I walked into a lovely cocktail party in Paris. The home was newly painted in off-white and pale cocoa with beautiful silk curtains in striped brown and off-white. Candlelight, delicious hors-d’ouevres, but the people were not my tribe. The women of my tribe wear much more war paint. Their war cries are certainly noisier, their bracelets more jangly. They drink more fire water, have more insistence on recognition, more alpha males are about with more trophies. These people were too good; too pale for my tribe. They were not blonde enough, their teeth not white enough. I miss my tribe tonight.

By Tina