Welcome back to Dry Powder. I’m William D. Cohan, writing to you from Paris,
where all anyone wants to talk about is the heat. Not France’s 3-0 thumping of Iraq late Monday evening, or Keir Starmer’s resignation, or even the runway dispatches of my partner Lauren Sherman are any match for the sweltering temperatures, which have regularly been topping 100 degrees, with little relief on the horizon. Tuesday was the country’s hottest day on record. Quelle horreur.

This is a real head-scratcher for the
French. Paris is basically on latitudinal par with Vancouver, where it’s around 65 degrees right now. At a local boulangerie, we bumped into a…