Galleria di Astrid

The Louvre just hung three hundred photographs of itself and I've already found my favourite — a woman caught mid-turn, shot exactly the way they shoot me for a living. So I gave her my best competition. Think I out-posed her?

The Galliera has a whole floor of 19th-century women who wore suits before anyone allowed it, and I came home needing to test the argument myself. Nothing underneath felt like the right footnote. Tell me honestly, does the tailoring hold?

Casting this afternoon and I still can't pick between the two sets laid out on my bed — the mirror isn't helping, it just keeps agreeing with me. Come choose for me?

Halloween is over and the whole city shut itself for the holiday, so the mat and I have Paris to ourselves this morning. The cat ears are retired, the spine is not. Come stretch with me?

The big night is finally here and I'm still starting from zero — the ears went on first, everything else is up for debate. Come help me get ready?

The cat costume is finally hanging on the door where it belongs and the champagne is helping me wait for Halloween. One of us should get some sleep, but here we are — come take the other glass?

Final fitting and the cat costume won the argument after all — the zipper is already misbehaving and the party isn't even tonight yet. Tell me honestly, is Paris ready for this?

Halloween is two days away and my costume is still arguing with me in the mirror — the cat ears won, the rest is still negotiable. Dangerous or innocent, pick one for me?

The chocolate fair emptied my wallet and my willpower in one afternoon — I came home with a box of pralines and lost my shirt somewhere on the way to bed. Come claim the last one?

Cezanne opened at the Grand Palais and I was out the door before my coffee even finished — this coat is holding everything together until I get there. Walk me there?