BoHo, oh hell no...

So, on my way out of The Anti Cafe, I walked past the Roy Lichtenstein "Une Retrospective" exhibit at The Center Pompidou.  I must make it a priority to go there before I leave Paris.

What makes it even better is that they were erecting a GIANT ICE CREAM CONE in front!  Um, yes please.

Then I walked by and saw this "street performer" levitating.  Now, I realize that the "cane" in front of him has some contraption on it that creates a seat for him to sit on, but it was pretty awesome.
Shamefully, I did not give him any money, instead, I gave him the courtesy of going behind him to take the photo so it wasn't blatantly obvious (to him) that I was ripping him off.
In my defense:
1. I am also unemployed
2. I am also equally hungry (read Anti Cafe Post below)
3. He wasn't playing an instrument. I usually support those strumming, blowing or singing.  He was doing none of the above. (yes Chip, you can insert your "blowing" joke here...or save it for Facebook as per usual.)

Having narrowly escaped being permanently branded as an asshole, I tried to clear my soul and my wallet by supporting local merchants.  My first (and only) stop was a BoHo shop.  I loved this red boho dress and I am determined to get a pair of harem pants for the southeast Asia portion of my trip.  I was destined to fulfill both needs at this one shop.

However, guess what looks horrible on me?  ANYTHING BOHO.  I am too prissy for BoHo. I looked like a total poser.  Oh, and the harem pants, too. I looked like a total fatty.  Why don't you take the widest part of your body and accentuate it with weaved elastic, then transform 'fit' legs (from hours of tennis, walking and bike riding) into billowy poofs that extend even wider than the widest part of your body?  WTF?  I looked like an idiot. I tried on patterned harem pants and solid ones, it doesn't matter, I looked like a big fat poser.  Literally, a FAT poser.  I can only imagine what I would look like if I strapped on my backpack, and front pack for that matter.  No Thank You.

Is it weird that I really want to try on a head scarf though?  I love, love, love seeing all the African women around Paris with giant scarves knotted and stacked up high on their heads.  Or maybe even a bijab, I'll need something for Dubai, I imagine. Now, I realize that I have the smallest head on the planet. So much so that there is no differentiation between the width of my neck and the width of my head unless I smile, but still maybe.... the French do love scarves, I'm sure I can find one somewhere. And Jette and I did discover "Little Africa" while we were exploring (read: lost in) the North section of Paris...

Since I didn't humor you all with the harem pant tragedy, I will take headscarf photos if I actually do it, I promise.