HowDoes a Parisienne big size lingerie Do Kink? Vogue Investigates
Walking down the streets of Paris, you will never think that you are in a country renowned for its sexual freedom. Denim on denim, oversize coats, Stan Smiths C androgyny, if anything, is the national uniform, and any parlay into stilettos or mini skirts is usually regarded as vulgaire. And yet, the French culture is swarming with historical and cinematographic references that express an exceptionally liberal sexual identification, from Marquis de Sade (from whose name is derived the term sadism), to cult classic films like Les Amants(The Lovers), to notorious politician Dominique Strauss-Kahn (DSK), now internationally infamous intended for his sex exploits. But it's not that Paris hides its relationship to experimental sexuality: It's much less seedy underbelly, more; open secret.; This is a world open to anybody that is willing to give it a try, starting with the various libertine night clubs scattered all over the city, the most famous one being Les Chandelles, a Parisian institution known as the regular haunt of numerous celebrities, writers, and politicians. It's a mysterious and compelling subculture, complete with its own behavioral and sartorial rules, and Items admit it: Now i'm curious.
It appears that I'm not the only one. In a matter of days, I manage to round up a group of four friends for a Saturday night visit to Les Chandelles. Our company is informed ahead of time that the golf club has a rigid dress code, along with a few other obligatory rules. Attendees must arrive and leave in couples, and women are required to put on skirts and high heels, while men must be dressed in fits. Although this all seems mildly archaic, I channel an inner Tom Ford woman that I never knew existed, going for a black pencil skirt with a gold zipper down the back again, a black silk tank, and a fitted, semi-sheer Helmut Lang blazer (which I was asked to remove at the door). The males step it up in classic suits, although one particularly fashion-forward male friend cannot resist throwing on an intricately beaded Dries Van Noten harness (which he is notably notasked to remove at the door). After getting past a security guard whose head-to-toe look of appraisal takes me back to the days from the Beatrice Inn, we are awarded entry and descend to a lavish, Moroccan-inspired labyrinth of a space. At the center of it is a brightly lit bar, surrounded exclusively by couples, mainly French, in what seems like their early forties. The women appear simple, stylish, showing off their lithe structures and long legs in quintessential small black dresses and the occasional racy hosiery. The look is Agent Provocateur Cmeets Ccocktail, and yet it can all very... demure, if you don; to count some very friendly looks aimed in our direction. And yet, the further we explore the space, the more bizarre it becomes, and the gown code dissolves into something decidedly more explicit; the clothing here being limited to the odd demi-cup bra or garter belt. (And which it. ) But surely there's something betweenthe frolicking nude and the discreetly moderate, which leaves me with all the one essential question: What does the real sex adventurer put on, out on the town in Paris (or behind shut doors)?
I make an appointment to see Florence Abelin, founder from the haut de gamme, by-appointment-only erotic underwear boutique Mise en Crate, whose clients include some of the most committed and renowned users of this milieu.
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