By early summer, Paris trades its winter bite for a quieter, slower warmth. The city feels lived-in, not dressed up—sun-bleached stone, dusty footpaths, and faded paint catching long, late light. The palette stays neutral: grey pavements, pale facades, a wash of soft gold around the edges. Scaffolding still clings to buildings, cafés spill onto sidewalks, and the usual imperfections—bins, bikes, clutter—keep it real. It’s less about postcard moments, more about texture, line, and attitude. Clothes move with the air, not the wind. That familiar Paris imprint is still there—metal railings, old signage, quiet corners—but it plays second to the mood, not the moment.

Paris, France