To fly to Paris in sneakers is a sin; it’s either sufficiently high heels or you can just take the next ship back. Not for nothing is the French capital of romance, gastronomy and high-octane glamour toasted the world over. Parisians exalt their dress-making to an art form and, naturellement, are obsessed by making their biannual Paris Fashion Week a cultural hit.

A designer’s dream is to show here. A fashionistas’s dream is to watch the runways, in gob-smacked awe, here. Paris gives you palaces, museums and even the Eiffel Tower to have fashion shows in. “We don’t care about sales, designers are our gods,” says Didier Grumbach, prez of the Federation Francaise de la Couture, the body that puts together this stylish seven days (eight actually, since it’s so crowded), with an exaggerated flair characteristic of the French.

The competition here is so intense that unless you have a multi-million-dollar backing, like the Gucci Group-owned Alexander McQueen, you can’t afford it. Maybe if you are completely cutting-edge and tres chic, like Hussein Chalayan or Sophia Kokosalaki.
Or just plain lucky, like Rajesh Pratap Singh and Manish Arora, two Indian talents who had fashion shows here on February 24. Even Matthew Williamson and Alice Temperley, after outgrowing the upstart-friendly London Fashion Week, headed to the McDonald’s of ready-to-wear, New York.

Unlike the press-crazy India Fashion Week, one pass doesn’t get me into any show I like (Chanel pumps notwithstanding). The salles at Le Carrousel du Louvre (yes, they actually allow fashion shows at the best museum in the world) are where the younger lot show and are easier to elbow your way in. Exciting new people show here like Andrew Gn and Paul & Joe; there’s almost never a show here that leaves you unmoved.

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