DORÉ

I don’t know if you follow me on Instagram, but it’s kind of becoming an even more personal visual diary, and even though I love this app (and hate it at the same time)(like any self-respecting non-millennial) there’s one thing that kind of bothers me – the fact that the images only scratch the surface and we really aren’t saying much at all.

So I decided to do a little weekly update for you, where I’ll comment on the photos I post so we can laugh a bit for a second or two.

Last week started in Miami, with a bright sunny day deluge of rain. To be honest, I was a bit worn out from all the traveling (I must have spent 50 hours in a plane last month) so all I wanted to do was sleep (in hopes of looking fresh-faced again) run (in hopes of getting back in shape since I’ve got a trip planned to Mexico for the beginning of the year) and eat ceviche (in hopes of eating ceviche).

So at the first sign of sun, I went straight to the beach (in Miami you can run on the beach, it’s as hard as… I wish my abs were) with Nikes on my feet and music turned all the way up. I was in total Rocky Balboa mode, I could feel my curves firming up with each stride (that’s kind of my problem, two exercise sessions and I’m already wondering why my jeans are still just as tight).

My other problem when I run outside is the distractions. After five minutes, I couldn’t help but stop to admire the kitesurfers on the horizon. Then I saw these two girls stretching and pretended to take a photo of the landscape while I was actually totally zooming in in total stalker mode. After that, people were selling mangoes on the boardwalk and I had to buy some, because you know, Mexic… I’m so healthy. After that, I couldn’t really run anymore with my mangoes… Welcome to my distracted brain.

That’s why, a bit dissuaded but still in emergency Mexico exercise mode I decide to head to the gym, and there, I adore it, but I have absolutely no idea what to do with the instruments of torture in front of me.

I run for two minutes on the treadmill, then I find a much better athletic activity: taking a photo for Instagram and asking people how they stay in shape (or in my case, get in shape) when they travel.

Thanks for all your great advice. At this very moment, I’m exploring all the options you gave me. Instead of actually doing them.

That’s me right before my book signing, pretending to be alone and happy on the beach (we were 3, and Emily took the photo)

Next, day, after about the same work out routine as the day before, I met up with Emily and her boyfriend, Josh, at the Soho House, which was so packed at brunch time, you had to walk over (shaved and oiled) bodies to get through, which proves that this peaceful photo is totally a construction of Instagram. On top of it all, the seagulls attacked us and even stole a chicken wing from Josh. Time to fly off to Dallas.

My days on tour are kind of crazy because I have to keep working with the team in New York while still doing a million things wherever I am at the time, so I try to get up super early to make myself a nice breakfast and the new edition of Vogue Paris, with the amazing Vanessa Paradis as the special guest, photographed by the amazing Inez and Vinoodh, is perfect, is almost too much perfection to handle. It kind of motivates me for my day.

I got the totally cool AND absurd idea to bring my book to life like the garden gnome in Amelie Poulain, so every time Emily and I arrive in a new city, we go straight to the most famous monument and take a photo. Sometimes it is a huge pain that takes two hours, like in Hollywood. Or in Dallas, where “the most famous monument” isn’t really agreed upon. And trust me, we asked lots of locals. We ended up choosing the Majestic, because it’s beautiful, and because we were too hungry to go around the city three times.

So I’m trying to eat healthy because Mexico, goddamnit, and Emily orders fried chicken with mashed potatoes and a delicious thing called gravy, to give you an idea of the number of calories, while I eat a niçoise salad in Dallas. A niçoise in Dalllas! Pfffff. Delicious, but of course, it was Em’s plate I took a photo of. Much more interesting.

After that, book signing, then the next day at 6am, we caught our flight to La La Land. Yaaayyyy life! Yaaaayyyy dark circles under my eyes!!!

I’m already dreaming about moving to LA, but now that I was able to jump in the pool between two meetings, I’m totally in love. I love, love LOVE  LA.

Super nice book signing with my friend Rashida Jones, then dinner, then interviews the next day, and I’m starting to get so tired and mixed up that I start saying nonsense (after a while, you don’t really know how to answer journalists in a fresh way anymore and, when you’re tired, which I’m seriously starting to be, you end up confusing them for shrinks. Especially if you’re already an over sharer. Especially if you’re like me and you decide to take interviews directly from your couch bed.

Interlude without photos

I don’t have any photos of it, because I’m way too chic to take out my iPhone at Château Marmont – so I hope you’ll take my word for it, because I have to tell you the Château story. And I have to do a bit of name-dropping, because there’s no LA without dropping names.

So I had an appointment with my friend Corinne Bailey Rae (Name drop #1) at the Château (Château Marmont is a celebrity all by itself, so name drop #2) and we couldn’t manage to find each other, that’s how delirious I was by that time. Then, not without running into Harry Weinstein (name drop #3)(totally unimportant to my story) and Ali Larter (Yeeeah! The super beautiful girl from Heroes!!! Name drop #4)(also unimportant to my Château tale) I had my brand new patent leather Saint Laurent Paris shoes on my feet (Brand name drop, totally acceptable for a fashion blogger) and I was probably busy admiring them when I tripped on the steps and fell straight into the big, strong arms of Jason Segel (Name drop #5, last one, I promise) who, so adorable, asked me three times if I was okay.

Even being tired in LA is glamorous.
What? Yes, that was my story.

The next morning, 6am in an Uber on the way to San Francisco, and I’m starting to get chills. And I’m absolutely not as glamorous as in this #tbt photo from last year. My hair is a mess, I don’t have any makeup on and I don’t even know how I’m dressed because after two weeks of traveling, my suitcase is way over the weight limit for my airline, so I decide to become a human suitcase and wear five outfits on top of each other.
I’m suffocating, but there’s no way anyone’s making me empty my suitcase, they can threat whatever they like.

And, of course, they make me empty my suitcase. And I have to add a sixth layer to my outfit just to get down to 50 pounds, unless I want to go wait in line for three hours at customer service to pay $100 for the weight of a sweat shirt. The world has no mercy.

Since I talk way too much, I’ll let you admire the entrails of my bag in this photo taken for this article in the New York Post.

Before going to an interview, we made a quick #GardenGnome stop by the Golden Gate Bridge, which I’d never seen. It’s absolutely sublime, touching, and incredible, except that I tripped on the asphalt and fell more or less flat on the ground. Again? Yep. I tripped on…nothing? Fatigue? Oh, and the day before, I forgot my thumb in an open doorway, which slammed shut violently on it. Swollen, blue, painful thumb. Forgetting parts of your body behind you? Fatigue.

That evening, my book signing follows, and I admit, I’m seeing stars. I’m absolutely exhausted. But it’s great and my lovely readers are beautiful and adorable. I go straight to bed afterward. The next day, I go home.

Chris sends me this photo, which warms my heart. Not only do I get to go home and finally give him a big hug after two weeks of not seeing him, but on top of it all, he’s bought a Christmas tree.

It’s our first Christmas tree together. It’s so cool. Welcome home.

Translated by Andrea Perdue