A Love Letter to Paris

(and all the tiny things that bring it back to me)

Dear Paris,

I know it’s a little cliché to love you — but I do. I really, really do.

I love you in the way you love something you’ve romanticized from afar, thinking maybe you’re being unrealistic, only to arrive and realize you weren’t wrong. You are that good.

It’s not just the Eiffel Tower (though yes, it really does sparkle), or the croissants (which are somehow both flakier and more comforting than anything I’ve had at home). It’s the atmosphere — the mood — the way you make everyday things feel elevated. Intentional. Worth lingering over.

People in Paris don’t rush their coffee. They don’t rush their conversations. The city teaches you how to pause, to breathe, to be — and for someone who tends to race through life, that felt like magic.

I still find myself craving that feeling — that soft, slowed-down way of living — so I’ve been recreating little pieces of you here at home.

Like this candle I picked up snickerdoodle-scented candle that makes my whole apartment smell like butter, cinnamon, and warm afternoons. It’s not technically French, but something about it feels like a bakery window on a quiet street. It’s cozy. It’s unnecessary. It’s perfect.

This is the one I keep rebuying.

I also treated myself to this soft scarf that I probably didn’t need, but makes me feel like I’m wrapped in something slightly fancier than my mood. I throw it on over leggings, I tuck it in my tote bag, I drape it over my chair like it belongs there. It’s the kind of frivolous detail that’s secretly functional — my favorite kind of thing.

And I’ve been journaling more. I brought a little linen notebook with me to Paris — originally just to jot down addresses and café names — but I ended up scribbling everything. Now it lives on my desk, and even though I’m home, I still flip through the pages when I miss it.

And when I want to be completely extra? I’m going to pull out a macaron mix kit I ordered on a whim and spend an afternoon pretending I know what I’m doing. (Spoiler: I don’t.) But even the attempt feels worth it.

Want to try to make them with me?

I guess what I’m saying is: you changed me, Paris. Not in some dramatic, life-altering way. But in the gentle way a city can sneak into your soul and soften you. You reminded me that small things can be sacred. That slowing down is an art. That beauty is not a luxury — it’s a birthright, if we let ourselves notice it.

So this is me, writing it down. A little love letter, tucked between memories and macarons.

Merci, Paris. For everything.

— Taylor Renee