May Mild Irritants

Everything is overdue: spring in Brussels, my blogposts. But then nothing interrupts my dolce far niente like the woke brigade performing another not-very-thoroughly-thought-out, yet very public character assassination/cancellation project. So I had to get up for this. In today’s edition: Coco Chanel was a racist. Chanel is racist brand.

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Going Kontinental: Konfekt

I was never a Monocle –person. I wanted to be, but never managed to curate my entire wardrobe to consist only of dark navy and khaki garments. In principle I endorsed each overpriced, minimalistic gadget that are part and parcel of the Monocle -lifestyle, but in practise my penchant for whimsical baubles would eventually mess up the otherwise good effort.

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Pitt Came to Town

Belgium’s hard lockdown means that crossing the country’s borders is basically impossible. Therefore imagine my delight when Brad Pitt flew over to Brussels this Monday to “support his artist friend”. I appreciate creativity whenever I see any, and Pitt’s excuse for a clandestine Easter city-break holds the top spot (it’s a tough contest, though). (Whether I’m Pitt’s artist friend you’ll never know.)

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When There’s a Voice

One of my pandemic accomplishments is the rather early completion of everything that Netflix (and the internet) has available in English. This forced me to explore French production, and I started with the series Call My Agent, or Dix Pour Cent. (Emily in Paris does not count as French TV even though they do speak French “Oh yes, I mean, oui” and have a cardboard Eiffel Tower as a backdrop.) I realised that not only does Dix Pour Cent keep me entertained, but I will be able to add another impressive entry to my list of sabbatical accomplishments: mastering an arsenal of French swearwords with zero effort on my part.

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