Draped in festive twinkle lights, the iconic Eiffel Tower and Champs-Élysées sparkle in December. I’m a fashion designer and go to Paris this time of year to work on my spring collection. I stroll around the fashion capital of the world, the atmosphere drizzling inspiration, and ideas germinate in the the recesses of my brain. Style is everywhere in Paris.

From the line outside my favorite boulangerie, on the Rue des Martyrs in Pigalle, I feast my eyes on the streetwear. Bundled in black wool coats, Parisians have an admirable way of looking slightly disheveled while incredibly chic. Waiting for my freshly baked goods, I patch together some French phrases in an effort to bond with my fellow hungry patrons. I’m in Paris and savoring every exchange.

Warm brioche in hand, I merrily stroll along and find myself in Chateau Rouge where the style is distinctive. A district largely populated by Senegalese immigrants, brightly colored floor skimming dresses crafted from waxed African fabrics are commonplace. I recognize the colorful cotton with batik-inspired prints from my other travels. These authentic men and women are looking cool and confident in their garb. I marvel at how diversity seamlessly coexists in one urban area, and I make a mental note to hold onto this sentiment as I design my next clothing collection.

Meandering a little further down the street, I discover a haven of fabric markets. One shop surpasses the next in beauty and originality.

Before I know it I’ve got two overstuffed bags in each hand. Ascending the steps of Montmartre, heart racing and breath heavy, a handsome gentleman offers to carry my loot. I make it to the top, reunite with my stash, and take in the stunning beauty of the Sacré-Coeur.

I take my time visiting the Basilica. It strikingly blends Romanesque-Byzantine styles. Its white stone is such a stark contrast to the rest of the city’s architecture. I’m back in my head again, envisioning a collection of contrasting colors and textures.

Emboldened, it’s time to continue the fabric hunt. I wander off to Le Sentier in the 2nd Arrondissement. Its tangled streets are dotted with some of the best textile markets in the world. Entering these shops I feel like a kid in a candy store. Fortunately, maturity and experience have taught me the value of honing a discerning eye and selecting what I need for a cohesive collection. Silks, linens, cottons and brocades, the market is jam-packed with every textile you can imagine. It’s a haphazard arrangement of what I can only describe as organized chaos.

Christian Dior, Oscar De La Renta, Lanvin, Chanel - they’re all here. Wrapped, bolted, stacked, hung and propped against the walls. A stout man with a trimmed beard, fitted sweater and assertive swagger tells me that this market houses the deadstock of couturier houses. “This one is Valentino” - he proudly unrolls a gorgeous black tweed with a hint of shimmer running through its grainline. “Oh! It’s gorgeous,” I say, “but not for me.” The man peers over his glasses, pauses for a beat and raises one eyebrow. “I’m not here looking for a specific designer - I’m looking for flowers!”

Flowers are my perennial muse. They compliment the aesthetic of my brand which blends delicate sophistication with a touch of whimsy. Pretty, feminine and enlivening, flowers are the pistil of my label. Every creation aims to make the woman who wears it bloom with confidence and flourish.

An hour passes and the shopkeeper has helped me muscle through the mess to amass an impressive stash of florals. Chatting over a cup of coffee, he understands my sensibilities and brings out bolts of fabric from the back including a gorgeous floral chiffon organza. I graze one finger over its textured velvet flowers, their vibrant colorful hues remind me of the stained glass in the ornate 13th Century Saint Chapel. This will be my showstopper!

Waving goodbye to my collaborator and new friend, I leave the market with heaps of daisies and bouquets of begonias in my bundle. I’ve got carnations in every shade of pink, elegant orchids and technicolor tulips. I’m in love with the quintessentially Parisian rose and got some in red and yellow. My mimosas, with their golden pompomesque flowers, practically glow against a navy cotton lawn base. There are big flowers, small ones and itty bitty buds. A few butterflies seem to have stolen away with me as well. As I step out into the dark, the city gleaming, my heart flutters and a thought flickers through my mind - this collection is going to transcend the limits of fashion.

I continue to ramble along the city streets and flaneur, fascinated by every little detail. The spirited vendors at the Marché aux fleurs are peddling silky plants, luscious lavender, eccentric crafts and even live birds. Nearby is Notre-Dame, the medieval Catholic cathedral is a widely recognised symbol of both the city of Paris and the French nation.

The winding streets of Le Marais are lined with colorful pâtisseries, antique stores, and I stumble upon a charming stationery shop. It’s filled with handmade paper adorned with tiny roses, calligraphy pens, little trinkets and other ephemera.

Further along I pop into the Maison Européenne de la Photographie. The exhibit Science/Fiction: A Non-History of Plants traces a visual history of plants, connecting art, technology, and science from the nineteenth century to the present day. It’s a visual treat that leaves me craving a coffee, so I meander down to a cozy cafe. Stromae is belting out “Formidable!” in the background as I gently massage a petal from the centerpiece between my fingertips - I love it when the flowers are real! Everything is wonderful as I lounge and reflect on all the beauty I’ve encountered during this day.

When I get back to the States my florals will be cut, sewn, fitted and transformed beyond fashion into wearable art. Every unique piece will eclipse trend and embody the essence of travel, culture and the common threads of humanity that unite us all. Yves Saint Laurent was right, “Fashion fades, style is eternal.”

December Flowers in Paris

Birds of a Feather