Learning a new language

or becoming more fluent in the language that you are

This is Wardrobe Wednesday, little micro masterclasses on how to use colours. To make you shine with understated casual self-confidence.

I am learning a new language.

Considering my age, it’s very useful for my brain to keep learning something new, and in my case, I’m learning French.

Because we spend quite a lot of time in France. And when you spend time in France, you learn French. Rude not to.

We have a house in a rural village in the south of France. Not a picture postcard Peter Mayle A Year In Provence kind of village. Our village is nowhere near the UNESCO world heritage list. The architecture is haphazard and there are no cobblestones over which Chinese tourists can drag their wheeled suitcases on their way to their next wine tasting.

There is no souvenir shop, but the village Bazar will sell you anything from propane flasks to wine bottles, and it’s where old men and a woman with a little dog in her lap sit outside in the morning and sip coffee and smoke in white plastic chairs. Because, yes, they sell coffee there too. The Bazar is the closest thing to a café in the village.

The village food store smells of wet dog. That’s because the owner’s dog is snoozing in the office behind the till and it’s been raining a lot lately. But nobody minds and the selection of cheeses is amazing and they are open on a Sunday morning (until lunch) and is the kind of shop where farmers come in with mud on their boots to buy milk.

French opening hours are erratic and impossible to memorise. One shop is open 9am-noon and 2:30-7pm and is closed Sunday afternoon and Monday. The butcher’s shop is open 9-12 and then opens again at 3pm (or thereabouts, you’ll just have to stand around outside until he comes), the butcher will be closed Saturday and Sunday. Good luck remembering when each shop is open.

And when you think you have the times and days down pat and naively go to get a jar of orange marmalade and a piece of Old Rodez cheese for breakfast, they are closed because it is Mary Ascension Day.

In this little municipality of 2-3000 souls there is also a bakery that sells crusty sourdough baguettes and feathery light croissants, and melt-in-your-mouth brioche (Sundays only) and next door to it, the butcher where the proprietor will ask you what you are cooking, and refuse to sell you the wrong meat for it. We’ve learned to not say what we are cooking but only ask for (or point to, when we don’t know the French word for it) the meat we want, so as to not risk the scornful denial of our requested piece of meat.

This is my arena for practicing French.

I know not to carry out any sort of conversation before having said “bonjour” and waited for a “bonjour” back. Then, and only then, may I put forth my real query.

I have learned to ask for what I need at the cheese counter:
“Is that goat or cow’s cheese?” and “Can I have half of that?”.

I carry out short but meaningful conversations in French:
Me: “Your dog, he is so cute. He is very timid, is he?”
Shop owner: ”No, Madame, he only barks because you are wearing a hat.”
Me: “Ah, ok. Well, thank you, and have a good Sunday!”
(as I slip the sun hat off my head and slink out of the shop sheepishly).

I love it here.

Learning a different language makes me a different person.

The stuttering and searching for words makes me think slower.

Live slower.

Sizzles my brain until smoke comes out of my ears in frustration.

I love language. Which is why I sat up straight, adjusted my glasses and paid close attention when I read this:

What you surround yourself with is a language.

Isn’t that a beautiful thought?

What you surround yourself with is also a language.

I got the quote from Ash Ambirge of YOU DON'T LOOK STUPID. The quote is from a post that she wrote back in the day when her Substack was called The Middle Finger Project. The post is no longer on Substack so I can’t link to it, but in that post she wrote:

“what you surround yourself with is a language: Rugs are a sentence. Artwork is a sentence. Lighting is a sentence. Furniture is a sentence. Your tiny little teacups are a sentence. And it all comes together to tell a story about who you are.”

Something about it struck a chord deep inside of me.

I copied it in my notebook. Building on that idea, I thought that the way you use colours according to your Colour Analysis Season also forms sentences. And like interior decor, it comes together to tell a story of who you are, with the added benefit of taking it with you wherever you go.

As opposed to your rugs, artwork, lamps, furniture, tea cups. Because you have to invite people into your home for them to see that side of you. A preposterous idea, especially for a confirmed introvert whose idea of a wild party is lasagna and green salad with the closest family. On a Tuesday, so you know they will go home early because it’s a school night.

Your Season is a language.

Are you fluent in You?

Or are you lacking in vocabulary and stuttering to put together sentences because the grammar seems incomprehensible?

Slow down. You’re doing fine.

You’re just learning a new language.

Your outfit is a language.

Your outfit says something about you.

Is this you?

Is this you?

I sometimes feel that I don’t have enough style.

I feel I should be more fancy. I feel I should project more “I am a colour analyst and I know about colours and style”.

Instead, I look in the mirror and it is blatantly clear that I project “Woman on her way to leading a shared reading group”.

And then I add a necklace, making the outfit more “Woman wearing her favourite necklace, on her way to leading a shared reading group”.

Which is exactly what I am this morning, and I’m fine with that.

Whatever you are today, wear it like you mean it.

Oh, and if you haven’t heard of shared reading, look it up, because it is fantastic.