Who cares if I can't speak French? The mere image of Francoise Hardy is enough to drive me, against all my better judgment, to once again dare to bang, even when I know it's impossibly ridiculous for these wavy locks of mine. But who's to blame me? I dare you to stare into those near-black browns and not be inspired. With the first signs of spring finally showing themselves the last few days, Miss Hardy's desperately fantastic 1960s wardrobe makes me want to throw on a pair of dainty flats, grab an umbrella and take a daydreamed walk around the pond.
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