This morning I went to my very first museum in Paris—Le Petit Palais—to see—philistine!—frocks. Not just any frocks, mind you, but an enormous collection of frocks by Yves Saint Laurent. Extreme haute couture mixed with pret-a-porter mixed with Catherine Deneuve and tied into a great big black satin bow with an entire wall devoted to Le Smoking. (To be worn, per the translated text, against "the bear skin.") Several ladies I know would've gotten the vapors when they reached "The Last Ball" room, committed exclusively to the evening dress in all manner of crepe, velvet, taffeta, organza, and lace; in black and white and Chinese yellow and Persian blue, navy, gold, fuschsia, ruby, and flame; trimmed with sequins and gems, feathers from the ostrich and feathers from the bird of paradise, and something, too, known simply as "silver dust." Whew! Even I went swoony there for a minute.
Then I wandered down to the bridge and clipped a little vid just for you.