Paris Chic & Cheap

Strolling down any street in the sixth, eighth, or sixteenth arondissements in Paris is akin to front-row seats at an exclusive fashion show. Women whose logos scream Vuitton!, Armani! and Chanel! are a dime a dozen, even though their designer togs certainly aren’t. Welcome to France, where fashion is a world in itself and there’s no Banana Republic in sight.

I was fairly well-versed in the top designers when I arrived in Paris, or so I thought. Granted, none of their names were emblazoned on my handbag or sunglasses, nor were any of their sleek products in my wardrobe. I quickly learned that France is a different planet as far as fashion is concerned, where stars are born and flame out before America has thrown out last year’s Calvin cargo pants. When engaging in a little "léche-vitrines" (window shopping; in French, literally "window-licking") on the chic rue François le 1er, I found myself wondering, who the hell is this Paule Ka guy and why are his clothes so outrageously expensive?

A J. Crew kind of girl when I arrived in France, I relied on some of the high-street basics such as Zara supplemented by more sophisticated pieces by the classy French brand Tara Jarmon. Nonetheless, I was floored by some of the outfits of my Parisian friends and colleagues, most of who looked like they’d spent a month’s salary on their tweed mini-skirted suit. Finally one of my well turned-out friends let me in on her secret – "marques dégriffées" and consignment shops.

The concept is simple. Enterprising managers buy out discounted designer clothes that they find when stores go out of business or have fire sales, as in the case of most "marques dégriffées", or they are true consignment shops, where wealthy Parisians’ cast-offs go for a fraction of their original retail value.

My first venture into the "marques dégifées" was at Fifty-Fifty, a classy eighth arondissement institution where vintage Givenchy blazers compete with the latest runway creations from Marc Jacobs all at a reasonable price, considering their not-so-humble origins. Foraging in Fifty-Fifty is like raiding your "branchée" girlfriend’s closet and paying a mere pittance to transfer these designer duds to your own.

Looking for something to wear to that Parisian society wedding this summer? You’re likely to find it here, since Fifty-Fifty regularly rotates the finest pedigree merchandise available. If you don’t find the perfect frock for the wedding, there will always be something chic and appropriate for the upcoming christening, cocktail, or night on the town.

Shopping at a Paris "dépôt de ventes", however, is a little like garage-sale slumming with a champagne flute in hand. Imagine rummaging through your eccentric but stylish grandmother’s attic and you get the idea. Classic Yves Saint Laurent herringbone overcoats are mish-mashed with leather biker jackets from Versace with a mink stole thrown over the lot for good measure. In between you may find an exquisite creamy silk Dior slip dress with matching duster…it just depends on the foibles and fancies of the rich Parisienne and her last-season’s haul.

While paying less for more is always attractive, the goods can be dated and financially out of reach for your average consumer, savvy though she may be. On the other hand, as with your grandmother’s attic, an occasional probe can yield unexpected treasure. The point was proven the last time I went to the Dépôt-Vente de Buci-Bourbon.

When I opened the glass door to the small atélier, a reassuring and familiar smell of must greeted me. After a perfunctory survey of the merchandise, I was tempted by several gems. Sequins, leather, and satin, oh my! On second thought, I realized the full-length caramel fur coat I was ogling was neither appropriate nor affordable for my thirty-year-old professional self.

As I was about to leave, a dull gleam caught my eye. Slightly concealed to the left of the counter, there it was, an Hermès Kelly handbag, resplendent in black crocodile. Involuntarily I gasped, aglow with the realm of possibilities, namely of me sauntering down Saint Germain-des-Près looking impossibly fashionable.

On impulse I asked the saleslady to bring it down for closer inspection. The exterior of the tailored purse seemed a tiny bit scuffed in certain regions, but I thought it gave it a certain heirloom charm. With the glossy signature gold clasp still in decent shape, I considered my good fortune.

"C’est combien?" I asked. "Ce n’est pas cher, que trois mils euros," said the saleslady with a smile. Three thousand euros? I realized that for a Kelly bag this was a steal, but if I paid this price, I would literally have to steal to make ends meet for the rest of the month.

As I left the store, I felt disappointed, as if I’d somehow let an opportunity slip by. My mood brightened, however, as I received a call from my best friend in Paris, an American clued into the world of second-hand shops. "I just found the most beautiful hand-embroidered Lolita Lempicka skirt," she proclaimed.

Lucky for me we’re the same size.

Fifty-Fifty
4, rue Corvetto
75008 Paris
01.45.61.05.65

Dépôt-Vente de Buci-Bourbon
6, rue de Bourbon-le-Château
75006 Paris
01.46.34.45.05