a pair of shoes: serge gainsbourg and his repetto

During the last two decades of his life, Serge Gainsbourg wore precisely one style of shoes:
Repetto’s narrow lace-up Zizi Hommes in snow-white calfskin.


“Unbeknown to many, Serge Gainsbourg, the seminal French singer and style icon, had sensitive feet.
Boots hurt him.
He hated walking. His only salvation was calfskin jazz shoes made by Repetto,
the French dance shoe company.
Jane Birkin, then his lover, turned him on to the supple shoes in the early '70s.
''Serge was looking for gloves for his feet,'' she told Les Inrockuptibles, the French music magazine. Originally designed by Rose Repetto for her daughter-in-law,
the ballet dancer Zizi Jeanmaire, the lace-up shoes served Gainsbourg well.
According to Repetto lore, he went through 30 pairs a year, always in white, until his death in 1991.”
NYTimes





from the new york time 
via dark modern

Les feuilles mortes

La Chanson de Prévert

Oh je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
Cette chanson était la tienne
C'était ta préférée je crois
Qu'elle est de Prévert et Kosma

Et chaque fois "Les feuilles mortes"
Te rappellent à mon souvenir
Jour après jour les amours mortes
N'en finissent pas de mourir

Avec d'autres, bien sur, je m'abadonne
Mais leur chanson est monotone
Et peu à peu je m'indiffère
A cela il n'est rien à faire

Car chaque fois les feuilles mortes
Te rappellent à mon souvenir
Jour après jour les amours mortes
N'en finissent pas de mourir

Peut on jamais savoir par où commence
Et quand finit l'indifférence
Passe l'automne, vienne l'hiver
Et que la chanson de Prévert

Cette chanson "Les feuilles mortes"
S'efface de mon souvenir
Et ce jour là mes amours mortes
En auront fini de mourir.


English translation via loscuadernosdejulia

Oh how much would I love you to remember
This was your song.
It was your favourite, I believe –
The one by Prevert and Kosma.

And every time “Les feuilles mortes”
Reminds me of you.
Day after day the autumn loves
Don’t stop withering.

With others, of course, I abandon myself,
But their song is monotonous.
And little by little I lose interest.
There’s nothing to do about it

For every time “Les feuilles mortes”
Reminds me of you.
Day after day the autumn loves
Don’t stop withering.

Is it ever possible to know where the indifference
Begins or when it ends?
The autumn passes, and the winter comes,
And if only the Prevert’s song would go.

This song, “Les feuilles mortes”,
Washes itself off my memory.
And on that day my autumn loves
Will have stopped withering.