Cannes First Impressions
After nearly 20 hours of travel and a nine-hour time difference — including a red-eye flight where none of my neighbors slept, and consequently neither did I — I landed in France for the 79th Annual Cannes Film Festival.
Arriving in the city of Cannes via Nice international airport, the no-nonsense style, etiquette and speech of the French became immediately apparent. Teenage boys with sharp jaw lines, dark eyes, wired headphones and Adidas track suits; an older couple sharing a kiss and embrace before disembarking; a pair of young women with slicked back pony tails, petite handbags and tight capris with kitten heels. The language: firm, polite and somehow always hinting at sensuality.
The buildings are old, strikingly so, as most European cities appear after time spent in the States. And below the muted yellow-pinks of peeling teal shutters are the only shops in the world you’d need if fashion were everything and nothing else mattered — Prada, Armani, Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Valentino, two Dolce & Gabbanas.
The scene for high fashion is undeniable, yet of course a second to what we’re all here for: the cinema. But on day one, full of jet lag and hungry for immediate immersion, the thronging chaos of thousands turning out in their best, owning their style, looks and bodies, is intoxicating and infectious.
Immediately, my threshold for self-confidence ticked upward. A woman in soft monochrome eggshell, fitted relaxed enough to exude total comfort, barely registers with the iridescent pop of her neon orange loafers.
All pink — leggings, sports bra and blazer — long blonde hair to match her straw-colored heels, and a pink Chanel clutch tucked into her arms almost as an afterthought.
Suits, shades and blazers with no pants, just long legs and a bustling crosswalk.
Tomorrow, I’ll attend to the films — my real reason for being here — but today my attention is more than spoken for.
Regions: Cannes