>>  September is my favorite month of the year -- not because all the young'uns go back to school, or because autumn is coming, but rather because the fashion magazines get fat.  Fat with ads and fall fashion reports, that is. The new fall ads are great for style ideas, but the fall fashion reports are a different story.  After a while, they tend to say the same basic thing -- it's like you're being force-fed the big overarching trends.  And it's funny, because in saying the same thing, they miss some of the smaller trends.  Like tights, for example. 

Black opaque tights have always been a staple item of mine, so I may be partially biased, but with Edie Sedgwick being a major influence on the runways for fall, I think they're a safe bet.  I especially like this Mary Kate Olsen-influenced look that is a bit punkish (right), because it balances out a dress that might be a bit stuffy otherwise.  And it so easy to do -- just drop by your nearest drug store, throw your new tights to the dog, and there you go, without even lifting a finger.  Seriously though, we've all ripped our tights without meaning to, so why not take advantage of the look while it's around and recycle those old things stuffed in the back of your sock drawer?

The more classic and sophisticated look of cable-knit or crochet-- probably the style I have seen most often in ads.  These tights are very versatile -- they are simple and subtle, but at the same time they definitely add some panache to an outfit.  In fact, I came across some Anna Sui brown cable knit tights (left) for $25 the other day -- probably the cheapest authentic designer deal I've ever come across.   

And then there's the gorgeous Swarovski crystal applique tights Zac Posen produced -- 99 pairs have been made, so it's not likely that I'll get my grubby little hands on some.  But one can still appreciate the beauty of these "Imperial Legs," selling at Bergdorf Goodman for $500 -- they really are a masterpiece in their own. 

And finally, for the fearless -- the opaque white hose look that has shown up on the runways of Comme des Garcons and Valentino Couture.  It reminds me of, I hate to say it, a nurse's uniform.  There's a fine line to be walked between sexy stilletoed nurse and frumpy podiatric-shod nurse, so clearly shoe choice is key.  But I would say as well that if you're feeling daring, try to stick to a monochrome outfit. 

**sources:  style.com, vogue.co.uk 

>>  So where were we?  Ah, yes, steak tartare...to be or not to be.  I was getting pretty serious with the whole raw beef delicacy idea (I like to be daring with my palate), when in swoops my boyfriend, fresh back from the hair molesting experience.  I ask him his opinion on the uncooked delight, and before the words are out of my mouth, he retorts: "What, do you want mad cow disease?"  I ponder this for a moment -- the thought never crossed my mind -- I don't want my brain to end up looking like a plate of steak tartare. So I take a second look at the menu -- I'm already mad cow enough as it is.  (Note:  Yes, I do realize the risk for mad cow disease is not taken away by cooking the beef, but just by my boyfriend mentioning it, it freaked me out a little). 

Now I love surprises, so one of my favorite things to do in a foreign country is pick the one thing off the menu that I have no idea what it is and order it.  My French menu-reading skills are pretty good, but I'm no gourmand, so I can't say the same about Italian dishes.  So it was settled -- I was ordering carpaccio, ready or not.  "Bon choix" (Good choice) said the waiter in response, so I figured I hadn't made too big of a mistake. 

To my surprise, however, carpaccio was not what I expected.  I can't say what I expected, since I really had no idea what I had ordered, but I can say that when a plate of thinly-sliced raw beef was placed in front of me, I was slightly confused.  All I know is that raw beef + me = meant to be that night.  I really should have just gone with the steak tartare, in retrospect, but the carpaccio was exquisite.  Leave it to those Europeans with a knack for cooking to make raw meat taste good.  In fact, if you asked me eat it again, I would. 

While I was digging in, our lovely waiter came to check on us.  There was a flourish of his hands, a stream of TGV-speed French that poured out of the waiter's mouth, leaving a puzzled look plastered on my face.  After a long pause of silence and dumbfounded looks, the waiter attempted the English: "I have dropped my fires in your sac."  Still frozen with what must have been an embarrassingly stupid look on my face, it took me a minute to realize that the waiter had just spoken English.  I cuted all over the waiter, not only for calling his matches "fires," and my purse a "sac" (the French word), but because it made me feel better about bumbling through French.  It was a lovely lovely reality check, and just what I needed -- because half the time when I'm speaking French, I know what to say, but I get so flustered I forget how to say it.  So it was nice to see the reciprocal in a Frenchie.       

**sources: carpaccio.nl