An Icon of Parisian Beauty: A Poem About Coco Chanel

Annika Hardy and Makayla Doyle

An icon of Parisian beauty,

with a name gifted by soldiers.

While I serenaded, sweet, songs at local cabarets,

thus earning money to prosper.


Raised by nuns in Moulins,

they taught me how to sew.

I started a hat business in 1913;

a mad-hatter shop.


Chanel No 5., my greatest success,

the lovely smell of jasmine; kissing my soft cheeks.

According to a fortune teller,

five was my lucky number.


The Little Black Dress

was demanded, honored, praised, recognized.

Thoughts spiraling down the rabbit hole into a world of fashion.

From a humble past; rags to riches.


Closing down my boutique,

Like a locked door in a crowded hallway.

Entering World War II as a volunteer nurse,

I began to die of boredom.