Sofia and Me
I got a little caught up in the Sofia Coppola media moment we had a few weeks ago. First came those transfixing "Marie Antoinette" previews with their New Order tunes and swaths of taffeta sweeping across lawns and marble hallways. And then there was the feature in the New York Times magazine, "Sofia Coppola's Paris." Sofia shops for a chandelier for her new Paris apartment. Sofia is fitted for a custom-made dress. Sofia reminisces about interning for Chanel as a teenager. Sofia, Sofia, Sofia!
It was hard not to feel a little envious. I confess I was pleased to read that she broke down in tears of stress back when "The Virgin Suicides" was first released. Of course, she was sitting in the Luxembourg Gardens while she wept - poor Sofia! But still, she's only human, just like you and me. Maybe that's why it's easy to resent her, because she presents herself as more down-to-earth, more real than the average celebrity. I do like her, really. But why does she have all these privileges? She's just the same as meeee!
I did see "Marie Antoinette" the other day, and I have to say, I think it works better as a two-minute music video, but I liked the way it humanized its pampered subject - hmm, a little like someone else we were just talking about - and I'm still feeling intoxicated by those luscious costumes and that New York Times Parisian fantasia photo spread.
So I made one, too.
"Sofia stopped at Odorantes, a tiny flower shop that specializes in bouquets that are organized by scent rather than by color."
I don't know if Sofia's been to Creperie Cousin Cousine on Rue Mouffetard, but it is decorated in a movie theme - tres apropos.
Sofia shops for fresh pastries. Sofia, Sofia, Sofia!
Let them eat petit fours. And taffeta dresses.