Christmas plastic madness

This blog has had its fair share of yuletide rants, not about the event itself but the tide of consumerism that submerges any notion of what this festival is actually about.

Our two great recycling emporiums have been trawled for our re-gifted gifts along with various why-would-anyone-want-to-say-goodbye-to-this shetland jumpers/cashmere scarves etc from Vinted. Lovely foodstuffs such as local honey, handmade chocolates and olive oil from someone who has an olive grove in Portugal and brings up regular supplies will make up the other presents, and although I might buy a few oddities in NOZ (a whole other blog post) I'll avoid the bigger shops.

I had to go into Action (terrifying shop full of 95% non essential goods) to look for a loo brush ( I do draw the line on second hand very occasionally) and was transfixed by the festival of festive tat on offer, the most ridiculous of all: special celebration of the the birth of Jesus dog bed, and - this stuff signals the near ending of the human race if ever there was a sign - a hefty plastic pot containing yuletide white candy floss containing flecks of gold. I've seen many of these pots and each time it's a palm to head slapping duh astonishment moment - a one-use plastic pot containing spun sugar . . . what crazies thought of this, and why, money of course, and especially at this cash-it-in time of the year. Well, time to go and wrap some stuff up in old maps of France I found at Emmaus earlier.

Joyeuse Noël.

In praise of Vinted

And all other second hand online and actual shops.

I actually bought the pair of boots on the left NEW!  - not even in a sale - something almost unheard of in this household - and wore them literally to bits over the last five years or so. As they became unwearable other than to do plastering in I started a search for the same ones on Vinted (ace pre-loved clothing site, for anyone who hasn't discovered it). One pair arrived which were too small - odd as they were exactly the same make and size. I re-sold them, and did the occasional search for a different pair. And here they are, now slightly soiled from a few muddy dog walks, but perfect, waterproof, warm and a fraction of the retail price. 

Other recent super satisfactory purchases: slightly shrunk but perfect size for me, black cashmere jumper, just the right cord trousers, three pairs of hand knit new mittens and matching scarves for presents. The fact that any sales one makes can sit there as a wallet for the next purchases is great, the site is very easy and quick to use; less landfill, less fast fashion, bargains. Whoever created it, bravo.

Just checked it - two Lithuanians, Milda and Justas, started in 2008.   

Contrasts of shopping in Paris

Having planned a couple of 'flanning' days in Paris with my son - (flanning -  flaneur - one who wanders the streets with no particular objective other than to observe and listen) the fact that the outside temperature was at best 0 degrees meant that the usual ambling pace of the practice would not be possible.

We decided a flan around absurd shops would be interesting with free warmth - and no expenditure if we weren't tempted by the odd Hermes clothing item . . . First stop, Gallerie Lafayette. Excellent warmth despite their regular announcements that they were taking climate emergency seriously by lowering the normal ambient temperature and that free vin chaud would be circulated to all clientele to compensate for this appalling sufferance ;0) 

Ridiculous bags and shoes were in great evidence including a fine crop of over-sculpted training shoes by all brands. I didn't take pictures as heavies were lurking. I rather liked these Guccis at 950 euros and after checking what were the most expensive sneakers ever sold - a pair of gold Air Jordans at 2 million, well, the Guccis were a bargain really. But, as a fan of Scroogenomics I'll stick to my Vinted pair of Adidas black nondescripts.

After the heat of G la F we ventured out into the Champs Elysées and to the seriously serious shopping streets where all parked and passing cars are Mercedes at the very least, the most extreme vehicle being a white stretch jeep with gold wheels and New York number plates. Here are seated the likes of Louis Vuitton, Hermes and Maison Goyard. I entered the latter to inspect, or rather gawp at the range of dog-transporting luggage. What would I spend 6,500 euros on . . . hm . . . probably not a small square case - which was exquisitely made, it must be said - containing two stainless steel dog bowls . . .  or maybe they were platinum.

Ezra was reluctant to enter the hallowed halls of Hermes as surely our charity shop garb would be spotted and we would be politely asked to vamoose. I insisted and someone approached, asking charmingly if would like to see anything in particular. We said, just browsing, and that was fine. The real purchasers were seated with champagne and little cakes; products being shown, talk of alternative colour ways, shipping, and addresses of hotels for items to be sent to. There was little to smirk at here - no glitz, no gold training shoes, just beautiful, delicate clothes and bags, the colour palettes, extraordinary. I did finger (gently) a pale blue leather jacket with a price tag of 22,000, at which point another assistant appeared and asked slightly more pointedly if I would like to know more about the article. I did wonder how far one could pretend to be poised to buy something, when the champagne might appear but it was time to move on to other shops and more importantly, a cup of tea.

As dusk began to turn the sky that winter pale greeny-blue we walked at a blood-stirring pace up to le Sacré Coeur and gazed out across the white and grey expanse of Paris before finding a metro stop - Ezra to his B and B somewhere beyond the périphérique and me to mine in a fairly dodgy area within the 19th arrondissement. 

I stopped to photograph a lonely boutique below one of the stations and thought about the contrast to the window displays and haute couture we had recently seen. On climbing the stairs to my destination the contrast was starker still. 

The main products on sale here were hot peanuts and chestnuts, a few freezing vendors wheeling small shopping trolleys containing a paraffin heater, on which was balanced a tin tray of nuts. People hurried past, intent on getting indoors. I wondered how much the paraffin heaters cost as I bought a bag of peanuts. How much would each person take each winter night? How long would it take to thaw out their limbs? I reached my lodgement, worked out how to enter the building and stepped out on the fifth floor, slightly apprehensive as always with a cheap air B and B. 

The woman was charming, the flat warm and cosy and filled with oddities which made me feel immediately at home. I drew the curtains in my room and sat for a while thinking about the vastness of the city, the money being reckoned up in all those now closed temples of shopping, and the preparation for another run-up-to-Christmas day.