By my reckoning the average French girl has it made. For the French have an innate and rather enviable ability to appreciate, make that celebrate, their individual beauty. Women in other nations, on the other hand - ours included - seem to adopt the opposite approach by flogging and augmenting themselves, in effect manufacturing themselves as someone better and more attractive… apparently.
Ironically, it is often the French whom we try to emulate. Much to their bewilderment, if not amusement. For in doing so we’re missing the point, aren’t we? Parisian women don’t exercise in the extreme, pendulum between binging and abstaining or openly endorse botox and boob jobs. Some do, I’m sure, but not on the whole. When you think of a Parisian woman you think timeless, effortless, understated, if a bit undone, non? In a word: natural.
Women in Paris prefer scant amounts of make-up (perhaps a black-lined lash or a red lip); free-form hair, nary a blunt edge or tonged curl in sight. They opt for natural skin tones, not spray tans or stucco-like finishes; buffed nails (noir or rouge might make an appearance for a more sophisticated look) and their slender frames are care of thoughtful, though not obsessive eating, regular cleanses and the occasional strengthening and lengthening class, reinforced by incidental exercise such as walking or cycling, rather than driving and taking the stairs over the elevator.
Sound unfamiliar, does it? Well, I hate to say it, but the key to unlocking French beauty is not blood, sweat and tears, but rather an agreeable about of restraint meets a healthy dose of nonchalance.
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