Lindsey Tramuta
July 2, 2026

The art of boutique-hopping in the birthplace of couture.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you’re classic and grounded but leave room for a little edge,” Anaïs Rheiner tells me on a sun-drenched Paris morning in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. “Your go-to color is green, c’est ça?” Rheiner had clocked me instantly, though we’d just met. She’s not offering an aura reading or a chakra alignment, but rather a preview of how she assesses new clients seeking her work with gold and gemstones.

Anaïs Rheiner at work.Carole Poirot

Rheiner is a jeweler, and her read of me took place in her eponymous Left Bank sanctuary, no larger than a studio apartment, to which in-the-know jewelry lovers and neighborhood residents have quietly streamed for the last 20 years.

Even before that exchange, I felt an immediate kinship with the Swiss-born, Zimbabwe-reared designer, who greeted me with a disarming smile, wearing a punchy pink sweater and slouchy jeans. A few tendrils of her clipped-back hair tumbled forward to frame her face. That I stood before her wasn’t happenstance: French Side Travel, an on-site tour operator that works with travel advisors to arrange city excursions, had set me up with Maud Hacker, a guide and historian trained at the École du Louvre and the Sorbonne. Hacker extends her deep knowledge of fashion, interiors, and the heritage of French luxury to private experiences, including visits to Rheiner’s studio. She might arrange a teatime in the home of a preeminent antiques dealer or arrange a private tour of the Louvre, among countless other excursions. But like all the briefs she receives, mine was personal.

I explained to her that, after 20 years in Paris, I finally understand – and most importantly, accept – what I wear well and what I don’t. I know I relish the unspun authenticity of emerging brands and designers, and I tend to lose interest when they become too mainstream. I know I won’t compromise on wearability and ethical production, and while I’m more than open to vintage, the special find rarely materializes. For many years, Paris offered a plethora of places that suited my preferences. But more recently, I can count on one hand the shops I lean on for something fresh: Landline and Centre Commercial for their succinct curations of garments sustainably produced in Europe; Merci for a broader, more bohemian selection; and secondhand designer accessories from Vestiaire Collective.

As the birthplace of couture and styles oft copied by high-street labels (the two-tone ballet flat popularized by Chanel! The silk carré à la Hermès!), Paris has long loomed in the traveler’s imagination as a fashion gold mine. And yet its retail landscape now looks eerily similar to that of London, New York, and even Tokyo. That global sameness makes the work of scouring the city’s shops for singular items all the more challenging. For this mission, I needed a navigator skilled at uncovering the artisans, designers, and collectors who uphold Parisian savoir faire.

Kicking off our expedition with Rheiner set the bar high. “I love sculpting each piece,” she says, leaning in to give me a better look at her Luminous Trail ring, its 18-karat recycled yellow gold band chiseled with irregular motifs and fitted with diamonds. Whether prominent or nestled away so that only the wearer sees them as the piece naturally rotates, the selection of stones plays an outsize role in the structure of each piece. The result is deeply inspired by the four elements and, as I learned firsthand, by each client’s energy. The hope, she says, is that her pieces become objects that clients can add to, stack, or build upon. “I always tell them: Live with your jewelry. It can’t be complicated; it needs to fit in seamlessly with your everyday life.”

Galerie Patrizia Pilotti’s rich archives.Carole Poirot

As we weave between passersby on rue de Buci en route to our next visit, I ask Hacker why Saint-Germain-des-Prés was most relevant for this outing.

“The nobility settled here in the pre-revolution era and were at the cutting edge of fashion, with the means to match,” she says. “There’s a legacy of sophistication in Saint-Germain that’s as much about intellect as it is about fashion – a certain art of living.”

Part of this philosophy flourishes in the year-old gallery space on rue Dauphine opened by the former model and casting director Patrizia Pilotti. After a long career working alongside fashion’s greats, from Yves Saint Laurent and Alexander McQueen to Alber Elbaz and Pierpaolo Piccioli, she and her husband, Olivier Massart – the renowned set designer who has staged several thousand runway shows since the late 1960s – had accumulated an astounding collection of goods in near mint condition. She greets us on the ground floor of her two-story space, where she sells, by appointment, everything from Chanel blazers to YSL belts and Hermès scarves. Behind her, a photographic collage of her modeling days runs the length of the wall. “Beyond the fact that these pieces are unique or hard to find, they also hold sentimental value. So if I do part with them, I want buyers to really appreciate them,” says Pilotti.

She leads us upstairs to a room that looks like her own personal walk-in closet, with retro decor (also for sale) and an array of pieces unlike anything I’ve seen in the Marais’ more densely packed vintage boutiques. A navy Yohji Yamamoto bomber
jacket catches my eye – it was Massart’s, I learn, before Pilotti redirects my attention to a soft, cyan-colored leather-and-chainmail shoulder bag, telling me she watched Paco Rabanne himself make it. Would she really part with it? “I might be crazy to let it go, but I think it’s time for someone else to love it.”

Maud Hacker on rue de Furstemburg.Carole Poirot

A 15-minute walk away, another interpretation of vintage occupies a 1930s tobacco shop, with all the original wooden shelves, display cases, and ceramic floor tiles. Hacker is certain Mademoiselle Joséphine can address my trouble of finding that special-but-rare something. “There are pieces she sources and appraises, and then there are some spectacular items from neighborhood women sold on consignment,” Hacker whispers as we ring the bell to enter. Joséphine Marcilhac’s shop stocks a tight edit of ready-to-wear leather goods – primarily from the pre-logomania era – along with silk scarves, statement jewelry, and shoes in excellent condition. With her experience authenticating luxury goods, Marcilhac’s clients can be sure the pieces are the real deal.  

The mix is colorful and well maintained, made up of pieces she genuinely loves. As we’re getting ready to leave, I spot a black Epi leather bag from Louis Vuitton, circa early 2000s, and inch closer to get a better view. “Wait, look at this!” Hacker exclaims, pointing me to an Epi-grained pochette, protected behind glass, in my preferred color: green.  

L’Appartement Samaritaine’s inviting perch.Carole Poirot

After parting ways with Hacker, I cross the Seine to visit Samaritaine Paris Pont-Neuf, the belle epoque landmark and department store, for what French Side Travel described as a three-hour, stylist-curated extravaganza of new pieces from Parisian luxury designers and cult European brands, including Toteme, Aeyde, and – exclusive to Samaritaine – the Ukrainian up-and-comer Litkovska. The personalized experience unfolds in L’Appartement, a 2,700-square-foot sanctuary inspired by Haussmann’s Parisian pieds-à-terre. There’s a sprawling living room area and individual salons that feel like boudoirs, each with vintage furniture and decor, bespoke plasterwork, and artist-designed rugs and murals. A small blush-hued salon flatters beauty-product sampling at its marble vanity, while la bibliothèque, in forest greens and a mishmash of blues, is the space for trying on haute joaillerie pieces (with the security cameras to match).

I learn that the bureau, complete with a fitting podium and triptych mirror, recently cameoed in season four of Emily in Paris and is still L’Appartement’s most in-demand space. An attendant offers me coffee and a macaron as I browse the silk blouses and skirts, jean jackets, and slip-on shoes laid out for my session – a stunning selection of Victoria Beckham, Ami, and Alaïa. I have the room to myself – no more than two clients occupy the appartement at a time – and can easily imagine an afternoon sipping Champagne with my closest friends, slipping on different, hand-selected versions of ourselves.

For my final visit of the day, I walk 20 minutes north to rue Chabanais in the 2nd arrondissement, a short street near the Palais-Royal garden once notorious for its brothels and now known for its fashion connections. I pass the design studio of Franck Durand, the artistic director behind campaigns for Loro Piana, Isabel Marant, and Berluti, as well as the revival of Holiday magazine, and the flagship store for the Hindu-inspired jewelry brand Tityaravy, before buzzing into a nondescript building across the street. If Samaritaine offers a broad view of fashion today, Turn Paris is its intimate counterpoint.

A dear friend with impeccable style had raved about the shop’s considered mix of lesser-known European vintage and original pieces, and convinced me to make an appointment. Launched in 2022 by Clara Hofer-Maire and Alix Darcy, the fourth-floor showroom immerses visitors in the duo’s vision of vintage. “The idea was to bridge the gaps between eras and show clients how to wear vintage as part of a wardrobe – there are a lot of stores in Paris, but if you don’t usually wear vintage, you’re not quite sure how to go about it,” Hofer-Maire says as I browse their selection. She had described me perfectly – interested but unsure.

The women focus on guiding clients who, like me, might need some hand-holding to create complete looks. They might suggest a piece – such as the 1990s short silk coat from Italian designer Adele Fado that Hofer-Maire holds up for me to see – to go with a pair of ethereal pleated pants from Paire, Turn’s own limited-edition collection of ready-to-wear and accessories, made in Europe from a blend of dead stock and Japanese fabrics. But those who want something more recognizably iconic should peek into the shoe closet, tucked at the back of the dressing room: Pairs of Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent, and Prada pumps and flats run from floor to ceiling, begging to be tried on.

It proved to be, like each visit that day, an invitation to shop more slowly and thoughtfully. The outing pushed me to be specific about what I wanted and why, a question I’d largely stopped asking myself. It was less an itinerary than proof that a more intentional Paris shopping experience endures – one that doesn’t ask for compromise on craft, ethics, or taste to unearth something worth wanting.

This article originally appeared in the July/August 2026 issue of Virtuoso, The Magazine (U.S./Canada edition).