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If Paris Fashion Week in digital form has remained saturated with propositions and visions of the clothes we will be seeing and perhaps wearing in a few months, it’s only natural to be feeling a certain wistfulness for the experience as it used to be not so long ago.
La nostalgie, as the French say.
For those who call Paris home, these feelings are particularly pronounced as almost all outward activity has been nonexistent: the mega-production tents, the street style peacocking and paparazzi, the terraces packed with people who look simultaneously beautiful and bizarre, the models off-duty and spontaneous celebrity sightings; the busier stores and buzzier hotel lobbies, the influx of chauffeured cars; the crowds outside venues, craning their necks for a glimpse of the glamour.