I have an obsession with aesthetics — I am a visual person who is drawn to beautiful things, so I was obviously super stoked to go on my spring break trip to Paris, a city that holds the reputation as one of the most beautiful in the world.

I saw all of the famous landmarks in Paris, starting with the Louvre.

Yeah, it's really pretty, and yes, all of those buildings surrounding the pyramid are actually a part of the massive museum — but one thing was lacking. I couldn't touch anything. I looked at the Mona Lisa, saw Michelangelo's sculptures and even saw this really weird painting of one guy giving another a blowjob. But I couldn't have any of it, and that frustrated me. What's the point in just... looking?

The next day we went to the Eiffel Tower. “Wow, this is gonna be so cool!” I thought to myself. I was about to finally see what is probably the most well-known structure on this planet up close and personal. Upon arrival however, I was, well, underwhelmed.

Standing in front of me was a giant iron tower with a huge French flag on top. Sure it was stunning and fun to take photos in front of, but I wanted more. So I walked right up to it and touched it. Nothing happened.

Next, I went to the Arc du Triomphe. (Which I also touched. Still nothing.)

I even saw Notre-Dame, but couldn't find the hunchback or Esmeralda.

And, of course, I couldn't leave France without going to Versailles, which by the way is what I would like my future home to look like.

But despite how much historic value and how truly amazing all of these sites were to see, I still wanted more.

Walking down Rue Saint-Honoré, I saw something that elicited the same sensation that I got from all of the historical landmarks (but a little better). Looking in the window of Valentino, I saw a mannequin dressed in an exquisite suit and a pair of Rockstud sneakers. Now this is something I can have! I go inside, and although the Valentino boutique may not be a historical landmark, it feels just as important to me. I try on the shoes I was eyeing, decide I want them and, like magic, they're mine.

Down the road a bit more, I find myself at a crossroads with Rue Cambon. I stroll down the famous street, quickly approaching the first ever Chanel boutique. My heart starts beating fast, my palms sweat a little bit and I take a deep breath as the suited security guard opens the door with a gentle “Bonjour, monsieur.”

I’m looking for a wallet, and with my eye for aesthetics it obviously has to be perfect. I request to see several styles in various leather types, and the sales associate disappears behind a wall hiding a door. Upon receiving a glass of champagne and a tray of five or six wallets, I begin inspecting each and every one. I compare the soft feel of lambskin to the more rough one of caviar leather, look closely at the impeccable stitching and subtly different tones of gold hardware. After careful contemplation, I make my decision and purchase a large black zip-around wallet.

A crisp, white shopping bag adorned with two paper camellias and a bow is placed into my hands, the soft cloth handles caressing my skin — goosebumps run through my entire body, and a huge smile spreads across my face.

Shopping in Paris gave me something that the museums and landmarks never could: Tangible things to bring home. I appreciated all of the things I saw and have awesome memories from all of them, but there’s still something about handing over some euros for a special little (OK, or big) bag filled with treasures that, to me, can’t be beat.