COREY IN PARIS

Paris, 1 March 2022

Life looks beautiful here. But I don’t really know where I am. 

They’ve been holding my hand since I arrived and I’m glad to leave my mind’s throttle on auto. Every person I pass on the street jabs me in my stabbing spot—high on the right shoulder—with a brilliant humbling serum. They’re effortlessly chic and beautiful and my self-esteem is low. Like an ant waiting to be stepped on. Thankfully, the feeling subsides as the waking hours begin to pile up in my head. Nodding towards the table, I idle blankly to preserve energy and eventually make a paradigm shift, lifting my head and my attitude. Lifting myself. I’m here. And I’m happy to be here. 

I tried the snails last night. They were amazing—pure butter and pesto. I think you would like them. I’m also thinking about their parents, and what it must’ve been like, to be separated and all. Are you tired of indulging a delirious mind? 

Hadar told me that being there on Tuesday night, in that room after his many years in the deep south, having come into himself in rural Florida, was so emotional he felt himself begin to cry. In his youth the fashion magazines were his sole lifeline to a world beyond “this,” and now we’re here. He held back the tears, a little too aware of the stoic faces around us, who blink, unbothered by the cold winter air or the theatrics of Anthony Vaccarello’s vision and SebastiAn’s score. Before me, they walked with a reserved pulse, robotic, perfectly unemotional. Yet from my view up front, I could see eyes brimming with tears and couldn’t keep my jaw from hanging agape. 

Home: I wish to live again in a world as epic, but for now I slice my tri-colored bell peppers and rewatch the video diary of the no dream I had just last week. The dust settles on a whirlwind, four countries in two days, and I realize this little film is the closest thing I now have to experiencing that room on a dreamy late winter night at the base of the Eiffel Tower in the City of Paris, and everything that came before and after.

c.f


Words by Corey Fogelmanis

Photophaphy by Hadar Pitchon

Corey is wearing Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello