Avenue Victor-Hugo, in the 16th, late on a Saturday afternoon, 
has some of the prettiest girls in Paris (all dressed in black). They look so self-confident and chatter away as they walk down the streets in groups. The teenage boys, on the other hand, seem to have all the gumption mashed out of them. Maybe it's from school, or maybe I just misinterpret their hunched shoulders and downcast expressions.
There is a new Starbucks near Place Victor-Hugo, crowded with teenagers who think it's much cooler than a café. It makes the intellos in the media go crazy, since they predicted that no one would ever set foot in the place (the British were also sanctimoniously horrified). The ados use Starbucks in a very French way, though. No go-cups!
Nearby is an old-fashioned bakery with its décor d'origine, including murals, and next to it a century-old uniform store, Au Gants d'Or, which survives because to this day there are people in the 16th who make their maids wear this kind of uniform, right down to the little cap. I see them sweeping the sidewalk, walking the dogs, and occasionally even serving tea to old ladies I know. Funnily enough, Gants d'or nowadays has a Golden Gloves connotation in French as well as English.
Near place Victor-Hugo is the wonderful Musée Dapper, dedicated to African art but housed in the most bourgeois building and neighborhood imaginable. Here is the intriguing street entrance (left). There are still a lot of hidden gardens in Paris. 
Our own building has one (right). It looks inviting, but woe betide anyone who tries to use it. Two British boys who moved in a few years ago managed to play ball there for less than five minutes before being screamed at by our crone concierge. A courtyard is just to look at-- what kind of peasant doesn't know that?
Further on is the grand gourmet store Lenôtre. This time there was a star-of-David-shaped cake in the window. I wondered if it was a Jewish holiday, since I'd seen a lot of Conservative Jewish men hurrying by all dressed up a little earlier. At Christmas, Lenôtre makes a green Christmas-tree cake that stands upright. 
At Etoile, just as the sun was setting (i.e. about 4:30 p.m., in case you're not in northern Europe), I took a picture of the Arc de Triomphe and then went down into the metro. I went to a flea market and got caught up talking to a chatty vendor of some really cool old designer clothes from the 1920s. In spite of long red hair, lots of lipstick and eye shadow and a fur coat, the gravelly-voiced vendor was clearly a man. As I left, I said, "Au revoir, M'sieu...." then stammering, "......euh, MADAME!" And fled.
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