A new setting, a new wardrobe: navigating the shopping scene overseas

A few days before I left for Paris, I met a former teacher for lunch and we came across the subject of packing. I had spent the previous afternoon whittling my wardrobe down to the bare necessities. “I just don’t want to look like a materialistic American who walks in the door with all this stuff,” I explained.

My teacher, having lived in Paris for a few years and never at a loss for wise words, responded, “Plus, once you get there, you’ll realize everything you packed was all wrong anyway.”

As usual, she was right. After an unfortunate mishap with Air France left me without any luggage for the first week of my stay, I revisited my carefully selected clothes with seven days of Paris people-watching under my belt and a newly discriminating eye.

A silk blouse with flowers and ruffles? No way. Unnecessary adornment is considered gauche in Paris, where fashionable young women favor sophisticated architectural details over anything that might adorn a prom dress.

My knee-length puffy coat? Nope. In New York, no one minds looking like the Michelin man on the sidewalk, because the buildings are so well heated that you can immediately take your coat off indoors. In Paris, however, many buildings are poorly insulated, and it’s fairly common to keep one’s coat on inside.

This means that coats have become fashion statements rather than functional pieces, and that anything North Face is out of the question. As my French roommate explained—when I noted Parisians’ remarkable ability to endure the cold in flimsy-looking, so-called coats—“This is Paris. People don’t mind suffering to look good.”

But what’s a broke college student to do with too many clothes to replace and too little cash? After over a month and a half abroad, I’ve discovered two cardinal rules of shopping in Paris: time it right and select your pieces wisely.

Sales (or “soldes,” in French) are regulated by the government, and take place twice a year for six weeks at a time. The year’s first sale comes at the beginning of January, the second at the end of June. Each sale progresses with a series of markdowns, and the final markdown slashes prices up to 80 percent.

If you don’t want to invest too much money in your purchases, you have to invest some time.

I quickly learned that my footwear—mostly ballet flats and flat boots—wasn’t going to cut it in Paris. Parisian women, most of whom are fairly tall already, always wear heels. So, my first shopping mission was to track down a pair of heeled oxfords that were comfortable enough to wear every day.

The fancy ones with intricate leather detailing usually go for around 300 euro, which was entirely out of my price range. But when I spotted a pair in a store window marked down 100 euro, I knew it was time to begin stalking my prey. I had arrived toward the beginning of the winter sale season, and there were two more markdowns to go before the “soldes” were over.

I walked by the store after the second markdown, to make sure the shoes were still in stock. By the third markdown, they were on sale for a relatively manageable 75 euro, and I had visited them enough times to feel that we had forged a real connection. I promptly bought them and wore them for two weeks straight.

This type of shopping requires a kind of single-mindedness and compulsivity only the poor college student could achieve. And while spending 75 euro on a pair of shoes is still a splurge for me, I rationalized it by telling myself that, if I intend to dress like a real Parisian, I don’t need to spend money on a heavy coat.