My brother Jon would have loved Dinard. He liked anything with the word resort in it: beach resort, ski resort, island resort, tennis resort. Wearing “smart casual” or “resort casual” came natural to him. After he died in a plane accident in 2006 my three other brothers and I inherited his clothes. They either didn’t fit the others or they weren’t interested, so I brought some back to Paris.

I rarely wear any of them but when I received the invitation to the party in Dinard I immediately remembered they were in my closet.

In this photo I am dressed in Jon’s clothes in Dinard, the sweater studiously thrown over my shoulder as it should be in such places. The photo doesn’t show my (brother’s) blue loafers.

The invitation called for blue and white not only because those are the colors of seafarers but because those are also the colors of the Virgin in the grotto along the Promenade du Clair de Lune at Dinard, which is where I am posing. This Virgin echoes the highly celebrated one in Lourdes, which is where one of the hosts of the party is from.

To me, the strangest thing about this photo is that I find that I’m not only wearing Jon’s clothes but also his smile. He would have loved having his picture taken on his way to a party in Dinard.

The couple hosting the party held a brunch beginning at noon the following day, which required another set of smart blue and white clothes. The invitation was actually unclear as to whether blue and white was de rigueur for the entire weekend or just for Saturday evening, so while some guests treated the Sunday brunch as an afterthought others kept up appearances.

I don’t often shop with “smart casual – blue and white of course!” in mind, and to be honest I don’t often shop at all, so for Sunday brunch I looked for my mother for inspiration.

At my age you might think it would be embarrassing to admit that my mother sometimes dresses me, but in my family we’re never too old to be given clothes by our mother. For nearly 55 years—for 9 children, then 28 grandchildren, and now 2 great-grandchildren—she has had an uncanny ability to spot a shirt or hat or a pair of pants from yards away and know exactly who it will fit and who might wear it. And if she gets it wrong she simply gives it to someone else.

Before going to the Sunday brunch, I had Henri take this photo so as show my mother that I finally found the occasion to wear that shirt and that hat she gave me last time I visited. You need to imagine the white short and the sandals—I’m sure my mother can.

Travel, as I like to say, isn’t just about where you’re going, it’s also about where you come from. I now add that it’s also about where your clothes come from.

The post Destination Brittany, part 3 of 5: party clothes appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

“How much do those museums cost these days?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m the press.”
“Why are you depressed?” she asked.

I said, “I’m THE press.”
She said, “That’s not good, you shouldn’t be depressed.”
“THE… PRESS.”

My mother set aside her iron.
“Is it because of your website?” she said. “You just have get word out that it’s there. When people see it they’re sure to love it.”

“You don’t understand. I’m the press. I’m a travel writer.”
“I know, and you’re very good at it. So it shouldn’t get you down.”
“I’m THE… PRESS.”
“By why? Is it because no one’s traveling to France due to the bad economy. You just have to ride it out and keep doing what you enjoy. So many people would love to have your freedom.”

“I’m still THE… PRESS.”
“Well you shouldn’t be! You have so much going for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

This continued for several minutes until I showed my mother my press pass.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. “You would tell me if you were really depressed though, wouldn’t you?”

I’m not so sure now. Still, another year has come to an end and I don’t have any plans for New Year’s Eve. So I think I’ll just stay at home and be the press.

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