The Literate Eye

The font is eight-point. The lighting in this bistro is, frankly, romantic to a fault—which is to say, non-existent. You’ve reached that distinguished era where the menu has become a series of ambitious ink blots.

You don't reach for the utilitarian plastic things from the drugstore. No. You reach for these. The cat-eye silhouette—sharp, knowing, and just a bit dangerous. They don't just help you see the world; they tell the world exactly how much of it you’ve already seen.

They are for the woman who still prefers the tactile crackle of a morning paper over a glowing screen. For the person who knows that "reading between the lines" is much easier when you can actually see the lines in the first place.