Voile: The stuff that (Parisian) dreams are made of

I bought a curtain a few weeks ago.

“She’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel for content here,” I hear you thinking. “Biweekly blogging is so much of a stretch, she’s resorted to writing about the upholstery.”

Bear with me a minute, okay? It’s not as dull as it sounds. Or maybe it is. You’ll have to read on to find out.

So, as I was saying, I bought a curtain a few weeks ago. But this was not just any old curtain. 

Oh no. 

This was a curtain I had dreamed about for, ooh, only about fifteen years or so. Or rather, it was an integral part of a scene I had dreamed about for fifteen years or so. Given that you’re reading a blog (mostly) about the Parisian expat experience, I reckon you’re quite likely to recognise the scene in question. Wooden floorboards and high, sloping ceilings. A little wrought iron table, probably originally intended for a garden. Long windows fronted with more wrought iron swirls, an elegant Juliet balcony. The view: slate-grey rooftops and terracotta chimney pots, as far as the eye can see. And on this side of the glass, prettily framing that view and setting the whole thing off in as consummately Parisian a fashion as my fourteen-year-old (or nearly-thirty-year-old) brain could conceive of — a floor-length, white, voile curtain. 

The apartment I’ve been renting since I arrived in Paris ticks more or less all of those boxes pretty nicely. The table’s a little on the large side, and I can only see the chimney pots of a few neighbouring buildings (as opposed to legions of the things), but otherwise, it’s as near to my “dream home” in Paris as my budget was ever going to allow (and a lot nearer than I expected to get, to be honest). 

It was just missing the curtain. A small detail, but pivotal to the image in my mind’s eye.

There were a few minor obstacles. I’m not allowed to screw anything (read: a curtain rod) into the walls, and the windows are set back into a sort of alcove in the ceilings. The rooftop slope of those ceilings (which I love) further complicated the curtain conundrum. But, as you’re probably thinking, these really weren’t such insurmountable issues. So goodness knows why I waited almost six years to surmount them. 

Anyway, surmount them I finally did, as this summer drew to a close. It was part of a bigger self-appointed project: Project Profit from Paris. I’ve never for one day taken the fact that I live in Paris for granted — almost every time I set foot outside my building, at some point or another, to some extent or another, I’m hit by a wave of giddy disbelief that THIS is my city. THIS is my everyday. It never gets old. The fact that I can’t walk for more than 30 seconds without getting a faceful of Eiffel Tower definitely helps. BUT. I had been feeling like I’d fallen into a bit of a rut with my routine. A lovely rut, as ruts go, but still. As much as I have never stopped appreciating Paris, I didn’t feel like I was making the most of the myriad sights and activities and flavours and experiences she offers. So I did what I always do, when I want to… well, do anything. I made a list. The Profit from Paris list.

Item number one? Get the goddam curtain. 

I cannot express to you how much genuine joy this simple length of fabric has brought me, every single time I look at it. Which, in an apartment this small, is inevitably very often. Most glorious of all is when the windows are open, and the voile catches my eye as it dances in the breeze, fluttering and billowing over the floorboards against a blue-sky-backdrop. And those terracotta chimney pots. No matter how many times a day that happens, you can’t not smile, really — not when you’re literally sitting in a scene from your best and most beautiful teenage dreams.

So, yes, this is a blog about a curtain, but it’s not just a blog about a curtain. It’s about making conscious decisions to pursue things that make you happy. Especially if those things are actually stupidly simple to do. Maybe it’s an extra touch to your home décor. Maybe it’s taking ten minutes more to make a pot of proper coffee – the good stuff – in the morning. Maybe it’s lighting the candles for you in the evening, not waiting to have guests or a date night. Trying one of the cakes you’re always admiring in the bakery window. Allowing yourself to actually stop (instead of just turning your head) to appreciate the things that catch your interest on a walk: flowers, birds, a pretty side street, an interesting mural, a cool tree, whatever.

These are all “me” examples, personal ways I’m working on bringing as much enjoyment into my day-to-day life as humanly possible. You’re welcome to try them on for size, of course, but only you know what works for you. And if you don’t know what simple pleasures bring you joy, make it your mission to find out. And then pursue them. Fill your life with them. Every day, if you can. And I reckon you can, because I am talking really simple here. I mean, this is a blog about a curtain, for goodness sake.