We meet Daria around noon on a sticky summer day, when the nonexistent breeze makes you feel quite unattractive as you dab your melting face, cursing the heat wave with your finest selection of swear words.
But that is not applicable to Daria. Her arrival is marked by a flair of nonchalant grandeur: she weaves her way through the park, the cloth of her black, wide-legged jumpsuit swinging in rhythm with her steps, the platforms of her espadrilles stamping out footprints on the sandy path. Bright red lipstick, burgundy nails and a flowered comb pinned into her jet black hair-do. Yes, we know we’re in good hands when it comes to touring Paris’ best vintage spots.