P is for Paris bounces back

5 April 2012

Until recently, London knew where it was with Paris: where Paris was chic, London was hip. But worrying rumours about a new Parisian vibe have been filtering across the Channel. It seems that Paris has designs on London's mood.

Not only have they revolutionised their traditionally rubbish music scene with Daft Punk, Benjamin Diamond and Air, it seems they're also upping the ante on all sorts of trad hip London preserves. They've got creative collectives, and rue Louise Weiss, an arty arrondissement that would give Hoxton a run for its money. They've got new, cool bars and clubs. Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis are blissfully ensconced, and Marc Jacobs, who two years ago said he loathed the town, has now embraced it.

With my boyfriend (a card-carrying Paris-o-phobe) in tow, I whizz across on Eurostar to establish how much of a threat it is to London these days.

We check into the staggeringly expensive and breathtakingly opulent Hotel Meurice and it's there that I get my first insights into the capital's new mood. Ostensibly, Le Meurice is old-style Paris incarnate. It's lavish and gilded, traditional and imposing. But, bizarrely, the atmosphere is totally chilled and the concierge knows exactly where to find the coolest clubs.

But then generally, it would seem, a new hotel culture is enveloping Paris. There's Pershing Hall, Andr?e Putman's latest project, a cool 26-room boutique affair just off the Champs Elys?es. Not content with Fashion Week favourite H?tel Costes on rue St Honor?, the Costes brothers are opening an equally divine hotel in le Marais this summer.

Shopping in Paris is another revelation. My boyfriend and I hit the streets, confident that we'll be confronted by the unimaginative sartorial sensibilities you generally associate with the city, only to have our expectations confounded. For example, the staff of long-term dream store Collette look like they've been mainlined from the graduating class at St Martins. We cruise the Rodolphe Menudier shoe collection and nearby boutiques Bleu Comme Bleu, Maria Luisa, and Beauty By Et Vous. In each, we find superbly edited collections of Helmut Lang and Prada, Marni and vintage Adidas.

For lunch, we hit media boho haunt Bistrot des Petits Carreaux (for divine, well-priced duck and dauphinoise potatoes) and plan the afternoon. Do we peruse the installations in rue Louise Weiss' Gallery Air de Paris, or do we hit Purple, the so-hip-it-hurts boutique-front of the magazine-and-video-producing collective? In the end, we decide to shop some more and prepare for the evening - dinner at the out-of-this-world 59 Poincar?, where diners eat only lobster or beef while lounging in rocking chairs.

After 48 hours in Paris, we concede that, these days, the city's a very cool place to be. It hasn't ripped off London's mood so much as taken inspiration and reinvented it. Not a bad result at all.