This summer, I joined my family on a trip to the South of France. As it approached, everything about the trip gave me anxiety. I was comfortable in Paris, having the privilege of visiting many times before, but there was something about the South of France, and especially the coastal towns of Cannes and St. Tropez and Antibes, that absolutely intimidated me.
Continue...Confidence is not necessarily something I struggle with. I operate in circles and in worlds that span in diversity across every sector, seamlessly and effortlessly. I tend to get along with most people I interact with (barring an acquaintance's conservative politics, of course; in that case we just have to agree to disagree). I am comfortable in nearly all manners of dress - from the scantily clad to the ball gown. I love cities, I love the ocean, I love beautiful landscapes. And yet, there was something about getting on a plane and heading to the South of France, admittedly, something many people only
dream of, that rattled me.It's not often that I feel overcome with any sense of low confidence. Maybe, by the 6th day of New York Fashion Week, when yet another PR intern has been brusque, not realizing that I am, in fact, meant to be there - and the seat assignment isn't wrong, either. Even then, the feelings are fleeting. But every facet of the trip made me nervous. I had so much work to do, would I be able to do it? What will I wear? Where's my favorite bikini? Am I overpacking?
What will I wear? Is this appropriate? Does it look "expensive"? Do
I look expensive?
Do I need to look expensive? It's
Cannes, of course. Or not of course. Or I
thought of course. What does it even mean to look expensive, when you're certainly not decked out in high-end resort wear? I
thought I loved this bikini, but do I
South-of-France-Love-This-Bikini?Sigh. Then I got there and realized I was being an idiot and a bit of a drama queen. No one cared what I wore, or what anyone wore, for that matter. No one cared about my appearance or about my body or about my bikini (which yes, I most certainly wore throughout the trip). All anyone cared about was relaxing, enjoying the scenery, and devouring a steaming pot of fresh mussels, oozing with white wine and cream and shallots. And the moment I realized that, I could join in and do the same, too.
We spent the day in St. Tropez, after taking a ferry for about an hour from the Port of Cannes. The journey itself is breathtaking, if not a bit cold. The fog broke as we made it closer towards St. Tropez, revealing seaside hills punctuated by terracotta villas and lush greenery. It was beautiful, and breathtaking, and so much less about Hermes and Flat Tummies than I had ever, ever anticipated.