15 minutes of fame

Young girls come to Paris, wishing they will make it as a model. The fashion industry is alluring – glamour, champagne, admiration. Everything a girl could ever want. But what is the likelihood that someone will pick you up from the street? Really?

Yesterday, after class, when my class mates where going home to pull an all nighter (thesis deadline is today) I went to the Pont des Arts with a friend to enjoy the sunny evening – the first in Paris for a long time.

We were planning summer holidays, eating baguette and cheese and cherry tomatoes. I was wearing my new summer dress and black sandals. And sunglasses, obviously. I had my hair tied up and only a hint of make-up as had started to get ready for school in the morning about 20minutes too late.

That is when two people came over to ask me if they could take a photo of me. Puzzled, I said yes. Was told to move over, photos sitting down on the bridge, standing up, leaning on the rail.

Questions. By who is your dress? And your shoes? What do you do?

They liked my look. And they worked for a fashion magazine in Korea.

Right.

Still puzzled I sat back down, just in time to steal the last cherry tomato.

Now, with a hint of resentment I am waiting for an email with a copy of the page my photo will be on. And with the other photos.

My fifteen minutes of fame indeed.