An Insider's Guide to Paris's Best Flea Markets
The gilets jaunes protesters were everywhere, the metro was half shut down, and my taxi driver sagely reported that in a few hours the city was going to close all the bridges that crossed the Seine. Paris may have been in turmoil, but I was undeterred—it was Saturday morning, and I was heading south to the flea market at the Porte de Vanves.
For some people, France means the greatest art, the finest gastronomy. I like those things too, at least in theory, but the truth is I haven’t been to the Louvre since I was in college, and give me frites at a flea instead of a six-course meal anytime. Maybe you won’t find a signed Leleu Deco cabinet or a vintage Kelly at Vanves (stop 1), but if you’re in search of, say, a souvenir needle case from the Paris exposition of 1900 (What, you don’t want this? Why?) or a stack of monogrammed linen napkins (Not your initials? So what?) or a 1970s Charles Aznavour vinyl LP, you might just get lucky.
Just about now you may be thinking, Why do I need to go to an actual flea market when I can lie on the sofa and just “Add to Basket”? Let me say this: The joy of discovering in real life an item that makes your heart sing, something you never knew you wanted but now must have, will never be duplicated online. (The day Paris was on strike, I bought a magnificent, massive cross-stitch depicting a French sailor for 30 euros, dragged it onto one of the few trains still running, and shlepped it back to the Hotel Regina Louvre from the Châtelet metro station.) You don’t need to get to Vanves insanely early, like those English markets where the dealers arrive at five and shop by flashlight. This is France, after all, although most everyone wraps up by 1 p.m.
If you’re like me, the journey continues on the other side of the city, way up north at the famous Porte de Clignancourt (stop 2). Referred to as St. Ouen, this gargantuan flea boasts roughly 2,500 dealers spread over more than 17 acres. If it seems overwhelming, well, it is. The string of antique centers laid out along the Rue des Rosiers bear poetic names: Vernaison, with its winding alleyways! Dauphine, for antiquarian books and prints! Biron, with its fine furniture and even finer jewelry! A word to the terrified novice: Relax. Hit Vernaison for small treasures, Serpette for mansion-worthy wonders, and don’t forget to stop for a classic poulet at the deeply chic Philippe Starck–designed Ma Cocotte in the Paul Bert market and, at the other end of the spectrum, Chez Louisette, where an Edith Piaf wannabe holds center stage.
Truth be told, I dine at these only when I am reluctantly shepherding friends around. Alone, I eat at the little lunchroom in Marché Serpette, which is right near Le Monde du Voyage, where you can get that vintage Kelly or, if you prefer, an ocean liner–ready Goyard trunk. Keep wandering the back paths of the Paul Bert market and eventually you will find your way to Chez Sarah, a vintage clothing purveyor out of a dream, like a department store of the past.
You might think that spending every waking weekend hour at Vanves and Clignancourt would be enough for even the most insatiable collector. You would be wrong. Twice a year, in fall and spring, the Foire de Chatou (stop 3), also known as “Ham and Antiques,” sets up on an island in the Seine where the Impressionists once painted. The origins of this marriage of artisanal pork and bric-a-brac stretch back centuries, but suffice it to say that not only are there 700 dealers here, there are also pop-up restaurants with ham-heavy menus.
The train out of Paris is easier than it sounds, and soon you’ll find yourself haggling over a mesmerizing 19th-century clown whose head is admittedly a bit wobbly, an antique Provençal gold crowned-heart ring that is miraculously only 300 euros, and a giant primitive painting of a baby in a white christening dress that costs less than the ring. These examples are not apocryphal—I have this trio in my home now.
The best news is that though this extravaganza comes around only semiannually, it is 10 days long. Which means that if you are an OG flea market fanatic, you can hop on that RER train on, say, a Tuesday morning in late October or mid-March and a half hour later be treading the sunny aisles, your eyes drilled down on a vintage kitchen table brimming with treasures. Could Claude Monet, once so entranced by this landscape, ever have envisioned such a meeting of meat and merchandise? Oh, if only I’d been around then…
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Sartorial prep for antiques roadshowing à la française.
This story appears in the March 2022 issue of Town & Country. SUBSCRIBE NOW
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