Jane Birkin feat. the South of France

You don’t feel like working, I don’t feel like working. Why don’t we together do something for the better of humanity or at the very least, for the better of what should be renamed The Most Unproductive Friday in the History of Holiday Weekends.

But what can we do, you ask?

Easy.

You’re chained to your desk, I’m chained to mine, so let’s make the best of this fortress — not prison — and pretend we’re already on the beach. Here’s a slideshow of photos of Jane Birkin with her main squeeze Serge in the South of France to properly position your mindset. Become one with her bangs. Ask yourself why you’ve not yet jumped aboard the straw basket-as-bag train and then remember that you’re still en route to Montauk. Get off that train and consider a pair of low rise flare-leg jeans. If there’s no sailboat in your proximity, I get it (there are none in mine, either) but lean against something, anything, and imagine the French Riviera’s breeze combing your hair into a mystical state of natural oblivion. Ask yourself what natural oblivion means.

Now take it back, I don’t have an answer.

Forget bras, eat ice cream. Reconsider the ballet flat. Then fart glitter because Céline, my friends, is going on sale soon. Make a case for espadrilles. Ask your best friend to stop buttoning his or her shirt and understand that with great style comes the urge to shop. Give in with:

Hats!

And bags!

So many bags.

Sandals!

And crops! Then stripes!

And frivolity! Such necessary frivolity.

Now go home.

Want to keep shopping? Fivestory NY has e-commerce now. Oh, you’d rather drink? It’s kind of early but who am I to judge your timezone. Here’s a cheap summer wine guide, and here’s a best-of Manhattan margaritas list.