to be read in a breathless rush
Can that be me, mon dieu, c’est pas vrai, in the LBD (c’est le dernier cri) that I’ve always craved, grazing slim knees and oh! slim legs, oh yes this vitrine is loving me – is that a fascinator I spy, rakish angle, speckled veil trailing over one eye? Now over the road in confident strides in my little black traffic-stopper my well-judged heels yeah right, connasse to you too mate! Tu vois how my middle fingernail is a perfect coral blush and Louboutin’s window, well, c’est très utile to paint a pout in Rouge Interdit and oh! par hasard here’s my charming friend tout à Givenchy mwah mwah, oui, oui, à bientôt chérie.
Now my rump is pumped so I try a little BCBG sashay down the rue St Honoré where a cool lycéenne with a cool teenage stare bursts my rêverie with one slow blink of her Rimmeled eyes, one long swish of her nouvellevague hair, one nonchalantly implied dégage and I’m simply not there.
BCBG is French slang for bon chic, bon genre (good style, good attitude) to describe a bourgeois lifestyle. This was quickly corrupted into beau cul, belle gueule (nice ass, pretty face). An LBD is a Little Black Dress.