Don’t ask me how, but last week I found myself in Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club. Yes, there’s one in Paris, off the Champs Elysées (naturally), directly across the street from the Columbian embassy. It was the last place I wanted to be—the least Parisian boite I could imagine. But damn if there wasn’t something classically Parisian about it: lazy showgirls! Rather than execute gymnastic routines worthy of the Olympics, three women very casually slithered around their respective poles. No splits, no cartwheels, no spinning backwards with one leg gripping the steel–they were sauntering, not dancing. You could all but smell the cigarettes they were undoubtedly dreaming of smoking at the moment. Flynt could riff on the famous Pigalle neon sign that reads “Les Nues les Plus Osées du Monde” with “Les Nues les Plus Aisées du Monde.”