Page 23 of My French Love Affair

Jas stretches out beside me, sipping from her freshly delivered iced coffee.

“So, are you actually going to relax, or are you already designing in your head?”

I peer at her over my sunglasses. “Can’t I do both?”

Leah settles down onto her own sunbed after scanning the beach club with an expert eye.

“She’s definitely working,” she says “Look at her. She’s cataloguing outfits like some kind of AI fashion software.”

She’s not wrong.

The women here look like they’ve stepped straight out of a Vogue spread - effortless, expensive and incredibly well put together.

There’s the classic crowd - silk Hermès scarves tied around perfectly styled buns, high-waisted white linen trousers and one-piece swimsuits so structured they might actually be classified as architecture.

Then, there’s the glamour squad - plunging swimsuits, designer sunglasses that take up half their face and tiny Chanel bags thatdefinitelyaren’t intended to carry actual things.

And then there are the women who have truly mastered the Monaco aesthetic: the hybrids. The ones who somehow mix old-school elegance with the modern edge of luxury streetwear. A tailored white blazer over a bikini, with gold jewelry layered in a way that somehow doesn’t look overdone. A kaftan so diaphanous that it’s practically a whisper of fabric paired with chunky sandals that scream money.

It’s…fascinating.

I pull my sketchbook from my beach bag, flipping to a fresh page.

Old money revamped.

My mind races, whirring at a thousand miles an hour.

Because what if the classic, timeless look wasn’t just reservedfor the ultra-rich? What if I could make something that felt like it belonged here, but was accessible and - above all -affordable?

I start sketching, my mind spinning with ideas.

A modern take on the traditional structured swimsuit - corsetry-inspired seams that shape the body but still feel effortless.

A cover-up that isn’t just an afterthought, but part of the look - fluid, tailored, adaptable.

High-waisted shorts that elongate the legs but are casual enough to throw on over a swimsuit.

Luxury, butattainable.

"See?" Jas sighs, nudging Emma. "We’ve lost her."

Em rolls onto her stomach, resting her chin in her palm as she glances at my sketchbook.

“What are you drafting?”

I tap my pencil against the page, my thoughts still half-formed, still buzzing with the ideas I can’t quite get down fast enough.

“I’m thinking classic, but new. Something that’s modern but still feels timeless - but that’s also not exclusive to people who grew up with private jets and a polo club membership before they could walk.”

“So, like… ‘Old Money for Broke Bitches’?” Leah asks.

I sigh. “That might need a rebrand.”

“Yeah, maybe lead with something else," Emma snickers.

"But… Yes,” I confirm, exhaling. “Something along those lines.”

“Honestly? It’s genius," Emma says. "You know how manypeople want this look but don’t have Monaco money?"

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