
Thursday, June 13, 2024
I was seventeen. She was 23. I was smitten. So was any man who knew of her. That included Mic Jagger, Bob Dylan, and David Bowie. She was the embodiment of the 60s in France, known as yé-yé. Cool, smart, sophisticated was the embodiment of this cultural movement and no one did it better than Hardy. (pronounced “Ardy.”) Dylan invited her to his room at George V in Paris and played two songs off his new album Blonde on Blonde: “Just Like a Woman” and “I want you”. She was so in awe of him she missed the hints.
I heard her music and her voice. It was quiet, smooth, and irresistible. I was in Switzerland to learn French. I didn’t learn much. I guess I thought by being in a French speaking country it would magically sink in. It didn’t. But Francoise sang in that sexy quiet voice- in French. I didn’t understand much, but I understood, “Viola.” One of her hit songs.
She sang of seeing you with the others, and how it hurt – “Viola.” There it is. The pain and the agony of being in love and that person could care less.
Ah, such torment. When you’re seventeen everything is emotional and simmering right below the surface.
A few years before I saw a Life Magazine article on Catherine Deneuve. She wrote, “I want to abandon myself to passion.” Yes, yes, please.
How irresistible. How passionate. Then I saw Catherine in a movie and she wasn’t that good. And she smoked. Bummer.
But Francoise? Ah. Beauty. Passion. Sophistication. Style. Three different designers begged her to wear their clothes and she did. When she did their sales exploded. Her style was timeless.
Later in life I read how she was deeply into astrology. How could she? The bloom was off the rose.
But I will always remember.
Francoise passed away yesterday at age 80 from cancer.
Adieu.