Paris Can Wait: Why I’m Not Returning to My Beloved Paris Yet

Bonjour fashion lovers,

Today my beloved Paris is voting to elect its new mayor. The election might not even be decided today; most likely Parisians will return to the polls next week. But the news made me realize something else entirely: how long it has been since I was last there.

The past few years have been incredibly difficult for me, so much so that traveling simply became impossible. First Covid. Then my hip surgeries. Then cancer. Then the discovery of psoriatic arthritis (what I call my silent enemy) which now seems to have been behind so much of what my body has endured.

And now there is my mamma Filomena, slowly fading.

Paris, for me, has never been just a city. It is almost a place of the soul. In fact, it is the place of my soul. In my stories and articles it returns again and again as a symbolic home, a place where beauty, charm, history and everyday life blend together in a way that I still find unique and endlessly fascinating.

But right now there is my mother.

Filomena has been, and will always remain, one of the most iconic and fundamental figures in my life. A talented seamstress from a small village in southern Italy, with a heart that has always belonged to Haute Couture. She taught me the value of work, the patience and craftsmanship behind every garment, and above all the dignity and strength that come with independence.

At this moment, all my attention belongs to her.

Paris will wait for me, just as it always has. Paris possesses an extraordinary quality: it remains itself even when it changes. And in recent years it has changed a lot,  in many ways, for the better.

You can return after months or even years and immediately rediscover that unmistakable sense of familiarity in its boulevards, its bistrot tables, its Haussmannian façades that I love so deeply and that have always made me feel at home.

It is difficult to explain, but for me Paris is not simply a destination. It is a place where past and present coexist effortlessly, just as they do in the stories I write here on The Fashion Lover.

When I return, it will probably feel even more special. Because some cities are best experienced after an intense period of life, when time has sharpened your ability to truly appreciate them.

Paris will know how to surprise me again.

In the meantime, I continue to live it through the messages of my dear friend François, who never tires of sending me photos and videos that keep the dream alive, and through my own memories and photographs.

But right now the number one fashion lover, my mamma Filomena, needs me.

Paris can wait.

Always fashion. Always black. Always Paris. Your Emanuela