natacha Rambova I give you Glenn Gould.

Admittedly, Mr. Gould's style is the least important thing about him. You are looking at one of the biggest musical geniuses of last century. I know the word "genius" is thrown around way too frivolously these days, but in this case it applies. Glenn, who was born in Toronto in 1932, could read music before he could read words. As a baby he would play with the family piano, not by randomly hitting the keys but rather by pressing one key at a time and carefully listening to each sound and its evolution. By the time he was 13 he gave his first concert and at 25 he embarked on a tour of the Soviet Union. He had his very own views on music and believed a performer should be - rather than just a machine playing someone else's compositions - a true interpreter, bringing a new sound to an already known score. Also, besides a genius, he was a hopeless eccentric. 

Before he sat down to play the piano (on his very low wooden chair, a present from his father which he carried to all his performances), Glenn had to make sure the temperature in the room was extremely warm (he was constantly cold).While playing, he invariably hummed to the music, which gave sound technicians many a headache during recording sessions. He disliked being touched; in fact, he didn't much enjoy human company in general and felt better around animals.All these quirks obviously shaped his "nutty genius" style, which to be honest attains levels of cool otherwise only reached by the Japanese.

I must also mention Mr. Gould had the good looks of a young Ethan Hawke, which also helped (why hasn't anyone made a movie about his life starring Ethan yet by the way?)

I guess he didn't give much importance to the way he looked, and that's exactly what made Glenn so irresistibly cool: his hair was seldom combed and always too long, his suits were mismatched, his trousers were too wide, his shirt rarely tucked in and more often than not unpressed.

Because he always felt cold, he used to wear heavy woolen fabrics, big coats, thick sweaters, scarves, knitted mittens and leather gloves (sometimes one on top of the other. Has Junya Watanabe drawn inspiration from the photo above yet?). All these details added up to create a unique style which in my opinion is truly unique and inspirational.What do you think?

Having steadily studied classical music from the age of 2 to 18, I was familiar with Glenn Gould before I was familiar with Michael Jackson. I know both his music and his persona are not everyone's cup of tea and some people think he is just "too much"; but I'm a fan. Besides admiring his brilliantly creative intrpretations, I've always been partial to him partly tanks to his ambivalent feelings towards people and the fact that he had even more aversion to cold than I do. Over the years he has become one of my icons, and I'm not just talking about style. Even though he had tons of it.

PS: If you would like to know more about this genius, here is a really interesting documentary featuring lots of original footage of Glenn and his inimitable "allure".

Punk: from Chaos to Conformism

On monday I got depressed upon witnessing that travesty of a punk celebration that was the Met Ball. Seeing that gang of self-important celebrities parading around in six-figure outfits and smiling through their flawlessly whitened teeth made me feel, as Leonard Cohen would put it, like the war was over and the good guy lost. Welcome to 2013, where doublethink is as current as in Orwell's 1984 and we honor punk by placing a bunch of clothes in an official building and then letting one of the most powerful women in the world host an expensive party and invite a bunch of mainstream idols for a lovely politically correct black tie ball. The irony is endless.

I've heard all kinds of anecdotes about that evening. From Madonna stating that punk is not caring what anybody thinks while sporting a Givenchy look that surely took several weeks to put together, to Vivienne Westwood being cut off in an interview because the journalist wanted to speak to Hilary Rhoda instead, to Kate Upton saying in a Zoolanderish tone "I don't think I fully understood the theme". It all seemed like a colossal joke. Kristen McMenamy was one of the few guests who got it right, laughing "this is the antithesis of punk. Punk is not putting it on. Punk is angry. Punk is not pretending. Punk is real. This is like a costume party for punk". After which she proceeded to spit on the red carpet - subsequently becoming an absolute goddess to my eyes. 

Fashion advice for red-carpeters from Siouxsie Sioux and her friends.

And what about the exhibition itself? "I had a little look and I liked some of my stuff..." said Dame Viv, "and we'll leave it there". Curated by Andrew Bolton with the help of photographer Nick Knight and filmmaker Ruth Hogben, it had everything to be fantastic; but in a 21st century where political correctness, advertisers and antibacterial gels rule the world, it turned into a toned-down, antiseptic version of punk. Apparently all references to drugs (except for the Ramones song Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue) and swastikas were wiped out. And that's where the fashion industry - generally so obsessed with aesthetic perfection - fails to understand that punk is not about being fabulous; on the contrary, it's about filth and trouble and ugliness. And that's the beauty of it (and no reconstruction of Seditionaries or CBGB's bathroom can entirely make up for it, although those were definitely cool ideas).

The Swastika was decontextualized and widely used by punks for obvious shock value but also as a reflection on the boundaries of freedom of expression. And for the zillionth time, this doesn't mean punks were nazis.

Dame Viv & friends showing their stuff. I hoped something like this would happen at the Met Ball. How could I be so deluded.

Punk was all about trouble, see? Here's Malcolm McLaren (my least favourite punk- read John Lydon's autobiography to know why) all thrilled at being arrested after the Jubilee boat trip incident.

Sid Vicious injecting himself with heroin in 1978. Punk is sometimes also about drugs. Why act like it never happened?

This is punk too, but I guess Anna Wintour and her sponsors wouldn't approve.

Sid said it: "I'm not chic. I could never be chic". And that's the problem with this whole Punk: From Chaos to Couture thing. It aims to be a high fashion exhibition, therefore a chic affair, yet when Vivienne Westwood established Sex in King's Road with Malcolm McLaren she was hardly considered a high-end designer.Of course I understand the importance of punk in the history of fashion and its enduring influence (and actually studied it quite a bit at Central Saint Martins with the amazing Peter Towse, who witnessed the punk years firsthand), but I think studded Burberry trench coats or Versace dresses decorated with gold safety pins are purely anecdotic. Also, as someone very cleverly pointed out to me, original punk clothes were meant to be worn. The rest of the clothes in the exhibition (all the numbers by Galliano or Margiela or Slimane) were conceived for the catwalk and for editorial purposes. They were not lived in. And what is fascinating about punk (at least for me) is that it's all about stories, about how people lived and about the spontaneous narrative of their styles.

 

 

Joey Ramone and Debbie Harry, king and queen of cool. 

Dee Dee Ramone being cute. Also, check out Joey in the background being a total style god.

I definitely understand how challenging it must have been for Andrew Bolton to conceive and put together the exhibit from a 100% fashion point of view. Maybe it should have been about more than just fashion (but would it have its place in the Met then?). It is doubtessly a privilege to be able to see original Vivienne Westwood and Katharine Hamnett T-shirts (some of them had not been seen in years), but from what I've seen the exhibition feels kind of lifeless.And punk was all about energy! Someone (I don't remember who) was defending the retrospective on Twitter stating in an outraged way that "of course it is about the clothes! What other outlet did the punks have to express themselves? Just music". "Just music"? For a start, I don't think music was secondary to style for most punks. And I do think they had other outlets: they spat, they provoked, they hung out together. Okay, they did not focus on creating beautiful sculptures or brainy avant-garde films. And why? Because punk was not about those things! If it is called "punk" it's because it's all about being a punk. 

CBGB's was an art form in itself.

DOA had the right attitude.

One of the anecdotes that depressed me most about the Met Ball was the one about the punkish-looking boys and girls who were "hired" to stand on the stairs and give the grandiose Met a bit of a subversive feeling to counteract all the (hideous) satin ball gowns. Anna Wintour told one of the boys "you look very handsome", to which he politely responded "uh... thank you. You look beautiful too". I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person in the planet (designers of the world, I'm looking at you) who would have loved to see a real punk adress Ms Wintour in a typically punk manner. But as the great Grace Coddington said, "I don't think real punks have been invited". 

This is what I mean by punk behaviour. You have to adore Johnny Rotten being all impretinent yet repentant like a school kid when he says the word "shit".

So was the whole thing a complete failure? Actually I don't think so. It was openly commercial and shamelessly anti-punk, and it has gotten me and countless others exceedingly upset upon noticing how full of utter crap our society is. But it also got many people thinking about the true essence of punk, and discussing it - in a very 21st century way - through social networks. As a matter of fact, ever since monday night all I see on my Facebook and Twitter feeds are really interesting discussions about the importance of the punk movement, what it stood for and why we have to still be punks at heart. You gotta hand it to the Met Ball's glamourous clique: by making us violently react to them, they have brought true punk back in fashion. 

A model's beauty secrets: Bette Franke tells it all

I met up with the lovely Dutch model Bette Franke a couple of weeks ago around tea and raspberry choux à la crème at the See by Chloé perfume launch to talk beauty and makeup. When not strutting the catwalks or fronting Stella McCartney campaigns, Bette is a laid back, fresh-faced girl who wouldn't look a bit out of place in the chicest spots of the Hamptons. Beauty treatment junkie as I am, I just had to get the lowdown on her beauty routine.

What's the best beauty advice you've ever been given?

After years of wearing dramatic make-up at work (and sometimes being made up several times a day), I can positively say the best advice I've been given is... to keep it natural! Make-up artists have often advised me against pancaking my face with foundation, lipstick and eyeshadow, so on a day to day basis I just wear a touch of blush and some pink lip gloss. 

Tell me your anti-stress miracle remedy.

I'm not one to run to fancy spas when I want to relax... Instead, I enjoy biking around Central Park; exercising and looking at the trees really takes my mind off my day. Otherwise, I just make a cup of green tea and curl up on the sofa with a book. I am a big fan of cocooning. 

Your favourite beauty product?

I have the same problem as most models: I tend to get allergies and reactions on my skin from all the make-up I have to wear... Luckily I've found a miraculous moisturizer, Nars's Crème Hydratation Lumière. I've been using it for several months, it's really thick and creamy and just feels incredibly comfortable. I've become addicted to it!

Who is your beatuy icon?

I don't really have one. I often find most of the people I meet (not just models!) are beautiful in different ways or have striking facial features. As I see it, anyone can be a beauty icon. Beauty is such a broad concept...

What's your beauty routine before a party?

It's not very different to my everyday routine, to be honest; just a little more sophisticated. I do wear foundation when I go out at night. My favourite is Calvin Klein, it's really luminous, which comes in handy after an exhausting day of work. I also wear a very light, sheer lipstick, also from Calvin, in a fuchsia tone. That's all. No eyeshadow, no mascara. 

...And your anti-hangover plan the day after?

First of all, getting up. You start feeling sorry for yourself in bed and your whole day is automatically ruined! A shower and a home made carrot and ginger juice give me a jumpstart (I love juicing), then I make a point of getting out of the house and brunch out with friends.Works like a charm, every time. 

Do you ever detox or diet?

No. I do eat lots of fresh fruits and vegetables on a daily basis and I don't eat sugar often. I'm not a big fan of cake, so it doesn't bother me all that much. But I don't believe in dieting: all it does is make you desperately want what you're not supposed to eat. Indulging from time to time is necessary, just as eating healthily.

Throwback Thursday: Remember when Kate got pink hair?

... And pink hair never looked better. Move over Charlotte Free.

Four weddings and no funeral: a Valentine’s Day Special

I know what you’re all thinking: “Not another lovey-dovey Valentine’s Day post, please!” I know because I invented Valentine’s Day dissing. All of you know just how much I loathe all the Valentine cheesiness, the heart-shaped chocolate boxes, the red rose bouquets and the candlelit dinners with white chocolate and raspberry puddings followed by, well, you know, what two people “in love” are supposed to do on Valentine’s Day. Call me cynical, I think love is not best expressed by Nestle chocolates and roast beef served between two candles. But hey, I’m not just cynical, I’m also superficial and looking for lots of new readers, so I’ve decided to give in to the Valentine’s Day hype and do a post on what some people consider “the greatest expression of eternal love”. I consider it a post on “really fancy, cool weddings (with delicious cakes)”.  What does love have to do with it?

Thought weddings were the epitome of “romance”, all sparkling princesses and prince charmings and meringue-like dresses and pink cupcakes? Think again, weddings can be cool, eccentric and… super chic! Here’s proof: these four fashion industry insiders whipped up weddings so fabulous they almost made me lose all my cynicism and wish I was hitched. Take a look at these four different styles and tell me which one is your favourite!

The Countryside Bride: Kate Moss

When it comes to British weddings, there’s only one Kate (and I don’t mean Middleton). Miss Moss exceeded expectations with her 1930’s English Rose-inspired wedding. The girl got everything right: chiffon dress by (a recently outcast) John Galliano, bridesmaids wearing fresh flower crowns, garden celebration and a three-day party that would have impressed Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. Tip: Kate served sidecar cocktails (brandy, orange liqueur and lemon juice) all through the celebrations… mixed by her favourite barista from the Ritz in Paris!

The Bohemian Bride: Margherita Missoni

Nozze all’italiana for Margherita: the Missoni heiress chose a dress custom made for her by Giambattista Valli (it’s only natural. After all, who’s ever heard of a Missoni all-white dress) that made her look like a Virgin in a Boticelli painting. Can you think of anything more delightful than that? She could: Miss Missoni made her guests sit on the grass, in signature multicoloured Missoni cushions, to have a picnic under the olive trees. Tip: Margherita hired a fortune-teller who read everybody’s palms. I dare you to be more Fellini than that.

The Avant-Garde Bride: Katie Shillingford

Who said city weddings were only for anally retentive boring bourgeoises? Katie Shillingford proved getting married in central London can be mega cool. The stylist made her appearance spotting candyfloss pink hair (YES!) and a Gareth Pugh wedding gown that took my breath away, looking like a 21^st century version of a Pre-Raphaelite muse. Along with her bridesmaids (dressed in black), she partied until the small hours at Eltham Palace and danced to the music DJed by Matthew Stone. Tip: Katie’s wedding cake was all white icing and white flowers on the outside… and rainbow sponge on the inside.

The Sustainable Bride: Pamela Love

Meanwhile, on the other side of the pond, jewellery designer Pamela Love got married in Long Island. Not one to do things halfway, she showed her commitment to ecological and ethical causes through a Native American-inspired aesthetic (tepees, an acoustic guitar gig, wildfires and Appalachian blankets) and a sustainable dress (which she wore barefoot) and delicious vegan menu. Tip: no need to throw money around, Pamela and her friends organized the party themselves, sourcing the food from nearby farms, mixing juice cocktails and arranging wild flowers in mason jars.

Kiki de Montparnasse for AnOther Magazine

My new article on AnOther Magazine's website is about the wonderful Kiki de Montparnasse!

She was the toast of Montparnasse at a time when the popular quarter in the south of Paris welcomed penniless avant-garde artists and bohemian characters. Her raven black garçonne bob, prominent nose and art deco Cupid’s bow made her recognisable to one and all. Kiki de Montparnasse was not particularly beautiful or elegant, but there was something electric about her: “she was very wonderful to look at”, said Hemingway. Soutine, Foujita, Gargallo and of course Man Ray must have agreed with him, for they all asked her to pose for them. But Kiki de Montparnasse was more than just an artist’s model.

Born Alice Ernestine Prin, a healthy country girl brought up by a kindly and unshockable grandmother, Kiki de Montparnasse first arrived in Paris in 1913, aged 12, to work as a baker’s apprentice. However, five years later, the Armistice found her down on her luck, homeless, roaming the streets of Paris and sleeping in a vagabond’s hut behind the Gare Montparnasse. Refusing to become a prostitute (she had an irrational fear of venereal disease) she would go to the Coupole and sit there all da, sipping a six-cent café-crème wearing a black silk hat, her most prized possession. It was there, beneath the mirrors that multiplied the possibilities of seeing and being seen, amid the cigarette smoke and the aromas of Pernod and hot chocolate, that she filched croissants, made scenes and got artists to buy her drinks. She would pose for them in exchange, soon building up friendships with lovely Foujita, dirty Soutine or drunken Modigliani. She didn’t belong to any clique but rather reveled in seducing everyone: surrealists, cubists, futurists, Dadaists; and rubbed elbows with drunken sailors, pimps, boxers and cocaine users on the terraces of the Dôme or the Rotonde. She was famous for her generosity with her tears, with her body, with her laughter, with her money whenever she had any.

In 1921 she met Man Ray and reluctantly accepted to pose for him, even though she was weary of photography, especially the “lewd” kind. It was love at first sight. They moved in together to a modern, luxurious building on 31 bis rue Campagne Première. For Kiki de Montparnasse this was a dream come true: perfumed with Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue, she would entertain in her salon the greatest personalities of her time. Matisse, Picasso, Joyce and Gertrude Stein all dropped in to enjoy her excellent French cooking. She still posed for artists, always remaining silent, never judging their work. She picked up cues from the very people she modeled for and became an accomplished artist, but was devoid of artistic ambition. She could even have been a movie star when, in 1923, Paramount scheduled an appointment for her in New York. But, at the last minute, she decided to go shopping instead. She would rather stay in Paris, a city that was, in the words of Alice B. Toklas, “more beautiful, vital and inextinguishable than ever”; a city where her own life and the creating of her persona would become her works of art.