Frenchwomen don’t get fat because they don’t snack. We also know that the secret of their enviable chicness is the Hermí¨s scarf maman bestows on them on their 16th birthday. After that, isn’t it simply a lifetime of buying quality classics in black? Well, yes and no. That’s definitely the Parisian side of things, but it’s about as typical of the entire nation as Manhattan style is of the U.S. of A. Having just returned from France, I can tell you that by the time you reach the Gallic deep rural south, it’s a totally different picture. Women there achieve Elle-worthy style far from big cities by tapping into sources that Vancouverites just don’t have.

Let’s start with the supermarkets. Two aisles over from the canned pois, you can grab, right now, the new fall collection of asymmetrically wrapped pulls—soft, long, belted cardigans with flowing frills; tunic sweaters to belt low over skinny jeans—at cheap, cheap prices. One example: a certain black corduroy bolero jacket, trimmed with lace and cutwork, that I took note of last week (but inexplicably didn’t buy) could have been mine for $16.23.

Source number two is the markets. Not venues like Vancouver’s monthly Portobello West, where you can buy straight from the designer, but the weekly markets where you pick up your eggs and veggies. The big trucks roll in early each market-day morning. Down goes one side and out slide the racks for the clothes, with try-ons either in the truck itself or in a freestanding curtained fitting room the size of a shower stall (a challenging place to find yourself when you’re trying to assess the swirliness of a skirt).

The boho look never really caught on in Vancouver, but in France, birthplace of la vie de bohí¨me, it remains huge with women of all ages. Tiered skirts, with or without matching tulle peering out from under the hem, are still around in profusion, this time of year teamed with loose, lacy-knit cardigans with waterfall collars, voluminous shawls, or military-style, metal-buckled canvas jackets. In cold weather, everyone reaches for polaire, the French term for fleece, which is just as omnipresent on the Rue des Halles as it is on Robson Street, with one significant difference. In France, unless you’re tracking wild boar, fleece is invisible, a cozy lining hidden inside a chunky-knit or brocade zip-front jacket. Local designers, please copy.

Other trends already down at stall level are hand-embroidered flowers softening governessy tweed skirts or black boiled-wool coats (lotsa boiled wool around); graffiti-printed, layered-look tunics; and tons of leopard prints. Street markets are also prime hunting grounds for denim, currently ranging from Rock & Republic knockoffs to truly gruesome styles involving bleached crotch creases, clumps of rhinestones, or silver embroidery, or, if you’re really unlucky, all three.

Jeans, bien sí»r, but Nikes at ground level are a dead giveaway that you’re not French—otherwise, you would be sporting completely impractical lace-trimmed, silver, or floral-print “running” shoes; ballerina flats in a copper or bronze finish; medium spike heels (it’s chic to click); or, most likely of all, boots. Heels may be flat, chunky, wedge, or needle point. They may be slouchy d’Artagnan boots, primly laced Mary Poppins boots, round-toed or pointy-toed boots. But there’s one certainty: they’re almost always black.

Black boots to black toques (currently trendier than berets), French femmes are embracing their dark side but often cheer it up with other dominant colour trends like espresso brown, charcoal, and the whole range of bruised aubergines. Orange and burgundy are popular accent colours, while hues sidelined for years, like navy blue and mid to bottle greens, are starting to show up at market stalls and on the streets.

Frenchwomen have also fallen hard for work-going shorts. Examples I spotted were mostly black (quelle surprise) and just above knee-length, which shows a sexy sliver of skin between the hem and the top of a tall boot or knee socks with flat shoes.

Even though it was in the mid 20s two weeks ago, it was chic to wear as many layers as an oignon. I saw black leggings everywhere, often taking the risqué-ness away from incredibly tiny denim minis or abbreviated hot pants. Then, on go the cardis, shawls, and bold chain necklaces, all topped off with fur-edged jackets or knee-length coats worn open whatever the weather to show the multiple garments underneath. And never, ever forget the carefully tied scarf, this season ruched, embroidered, embellished with beads, or trimmed with petite felt leaves.

Until Mango comes to town (Toronto already has one), the only store I can think of that captures the spirit locally is Zara (1056 Robson Street and Metropolis at Metrotown).