Here’s the thing: I’ve spent years trying to understand why French girls always look cool and put-together, while I’ve never been able to replicate their style. OK, let’s be real: French girls and I are wearing the exact same outfits ALL THE TIME. The same jeans, the same white T-shirts, the same footwear.
But they look stylish and chic while I throw on whatever as fast as possible, usually ending with a too tight top emerging from too loose trousers. At first I assumed it had to be genetics. Maybe French girls were just born understanding texture and knowing how to knot a scarf so it doesn’t look like murder.
Maybe they all attended some secret finishing school where they learned styling secrets that American girls were learning about the War Between the States. I went to Paris for work last month (UGH, can you believe someone actually has to PAY ME to go to Paris???) and FINALLY had my “duh, silly me” moment.
And TBH I kind of resented how obvious of an answer it was after I spent years analysing it to death.
I was meeting up with Camille for coffee.
Camille is French; we’ve known each other since college. She’s a stylist who basically works with celebrities and Parisian girls on a daily basis, and yet she still always looks amazing – even when she “just threw something on.” HA.
If you’ve ever met a French girl who says that to you, RUN IN THE OTHER DIR-EECTIO-N. She was wearing vintage Levi’s jeans, a white button-down, ankle boots. Me too.
But where she looked effortlessly French, I looked… not. “What is it?” I demanded, probably cutting her off in the middle of telling me about some pictureshoot. “HOW do French girls always look so freaking stylish wearing the same damn things as me?” She raised an eyebrow at me, one eyebrow. Oneeee brownnnny. She looked so confused, which honestly pissed me off more. “WHAT do you mean?” she replied. “I mean YOU,” I said, pointing back and forth between us, trying not to gestPeopleire.” kamu suka glance like a crazy person. “YOU versus ME.
French girl vs the rest of us. Same outfit, you look amazing and I look… well, not.” She laughed, which I swear was at me. She pulled out a cigarette – yep, she actually smokes.
Living the dream over here – and took a drag before answering. “There’s the third piece,” she said. “And how you wear it.” Say what? Americans either over-do outfits with too many pieces with no flow, or dress completely in basics and throw NOTHING on top. French girls will always add that third piece, but they make it look effortless.
I looked down at my outfit. Jean, shirt. Two pieces.
Then I looked at Camille. Same thing. Jeans.
Shirt. But then… I noticed the thin belt cinched around her waist that I hadn’t even register… until now. It was tied casually, around her waist – but done in such a way that it looked intentional, and not at all like she tried. “A belt?” I asked.
Magic wand, much? “No basic belt, worn normally,” she replied. “Something unexpected, worn like it doesn’t matter.” Suddenly every stitch of clothing I had ever seen her wear made sense. It was thethird piece.Three pieces. Always.
The fashion editor in a linen dress with a silk scarf casually knotted at her wrist like it covers up some gross acne scar but actually just is there. The barista wearing jeans, a jumper, and one oversized earring because why not?! The model walking her dog wearing leather trousers and a tee, but with this thin gold chain around her ankle that catches the sunlight as she bends down to pet the puppy.
Three pieces. And that third piece is always worn like it could’ve been forgotten about entirely, when in fact…it most certainly was not. When I got back to NYC, I set out to experiment on my own closet.
Here’s what happened when I started throwing that “third piece” on my boring basics: Years ago I would’ve rocked this jeans and tee combo proudly. Jeans, tee, cute trainers? Basic, yes – but totally serviceable outfit!
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Now I throw on a silk scarf. But not draped perfectly around my neck à la femininst witch. No, I throw it on like anyone who has ever owned a scarf: once, knot the ends together so they’re uneven, and toss it over my shoulder.
It looks like I tried too hard…to not try hard. I threw this scarf (a vintage Pucci my grandma left me that I never knew what to do with) over my.spring, got complimented by a barista who asked if I was “from Europe.” I wanted to screenshot that interaction for my vision board. Basic black trousers and button-down was my go-to WF uniform for as long as I can remember.
Three pieces if you count my banal flats, amiright? Now I pop one more button on my shirt, cuff only one side, and wear a necklace that hits either at my collarbone or just low enough to touch the V of my shirt. I wore this combo to meet with some brand partners and my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s wife thought I’d “had a style awakening.” Newsflash: I just added a necklace I already owned.
Had this black slip dress I was about to donate because it was too “dressy” to wear around NYC. BUT THEN: tip one thousand. I popped a thin white T underneath as opposed to over it, added a random belt that didn’t match my shoes or top, worn slightly off centre so it looks like I wasn’t even trying when I threw it on.
Sent it to my mum as proof that “her style has paid off.” Dress was like $35 from H&M three years ago. Used to wear this midi skirt and jumper combo so much my dog was sick of looking at it. Now I tuck the jumper in slightly off centre, roll the skirt up once so it hits my leg at an unexpected angle, and wear cute socks with loafers instead of going barefoot.
Went from “upper west side mum who likes mascara” to “probably reads Vogue” in under five minutes flat. Love my oversized blazer so much I wear it with literally everything. Used to just….exist underneath.
NOW: Roll up the sleeves just so – so you can see your wrist – and add a BROOCH. Yes, you read that correctly: a brooch. THROW IT ON LIKE IT’SEXTRASPECIAL AND YOU DON’T EVEN OWN ANY OTHER JEWELLERY.
Found my grandmother’s vintage costume jewellery brooch and threw it on my blazer for zilch dollars at Zara and got asked if my jacket was “vintage Mugler.” Spoiler alert: it was not. The best part? That third piece doesn’t have to be expensive at all.
Some of my favourite options have been thrifting/vintage hauls or jewellery I already own that no one knows I have saved in my jewellery box. “I don’t know, Reese. Are you saying the difference between basic and chic is a scarf?” My friend Emma is smart AF but can be very literal when it comes to fashion. Whenever I explain a “concept” to her, she dissects it to death. “A good scarf, thrown on like you don’t even know it’s there,” I said. “And worn somewhere unexpected.” She took my scarf advice literally the next day, throwing a vintage silk scarf she found at Marshalls over her typical go-to shirt dress as she ran out the door.
Instead of wearing it around her neck, she texted me from work that morning: “Told my boss I got credited as a stylist on a project we’re working on. She bought it. SO THE SAME DRESS I WORE YESTERDAY BUT WITH A SCARF ON MY WRIST AND I FEEL LIKE BAMF.” Girl, SAME.
That’s what I’m talking about. The fun part about this French-girl style rule is that it sort of exposes the difference between how Americans view style vs. how the French do.
We go overboard with cozy clothing or full out SUITing up.
The French-mastered-art of having no visible bra exists in this magical in-between.
Plus: It actually saves you money. Instead of feeling bored with your closet and buying more things to revamp your wardrobe, you can thrift/vintage shop for that “third piece” that can take any basic pieces you own to the next level.
Scarves, cool belts, fun jewellery. Etsy is GREAT for vintage jewellery finds, or scouring flea markets/local thrift stores for unique pieces like crazy socks or fun scarves. I went back to Paris last week and showed Camille this exact combo: jeans, black tee, but with a gold medallion necklace I found at a flea market in Brooklyn tossed over my chest at an asymmetrical angle, and the sleeves rolled up so you could see my watch (also from my Dad).
She looked me up and down. “Très français,” she said, matter of factly. Yeah, french as in I finally got it. French girl style doesn’t come from where you were born.
It comes from knowing that sometimes, the best style moves are the ones that don’t look like “moves” at all. It’s about throwing on that third piece like you forgot about it, when in fact you spent twenty minutes bumping around your closet deciding what else to wear with that jumper. It’s about looking like you didn’t try at all, when you actually tried REAL hard.
