As a single girl, I thrive on summer. It’s the one season where I have a distinct advantage over the coupled-up part of the population: the advantage of total freedom, of carefree vacation flings, of momentary lapses of judgment that make me feel eighteen all over again. It is also the rare time when such behavior becomes socially appropriate—if not celebrated. Suddenly, kissing an Italian named Giuseppe at a Bob Sinclar concert is viewed as “fun” rather than trashy, and jumping on the back of the motorcycle of a perfect stranger is considered “adventurous” instead of what it really is—dangerous. Your wardrobe, reduced to its bare minimum, becomes the protagonist of your escapades: A nonexistent white dress triggers a spontaneous encounter, an Eres bikini accompanies you during an impromptu midnight swim, and a pair of trusted K.Jacques sandals allows you to dance on the beaches of Mykonos until dawn.
By the end of August, you are usually tanned to the point where you can easily leave the house sans makeup, five pounds below your usual weight, and have adopted the blissfully happy attitude of somebody who resides in Los Angeles (otherwise known as “summer brain”). This gives you the perfect excuse to make some reckless summer memories. Just last year, I managed to wreak havoc on my personal life in just the final two weeks of August, diving headfirst (or rather, head backward) into a relationship with a man who can easily be defined as my own personal kryptonite. Upon returning to Paris, I was introduced to a handsome Brazilian who swept me off my feet—quite literally, swept me off my feet—during a crazy night of dancing at Le Montana. Needless to say, I was living off the subsequent emotional turmoil for months to come.
Which is why I believe that the end of summer should be sartorially celebrated to the fullest: If there is still a minuscule white dress left in your closet waiting for its glory moment, there is no time like the present to test out its powers—better yet, stuff it into an overnight bag and head for a getaway! If you cannot escape the city, try using it as your playground. Personally, I plan on taking advantage of half-empty Paris to explore the activities I missed out on this summer: a ride at the fête foraine carnival in the Tuileries, a long-awaited drink on the rooftop of Le Perchoir (the most difficult bar to enter in the month of July), and then getting away for a a weekend in Deauville, Paris’s answer to Montauk. I am also eagerly anticipating the return of a certain Parisian, an unfinished romance from the beginning of summer that served as the motivator for my hard-earned Mediterranean tan.
Just like I’m not ready to give up on my summer adventures, I’m not yet retiring my vacation wardrobe. In the next days, I plan on re-wearing my tiny summer dresses, topping them off with a sturdy Acne Studios moto jacket to protect myself from the chilly Parisian breeze. I have to admit that the shopaholic in me is itching to buy a new pair of “transitional” footwear, Chanel Dallas booties being on the top of the wish list. I intend to pair them with every inappropriately short item in my closet, starting with denim shorts and an oversize blazer. My favorite new scarf, picked up at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, is coming with me wherever I go, and my stack of Ibiza bracelets is to remain firmly planted on my wrist until my summer tan fades. And, I hope one of these items will play a lead role in a summer memory that will keep me celebrating my singlehood all winter long.
Marina Khorosh is the founder of dbagdating.com.
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