Arc de Triomphe
Gabrielle’s story
Champs-Élysées, evening walk
My phone case catches the streetlights — the Arc de Triomphe standing proud. I think about triumphs. Not the big ones. The small, daily ones. Getting up. Showing up. Being seen. This case holds my phone, but it also holds my history.
Café terrace, phone on table
Someone asks about my case. 'The Arc?' they say. 'It''s about victory,' I tell them. 'Not over others. Over the voice that said I couldn''t.' The Triumph Arch commemorates wins. Mine commemorates becoming.
Design studio, brainstorming
I toss my phone on the table — the Arc de Triomphe face-up. 'We need more arches,' I say to the team. 'More structures that celebrate passage. From who we were to who we are.' They nod. They understand. We build monuments to transformation.
Metro, rush hour
Crowded train. My phone in hand, the Arc visible. A young trans person sees it and smiles. We don't speak, but we nod. Recognition. The Arc is a meeting place — in Paris, and in life. We find each other under arches.
Place de l'Étoile, midnight
I stand under the real Arc, phone in hand, case matching monument. The symmetry is perfect. I think about all the names inscribed here — soldiers, victories. I add my own, silently: Gabrielle. Survivor. Thriver. Woman.
Bookshop, biography section
I'm reading about Josephine Baker. My phone — with its Arc case — sits beside the book. Triumph takes many forms. Sometimes it's a stage. Sometimes it's a street. Sometimes it's just living openly when the world says hide.
Rainy afternoon, museum
Waiting out the rain at the Petit Palais. My phone case sparks conversation with a stranger. We talk about Paris, about arches, about the beauty of spanning divides. Art does that. So does a good phone case, apparently.
Rooftop party, friends
Someone drops my phone. We gasp. But the case holds — the Arc protects. 'Triumph over gravity,' my friend jokes. We laugh. But I think: that's what we do every day. We fall, we rise, we keep the precious things safe.
Morning run, Tuileries
Phone strapped to my arm, Arc facing out. I run past the real monuments and feel connected to something bigger. The Arc de Triomphe was built to celebrate. I run to celebrate — my body, my breath, my becoming.
New Year's Day, quiet
The city is still. My phone shows messages from chosen family around the world. The Arc on my case reminds me: we've crossed through. From one year to the next. From fear to freedom. Triumph isn't a moment. It's a practice.
