I Went To Paris and All I Got Was A Useless Pair of Leather Gloves
The driving gloves are purely for show, though the Grace Jones pair have purpose. Plus, a Frantic (1988) connection.
After working for the day in the mammoth Paris library, the gilded Bibliothèque nationale de France, I was searching for lunch. En route, I was immediately drawn to a glove store, Acaba Gantier. The place was a streetside peacock, each glove erect in the window as if they were ready for someone to slip them on. The leather things were in candy hues in Jolly Rancher purples, reds, and greens, and then ruddy earth tones of caramel, chocolate, and burgundy. Some were drizzled with polka dots; others, tiny coquette bows. A sickeningly fabulous pair of shearling fingerless gloves practically waved at me. They looked like they’d been skinned from an UGG boot and reminded me of something from JLo’s early ‘00s heyday.