Paris: A Part-Time Lover

Returning after leaving. Plus, my itinerary, GAP, Gaga, and more!

When I left Paris in February, after nearly calling it home for 9 years, I desperately tried to fit all my belongings into suitcases that I shlepped to the airport while wearing three winter coats, several socks, and my chunkiest boots. I checked as many as I could and stuffed the rest into overhead bins. I also sent several bags with my mother who visited a few weeks prior and posted four boxes of books using the “livres et brochures” cheap trick—only three of which have made it to the States. (I’m not giving up hope for that fourth!)

For some reason, no part of me thought I’d be back soon enough to retrieve anything left behind in a friend’s cave or tucked under their bed. Silly me.

The Olympics happened and the world, along with myself, kvelled from afar despite all the kvetching done for weeks/months/years prior. As I watched the opening ceremony—twice—once live from my phone while texting with my Paris friends as I went about my day on the subway and summer Fridaying by a pool, and again later that night during a replay with a dear friend who humored me by eating overpriced comté cheese without baguette, I cried and cried and cried over not being in this one-time city of mine for its big Glowup.

I spent the next two weeks glued to the TV at all hours of the day, paying as much attention to the setting and surroundings as I did to the matches, relays, and qualifiers themselves: The Egyptian obelisk peaking through the skatepark at Concorde. The perfectly manicured gardens in the background during dressage at Versailles. The Eiffel Tower looming over the beach volleyball courts at the Champ de Mars. It was enough to drive a former expat mad so three days after the games began, I purchased a ticket to visit in September.

Why September? Firstly, because my childhood idol Janet Jackson was playing at Bercy at the end of the month. Second, it’s usually a lovely time of year to visit weather-wise. (Why wait until the one-year mark in the dead of winter?) So, I corraled my friend Jess to come with me to Janet, made sure the rest of my crew would be in town, and clicked purchase.

Bucking tradition, I didn’t pack a week prior, but I did get the pre-travel jitters. Despite being someone who gets around a lot, I almost always get anxious before traveling and this was no exception. What would I feel when I landed after having left? Regret? Disappointment? Remorse?

Thankfully, I felt none of those things. As soon as I arrived at CDG, it was like I’d never left. The city and all of its idiosyncrasies still felt like mine. Sure, there were signs of change all around—namely the Paris 2024 logos in bike lanes, metro tunnels, and on knickknacks sold at the register in supermarkets. One of my spin instructors was about 7 months pregnant. There’s a new Chinese place on my old block. Noir café continues its citywide domination. But otherwise, Paris kept on Paris-ing and I slid right back into its antics; rolling my eyes at the wafts of smoke ruining my just-washed hair as I ate on a terrace, but also popping into Monoprix on the reg “just to look,” and marveling at how the light hits the buildings just-so during dusk.

Paris charmed me. Paris enraged me. Paris proved itself to be the perfect part-time lover.

One week was the ideal dose to remind me why I stayed for as long as I did and why, eventually, I decided it was time to leave. Doing so again; saying goodbye to my dear friends after spending such soul-enriching time together was not easy. But if the last seven months have taught me anything it’s that absence truly does make the heart grow founder and technology is magic. I speak to most of these people regularly via WhatsApp, Marco Polo, Instagram, iMessage—you name it, we use it. I may no longer be there, and they are sadly not here, but the relationships remain.

So that’s that, and here I am back in New York as if—poof!—it was all but a dream. If you’re interested in the specifics of where I ate and what I bought, I’ve made a special post for paid subs that I’ve included below.

Shana tova to those who celebrate, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my nephew Calvin, who turns three TODAY, and niece Dahlia, who is one on Sunday! ILYSM. xx — Sara

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The last post I wrote on coffee was (surprisingly!) one of my most popular. Thank you to those who commented and sent suggestions.

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Clickable

• The awkwardness of being awkward: a deep dive. | Aeon

• ‘Nobody Wants This’ is sweet, but also a letdown. | Vulture / Time

• 24 hours in the NYC subway. |

  Anne Kadet

• The tenacity of Appalachia. | The Atlantic 

• French chefs try to help an American kid like eggs. | The NY Times

• Fashion today: “Fancy, but at what idiotic cost?” | WaPo

• The appeal of a ‘dumb job’ is great—even for dreamers. | The Cut

• “Come, even if you killed my mother before.” | The NY Times Magazine

• A post-C-section letter to an anesthesiologist. | Off Assignment

• Beach vacations and border control do not mix. | Fodor’s

• Losing a friend before opening night. | The NY Times

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Watchable

I love a group dance and this jam from Troye Sivan and CDK Company for GAP — “Big Jeans for Big Moves” — nails it, grooving to “Funny Thing” by Thundercat.

Lady Gaga’s current hairdo aside, she’s a force and this song for her new movie, Joker: Folie à Deux, performed while rollicking around the Louvre (and painting a Joker smile on Mona Lisa) proves it.

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Currently overthinking…

…song selection for Dahlia’s one-year birthday reel…

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Souvenir: Corning Ware

With the Jewish holidays in full swing, my mind is on brisket and brisket is on my mind, which means I can’t help but picture the dish my Grandmother (and her contemporaries) used to serve this quintessential Jewish meal. The unique glass-ceramic cookware that’s “resistant to thermal shock” was first introduced in 1953, but its infamous “Blue Cornflower” pattern became its trademark five years later. Did anyone in your family use them? Do you still?