She reminds me of my best friend in third grade, Carey. She had the same glasses, and we wrote notes to each other with little boxes at the bottom of the page for checking.

Do you like me? check yes or no.

Are you mad at Cindy? check yes or no.

Do you want to come over after school? check yes or no.

Did you do your homework? check yes or no.

Life was so simple then, and I wonder if we could make it simple again by going back to the old ways:

Being one of those annoying people who see the world in black and white, I would enjoy receiving a straight-forward note like this. It would, at least, make me laugh, and you know what they say about men with a sense of humor…

You can order it (the pad of paper, not the sense of humor) by clicking here.

Her outfit is  a smorgasbord of colorful, draping, interesting, vintage threads, and to do this she must have quite the selection. I imagine that some of it she’s pilfered from her grandmother, other pieces have been carefully selected from the numerous vintage shops in the area, and still others she picks up on her travels, because yes, I think she’s the kind of girl who travels, probably with a set of matching, vintage trunks.

Last night I was out to dinner with a gentleman, the kind that wears pince-nez spectacles, gold cuff links and wouldn’t dream of driving his car without leather gloves. We spoke briefly about fashion, and he said that in his opinion to be fashionable was to lack elegance. I’ve been thinking about that as I wander the streets of Paris, and I wonder if he’s right, and if he is, how can we define the difference?

There are plenty of women on the Paris streets in  fantastic get-ups that hint at stacks of fashion magazines on their coffee tables and personal shoppers on speed dial, but are these women elegant? They have interesting clothes, but are they even stylish, or do they just have the ability to mimic what shows up on fashion blogs and magazines?

And speaking again of elegance, if someone wears all the right clothes and yet looks decidedly undernourished or slightly drugged sagging on a lamppost, they can be called fashionable, yes, but elegant?

Possibly this is the beginning of a good method of distinction.

I thought at first it was a woman’s voice, that he was miming along with a recording from an earlier, more romantic time.

Bryant Paul’s voice is clear and beautiful, and it filled Montmartre with an easy melody that made me glad I woke up early, glad I took a Sunday stroll and oh so glad that the world is home to people like him, people living their dream, singing because they were born to, because if they didn’t the music would just push its way out through their pores.

Well, she would be elegant if she would put her tongue back in her mouth…

- John Waters

Whether it be an ex-lover, slimmer hips, curly hair or the slice of triple chocolate cake in your local café’s glass case, if you can’t have it, you can’t live without it. The more everyone around you says, “no,” the more you are convinced you need it; you must have it; you might die without it.

Obsession is humanity’s most powerful motivator, and for artists, it’s their life blood. It takes an obsession, a passion, an unrelenting search for the essence of a desire to spur an artist into choosing creation over comfort, and such was the case with Marina Calamai, a Florentine artist and self-professing sugar addict.

When Marina developed pregnancy diabetes and was forbidden to eat any sweets, thinking and dreaming about it did nothing but frustrate her. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she began to paint… cakes.

Soon her house was filled with paintings of pies, sculptures of candies, and hats made to look like stacks of profiteroles. There were triptychs of fruit cakes, multimedia “sound paintings” of doughnuts, 2-meter-high sonorous and olfactory installations, and now, finally, Marina has converted her passion for sugar and art into a passion for jewelry, starting with a line of rings. Cupcake rings.

They are  handcrafted in Italy using sterling silver with gold and enamel accents. Light and fun to wear, unfortunately they don’t conquer sugar cravings (at least not mine), but they do come in a variety of “flavors” and are available at the internationally acclaimed concept boutique Luisa Via Roma in Florence, as well online at Luisa Via Roma (click here to enter).

You can learn more about Marina Calamai and her art here.

She’s military grunge with her beret, wrinkled bomber jacket, missing trouser button and gold-rimmed aviators. Crossing all sorts of fashion boundaries and breaking all kinds of rules, she still comes out looking put together — almost like she cut that pesky trouser button off herself (and who knows, maybe she did).

What’s more, I love her black, brown and gray mixture. I grew up believing that black with brown was a fashion no-no, but here, where nothing is forbidden (except a cappuccino after noon), Italians don’t live their fashionable lives by our small petty rules, and black goes as well with brown as it would with any other color… how refreshing!

She’s ugly now, she says, and old. How I would be surprised, she says, if I had only seen her before, a  famous sarta (dressmaker) for the most well-dressed ladies of Europe. She owned her own shop on this very street, and oh, she was so elegant then.

She blots together her pink lips excitedly and tells me of her famous Parisian teacher and the life of glamor she lived. Now she’s tired, though, and she points to her glasses saying she doesn’t see so well anymore.

Behind thick lenses her eyes sparkle, and I wish I HAD seen her then, but I’m awfully glad I know her now.

Florence, Italy

The women of Florence are starting to revolt. It’s in their brightly colored tights, their amber lens Ray-Bans and the way they leave winter coats at home even if it means wrapping wool scarves up to their ears.

“I can’t take it anymore!” they say, because we’ve all had enough of winter.

We’re ready to send our heavy coats to the cleaners and polish our boots for next year. We’re ready for bare knees and little dresses. Spring is so close we can smell it — or we could if it were warm enough to unwind our scarves a few inches.