Paris has a bad case of Sloppy Goth. It’s incredibly annoying to see young bats moping around in these shapeless tents of black ribbon and lace. And no makeup. What he hell is that about? The only thing I can think of is that it’s some kind of simultaneous FY to both gothdom and France that just looks thoughtless and depressed in the end.

Not so at Harajuku, a Gothic Lolita store I happened upon on Lagrange yesterday. The deliciously pretty gothling who helped me absolutely makes the Big Bat in the Sky proud, no doubt. As tempting as they were, I couldn’t convince myself to spend 200€ on one of the Lolita dresses. They also had some Japanese punk clothing but I passed on all of it for a frilly black sheer cardigan that looks like a 1950’s negligee for the damned. I can definitely wear it out and about in L.A. over a camisole or tee as part of my summer black collection (as dubbed by the Marquise).

I’m dithering about what to do today, my last day in Paris. Last night we had dinner and drinks with The Frenchman’s bourgeois friends. They were so kind, they even thanked me for coming to their home and being their guest. I was deeply touched. Yesterday afternoon, I wandered about Le Cité quite a while and saw a great many things I’d never seen before. I had no specific intentions of doing anything but observing Paris, and I was rewarded for my wanderings. One of the things I saw was a rare encounter between a yuppie young man and a beggar. While people often talk to beggars in the U.S. about why they don’t have work, here it’s completely unheard of. But yesterday, apparently emboldened by Sarkozy’s election, a young man absolutely ripped the beggar a new one. “You’ve got two hands, two feet. You can work!”

Mostly entrepreneurs, all of the Frenchman’s bourgeois friends are ecstatic about Sarkozy’s win. Everyone is sick of being held back economically. They want to let capitalism have a go.

Okay, I’m outta here. There’s a crepe with my name on it out there.