LJ Idol: Open Topic
Sometimes days go by and no one comes. Weeks even.
That's the way of it, these days.
Les Américains no longer revere our fashion esthétique the way they once did. de Vise, Doucat, Paquin...these names mean nothing to les Américains any more. Even Chanel must compete with the Gap and Wal-Mart.
Odious, Wal-Mart is. But what can one do? C'est la manière des choses.
My shoppe, it grows dusty. I smell the mildew trying to take hold. But it will not win - let it never be said that Madame de la Rouche keeps a dirty store.
Once I was the busiest magasin d'habillement in all of New York City. The mayor's wife, she came frequently. All the stars of Broadway, too. Where else to get the latest Parisian fashion but at An American in Paris? The waiting list to even enter was months long.
But no more. Les Américains that came earlier were my first customers this week. And they left without buying. Probably couldn't have afforded my wares anyway. C'est la vie.
Les Américains...I both love them and loathe them. They are so full of hope, of life. They look at the sky and see a future of wonder, of joy.
Or at least they were - now their eyes look down instead of up. They move like rats in the Paris subway - scurrying along, suspicious of their neighbors.
I moved from Paris as a young girl, with stars in my eyes. I saw the bright lights, the bustle of the city. I would be part of le rêve Américain. I would create my dream. And so I did - An American in Paris was my dream.
And for awhile, the city dreamed with me.
But no more.
The world changes. I become obsolete. One day no one will remain who remembers Madame de la Rouche and her An American in Paris.
C'est la manière des choses.
This has been an entry for LJ Idol. Once again, we are paired together, so my fate is linked to i_17bingo. His entry is linked above - I encourage you to read it first, as his nonfictional tale inspired my fictional one. If you want to vote for one or both of us, the poll will likely be up later today.
That's the way of it, these days.
Les Américains no longer revere our fashion esthétique the way they once did. de Vise, Doucat, Paquin...these names mean nothing to les Américains any more. Even Chanel must compete with the Gap and Wal-Mart.
Odious, Wal-Mart is. But what can one do? C'est la manière des choses.
My shoppe, it grows dusty. I smell the mildew trying to take hold. But it will not win - let it never be said that Madame de la Rouche keeps a dirty store.
Once I was the busiest magasin d'habillement in all of New York City. The mayor's wife, she came frequently. All the stars of Broadway, too. Where else to get the latest Parisian fashion but at An American in Paris? The waiting list to even enter was months long.
But no more. Les Américains that came earlier were my first customers this week. And they left without buying. Probably couldn't have afforded my wares anyway. C'est la vie.
Les Américains...I both love them and loathe them. They are so full of hope, of life. They look at the sky and see a future of wonder, of joy.
Or at least they were - now their eyes look down instead of up. They move like rats in the Paris subway - scurrying along, suspicious of their neighbors.
I moved from Paris as a young girl, with stars in my eyes. I saw the bright lights, the bustle of the city. I would be part of le rêve Américain. I would create my dream. And so I did - An American in Paris was my dream.
And for awhile, the city dreamed with me.
But no more.
The world changes. I become obsolete. One day no one will remain who remembers Madame de la Rouche and her An American in Paris.
C'est la manière des choses.
This has been an entry for LJ Idol. Once again, we are paired together, so my fate is linked to i_17bingo. His entry is linked above - I encourage you to read it first, as his nonfictional tale inspired my fictional one. If you want to vote for one or both of us, the poll will likely be up later today.