Photos and text by: Corey Amaro
When at a party with a bunch of chic people I do not know, I feel a bit shy.
I notice I am not alone in this feeling:
Some people hold a drink.
Some people stay close by the ones they know.
Some people sit and eat.
Some people offer to help the host.
Some use their cell phone.
Some go to the bathroom and gather their nerves (okay maybe that is just me.)
Most people have a crutch to lean on....
I use my camera. It is a great thing to hide behind, and a helpful ice breaker.
The camera also lets me admire without seeming rude. I love looking at how everyone is dressed from head to toe, better than any magazine. Elegant, simple, casual chic. Better than window shopping.
Overdressed is overkill.
Chunky bracelet simple necklace.
Chunky necklace, simple bracelet.
One or the other but not both.
French women know how to layer jewelry as well as they know how to wear a scarf.
With a camera in hand I asked a few men if I could take their photo.
"Where are you from?" they asked detecting my accent.
I wanted to say Venus, but luckily I caught myself instead I said,
"I live here, but I am an American. And you?"
Having an accent is a good conversation starter. Gee, what would I do without it?
"I like your shirt, well actually your collar." I blushed. Why did I narrow it to his collar? What a ding dong thing to say.
Everyone likes a compliment.
He asked, "Should I remove my sunglasses?"
"Oh no no," then I pointed for him to put them back where he had them.
His smile was a million dollars.
Sunglasses at night, blond hair, pink shirt, I love a man who carry that can of style and not feel threatened.
French Husband hates shopping. Any type of shopping: Food, furniture, light bobs (as he calls them, and I never want him to stop calling them 'light bobs') clothes, especially clothes.
He shops for buildings and I buy his clothes.
I found a shirt (the one above) a few hours before the party. Raced home, ironed it, then polished my nails mauve brown to hide the cherry juice stains.
As shopping for clothes is one of French Husband's biggest pet peeves, he dares not to complain about what I bring home for him to wear.
Flower collared shirts,
Polka dotted underwear,
Black socks (some things must remain basic),
Red patent shoes....
Wear it or go naked is the underline thought.
Naked might not be a bad option.
Colorful collars seem to be the new thing this year.
The canopy tents lite up with varied colors throughout the night.
Clever details make a party festive.
Grilled shrimp with spicy tomato. I stood at the grill, chatting up the chef.
As tempting as it was dainty forks put a stop to my natural desire to pick up the shrimp and pop it in my mouth and then lick my fingers.
"What is the recipe?" I asked.
Conversation flows when it is about food.
"Garlic and chili with a hint of fennel."
"Fennel? I would have never guessed."
Test tube drinks. Melon and mango.
A fantastic combo for the taste buds: Grilled shrimp and Melon/Mango.
"Is there rum in this?" I asked then shook my head back and declared, "Wonderful mix!"
I noticed that I was the only woman really, truly, eating as I took another grilled shrimp declaring to the chef, ""I have a love affair with food!" then I kissed it to my lips.
The French chef looked at me oddly. Most likely what I think I said wasn't what he understood. Thinking about it now, it literally translated:
"I have a love deal with a castrated bull."
Speaking French, is a finesse I do not have. I butcher it badly.
A colorful play of color:
Pink light on the silver railing,
Pale rose in a glass,
a hint of blue from the distance sea.
Mile high, toe-less heels,
Pink and melon seemed to be the big accent colors this season.
Over-sized outdoor bean bags. Very comfortable:
French Husband and his partner Thierry talked shop.
I sat in one while they talked. If I had known how difficult it was going to be to get up elegantly from it, I would have not sat in it. Imagine sitting in a marsh-mellow-cotton-candy goo with a short strapless dress and a chunky camera around your neck.
Feel sorry for me please. It was embarrassing.
But, oh, the view!
The view made the memory of the marsh-mellow-cotton-candy goo, and the castrated bull comment seem trivial.
I passed on the bite sized, caviar.
I prefer sticky complicated things to dine on.
I love going to parties.
I enjoy looking at what people are wearing.
I enjoy the food, and the petits fours.
I enjoy seeing the decor.
I enjoy meeting people, although mingling is not my forte.
Mostly I get a kick out of going to parties because....
Do you enjoy going to parties?