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paris, the city of perfect children.

Because I could not continue full-time on my fashion path in Paris, I had to reinvent myself a bit and ended up following in the footsteps of many expats by becoming an "English instructor." English instructor, my ass. I was a nanny, or an au pair if you really want to jazz it up. 

It's been well-documented that French children are better than every child in the entire world: they eat better, are well-behaved, never have dirty diapers, and too bad for you that your kids aren't French. Whatever. Here is a collection of essays of my two years as a babysitter in Paris. You be the judge. 

Bringing Up Bébé.

Les Enfants Terribles.

In the Dark.

All Americans Parlent Français.

Chasing Skirt.

Seeing Spots.

All the World's a Playground.

Cozy Boys Get Candy?

Fuck This Shit.

The Breaded Train.

Little Earthquakes.

Turning the Page.

Smells Like Teen Spirit.

1 comment:

  1. My my, you've been working your tushy off. So glad you've kept these posts here. Love the brown undies best and look forward to reading others! xxx

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