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Holding Chloé’s invitation card while blinking hard against the strobe lights. Everyone here looks like they were carved out of marble and exclusively fed on clean air with old money, cream silk.. amber suede.. all at once. It’s a bit too much to handle but I’m loving it, anyways. I slipped out into the night after the show ended. Sitting on a stone curb by the seine, chewing on nice-smelling pastries wrapped in grease-stained paper while the city still busy inside their hustle. I pull my suit tighter around my shoulders. Here’s a little piece of myself to share: always let the lace tear. Let your hands stay stained with ink, no matter how many polished mirrors they put in front of your face to make you forget where you came from. It’s all about being what you are now, right, Ilyes? So do I. My heels are quite ruined and my hair, thankfully, still as good as the first breath I took after I came out the room this morning. I’ll probably live long enough to step into every unknown cities I could name.
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