There is a specific kind of magic that occurs in the back of a Parisian taxi. It’s a liminal space, suspended between the industrial hum of Charles de Gaulle and the cobblestone soul of the city. It was here, amidst the stop-and-go rhythm of the afternoon traffic, that I found myself shadowed not by a publicist or a film crew, but by Petra Baptiste herself.
Tomorrow, she will be the focal point of the World Fashion Exhibition for Paris Fashion Week. But today? Today, she was just my favorite travel companion.
The mission was simple: a ride to Le Petit Borda. The reality was a whirlwind of life’s greatest hits.
We bypassed the polite small talk of the industry, diving instead into the “why” behind our biggest life choices. We spoke of the bravery it takes to pivot and the beauty found in the unexpected.
The car was filled with the kind of resonant laughter that makes the windows fog—the sort that reminds you that fashion, at its core, is about the humans who wear it.
As the taxi pulled up to the charming facade of Le Petit Borda, the air between us had shifted. The formal boundaries of “journalist” and “designer” had evaporated somewhere near the Boulevard de Sébastopol.
In a week defined by curated appearances and rigid schedules, this unscripted hour was a rare luxury. Petra doesn’t just design for the world; she engages with it, head-on and with a laugh that carries. If our ride was the prologue, the main event tomorrow promises to be nothing short of legendary.
Sometimes the best “front row” seat in Paris isn’t at the Grand Palais—it’s the middle seat of a Toyota Prius with a genius by your side.