13.9.14

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This week in inappropriate footwear 101: Elly wears her frat boots (froots) to class. In France.

As evidenced by the fact that they look live they’ve survived a war, these boots have become my go-to for activities featuring anything from paint to foam to champagne to questionable liquids dripping down the stairs of a frat house populated by first year girls who are “soOo drunkkk” they “could eat, like, a WHOLE Gusburger”.

Unfortunately, the only other black boots I have are either heeled or over-the-knee, and since I didn’t want to face-plant on my way to class or look like a hooker wearing thigh boots and shorts, these were what I grabbed. Somewhat shameful considering I live in France, aka the country of people who look like Anna Wintour clones and always¬†give you the once-over in passing while simultaneously smoking a cigarette and yelling something at Jean-Claude, their equally chic French boyfriend. I should probably go buy some new boots.

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At this point, the question of why I was wearing boots at all might seem pertinent.

I have strong doubts that anyone from UVA reads this blog except for some friends I bullied into reading it (hi Megan), but anyone who does go to UVA will understand the problem we face with bipolar weather. One day it could be perfect sit-outside-at-Boylan weather and the next day there would be so much snow that Dominos stopped delivering (my personal hell).

Well, UVA has nothing on France.

I thought enduring all four seasons in the span of a week was rough, but in Lyon it can literally go from December to July in a few hours. If you look up “bipolar” in the dictionary the definition will be listed as “Lyon, France”.

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To combat this, I’ve taken to wearing heavier items on top and warmer shoes balanced out by shorts or a skirt. Leggings are out of the question; in France, going to get the mail merits an outfit change. This morning, seized by a hungover desire for bread to accompany the cheese I somehow ended up buying last night (go figure), I put on my running shorts (note: they have never actually been on a run) and a t-shirt to walk two minutes to the bakery behind my apartment. The dirty looks I received from the elderly would make you think that I had stolen a baby or just insulted someone’s moustache or something. Damn the French and their crusade against comfort.

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Top- Love Culture// Shorts- Forever 21// Boots- JustFab// Sunglasses- Timberland

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