No one will ever brag about buying UNICEF cards or calendars. Small treats to one’s ego are best left untold—as long as they help children and don’t go unnoticed.
USEFUL TIP: Happy New Year cards are sent in January in France. Score extra points by sending a UNICEF card for a different reason, at a different time of year.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, t’as vu les p’tits là, trop mignons. Ils sont trop choux les p’tits Indiens. Ou alors ils sont Malgaches? Enfin, trop mimi! (“Oh, you’ve seen the little kids, so cute. Indian children are so cute. Or are they from Madagascar? Anyway, so cute!”)
Bashing Tourists
The minute a person becomes a tourist, he suddenly loses most of his respectability. Flying into Paris, hardworking people, good family men, brilliant students, and successful businesspeople get beheaded: they become tourists.
In Paris, there is nothing more degrading than being a tourist. Tourists are all the same: they have no clue, no taste, no nothing. Some have money and, in that case, it is all they have. Parisians would never want to befriend a tourist. That would be an absolute humiliation.
Tourists seem to accumulate mistakes, as if their sole ambition during their whole stay in Paris is to annoy Parisians. Tourists wear sneakers, they walk slowly, they’re loud and wear dubious colors, they get lost in the metro, they are amazed by every little thing. . . . Tourists are painfully identifiable to the Parisian.
Any activity that has to do with tourists necessarily sounds like a rip-off to the Parisian. The idea that a tourist can be well informed or make sound decisions about how to spend his time or money in Paris is not something Parisians are ready to conceive. In that regard there are only two types of tourists: those who frequent les pièges à touristes (“tourist traps”) and those who are outrageously rich. The Parisian feels a little bit bad for both. He feels like it is physically impossible for the tourists to get a “real” experience of the city. The idea that some tourists genuinely adore Paris, know it quite well, come back regularly, and know the good restaurants more than he ever will is completely foreign to the Parisian.
Among tourists, Parisians only talk about four nationalities: les Chinois, les Japonais, les Italiens-ou-les-Espagnols (Italie-ou-Espagne truly being only one country), and les Américains. They have precise knowledge about each type. Les Chinois travel in groups and they shop at Louis Vuitton. Les Japonais are either old, traveling in groups and taking pictures, or young with funny haircuts and outfits. Les Italiens-ou-les-Espagnols are just loud. Les Américains say “oh my God” and “amazing” every five seconds.
Though these generalities tend to be quite accurate, the Parisian is rarely proven wrong. Which comforts him in the certitude that tourists do not really have souls. They are just there, being tourists, doing whatever it is tourists do. The Parisian despises tourists a bit for thinking that the Paris they see is the real Paris. The real Paris is, of course, his Paris. Tourists’ Paris is, in their mind, somewhere between not genuine and too expensive.
While very few of them work directly with tourists, Parisians realize that they have a positive impact on their city’s economy. They also get to experience firsthand their impact on the prices of real estate and the subsequent redefinition of the city. One by one, wealthy winners of the new global order kick Parisians out of Paris, turning Paris into a mere beautiful shell. Ironically enough, Paris lovers from around the world, with nothing but good intentions, orchestrate the silent agony of the charm of the city. This awfully modern pattern, fully at hand for instance in the 7th arrondissement, pushes simple people to the outskirts of the city. The social melting pot of workers and families that once made Paris is slowly but surely being turned into a global melting pot of the wealthy, contemplating childishly the France they dreamed about and the Parisians they wanted to meet.
In this convenient world, it is not uncommon for tourists sitting in a Parisian restaurant to realize that they live a few blocks away from one another. The Parisian waiter who witnessed the scene will think about this unlikely encounter on his train ride, back to his studio in the banlieue . . . thinking with a smile that it’s crazy.
Who said Parisian waiters were not nice people?
USEFUL TIP: As a tourist, be nice and smiley to Parisians. It does wonders, you’ll see (they’re not used to it).
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, les touristos, putain, j’y crois pas. . . . Tu l’as vu l’autre avec sa banane, ses baskets et son appareil photo: champion du monde! (“Look at those tourists, putain. I can’t believe them.... You see the one with his fanny pack, sneakers, and camera: he’s a world champion!”)
Buying the Paper While on Vacation
Parisians would like for life not to change. They would like to be the only ones progressing in a stable world.
Away on vacation, this desire to break for a minute the pace of modernity reaches a new peak. As most urban Westerners, Parisians long for a taste of a world that is still free from the tyranny of information and pressure. Modern treats are soft ones: Parisians will regularly seek destinations where the world as Parisians know it has not caught up yet. The ultimate break is about being reassured that some things, no matter what, do not and will not change.
For that reason, the Parisian cherishes his breaks to the French countryside. There, he loves the quiet simplicity of life, he enjoys the calm of interactions, he finds charm in things that in Paris bother him, he finds pleasure in activities that in Paris would be a chore.
Simplicity at times can be the greatest luxury. Out on a break, the Parisian will like to wake up in the morning, find a nearby bakery, buy bread and croissants and then the newspaper. By doing so, he feels like he’s reconnecting with what a man is to do in the morning; he steps out of the oppressive pace. He contemplates things with more distance. He feels refreshed.
At home, the Parisian does not take the time to read the paper. He will certainly get his daily fix of fresh news online at work or in some free paper handed out to him on the metro. But rarely will he actually buy the paper, sit down, and read it quietly. The perception of news away from home is also quite different. So will be its impact. News matters less on vacation. Seeing that, outside of his own, there is a world that does not seem to budge makes him consider the events that in Paris revolt or scandalize him with a form of ephemeral wisdom. Out in the countryside, the Parisian does not let the world affect him as much.
Being outside of what he reckons the world is, he suddenly looks at it the same way the sober one looks at the drunkards at a party. Somewhere between amused, scared, and sad but always somewhat reluctant to join them.
Chez le marchand de journaux, on top of the newspaper of the day (which can be a national one or—for Parisians with a regional rooting—the local one), Parisians like to buy at least a second item: L’Equipe for men, and a women’s magazine for la Parisienne. Later that day, only the men will read L’Equipe, while everybody will flip—more or less attentively—the pages of the women’s magazine. La Parisienne will systematically look for partners pour faire les tests.
Away in some country home, the Parisian loves to light a fire. To do so, he will use some old newspapers piled up by the fireplace. He will take a quick glance at what papers said that day and immediately think that all this news loudness really doesn’t matter in the end: every day, more articles get written, but truly life does not change.
This constant confusion between life and the world, between his life and the world, forms a philosophical sway from which the Parisian likes to contemplate. The reassuring movements of his mental sway are the best way to comfort him that, even though he changes, even though everything does and will, he will be fine.
USEFUL TIP: Visit the French countryside.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, tu as fais le café?! Et puis y’a des croissants? Et le journal? Oh, merci mon amour. (“Oh, you made coffee, and there are croissants? And the newspaper? Oh, thank you, my love.”)
Scarves
Parisians are not kn
own to be warm. It will therefore come as no surprise that they wear scarves.
Scarves are a crucial element of Parisian life. Much like a boring girlfriend in bed, the Parisian is always a bit cold. When he’s not, he knows himself enough to suspect that he soon will be. Consequently, rarely will the Parisian ever venture out without his scarf.
The choice of scarf is a determining social qualifier of both style and classe sociale. So is the way one chooses to tie his scarf. Parisians know their scarf will characterize them, identify them, position them, rank them, classify them, distinguish them. There can therefore be no messing around when it comes to choosing a scarf.
Men in Paris usually own one scarf. They play it safe, wearing the scarf they received as a gift from a person that could not stand their old scarf. Women, on the other hand, are more cautious, knowing that scarves are crucial to a person’s style. Every Parisian woman owns at least three scarves. Width, fabric, colors, and brand escalation generally lead to them owning more than this.
A good way to determine if a Parisian is into fashion or not is to look for color coordination between her scarf and any other piece of clothing she’s wearing. If you spot color coordination, that is the clear hint that this person likes to play it safe, applying old recipes, and therefore that she is not into fashion. Parisians with a sense of style will look down on color coordination. Colors dégradé is a different sory.
Parisians like the romantic glow that comes with wearing a scarf. Men think of poetry, women of floating elegance. Both would like for their scarf to dance with the tormented winds of Paris. But it won’t.
Parisians are no Isadora Duncan and, for some utterly Parisian reason, they somehow regret it.
USEFUL TIP: Even though recommending cashmere does sound very snobby, you must admit it is soft.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Une idée cadeau? Je sais pas, une écharpe?! Il porte des écharpes?! Bon, bah une écharpe, très bien. (“A gift idea? I don’t know, a scarf? Does she wear scarves? Great, a scarf it is then, very good.”)
Michelin-Starred Restaurants
When it comes to food, Parisians are no experts. Most did not grow up with a mother cooking epic food. Parisian mothers usually have no time, interest, or money to invest in glorious cookery. Most Parisians grew up with what, from a French perspective, would be fair to call mediocre food on their plate.
The appetite for good food usually comes later in the Parisian’s life. When the Parisian starts being able to afford eating out or traveling to la province. At that point only does he start exploring real cuisine, be it generous or refined.
Most active Parisians eat out regularly. But very few meals in a lifetime make it to the pantheon of memories. Very few meals leave an impression that never vanishes. Michelin-starred restaurants belong to that category. They offer grandiose moments, unforgettable ones.
Parisians like the idea of artisans. Given that, in the Parisian mind, a good artisan needs to be either broke or at the top of his profession. Artisans who make a reasonable living bother Parisians, who then think the artisans make too much money. Being broke shows passion and a form of charming inadequacy to the modern world that the Parisian is truly fond of. Being recognized by all shows that the summits of a craft have been reached. That is a pleasant thought: the Parisian could use a glimpse of that. Though Parisian chefs are usually looked down upon, Michelin-starred chefs are revered. To justify the sudden upgrade, the Parisian will usually drop the A-bomb. Oui mais attention, pour moi, les grands chefs sont des artistes. It is best at this stage not to start questioning the Parisian about how he considers other artists and the amount of money they are making.
Michelin-starred experiences are rare. They are the beacons of moments to remember. A Michelin-starred meal comes with a whole set of mental constructions, made up of food mythology, chef legend, and social glorification. It is about building up. Most Parisians will therefore always feel a form of discomfort in these restaurants. Thinking that it is too much, that they don’t really belong there—in the heart of the legend. Treating a Parisian with a very nice meal is a tricky decision, as most will be unable to truly enjoy perfection of the service, beauty of the room, grace of the food, and enchantment of the wine—simply because c’est trop. Traces of a Catholic culture spark in the most unsuspected environments.
At the end of the meal, Parisians feel like they passed a test. They are relieved. They, too, somehow enjoyed themselves. Having been to a Michelin-starred restaurant once before propels the Parisian to a world of increased self-confidence. He, too, can now look forward to reading the new classification every year.
If at some point during the meal, the chef came out to salute the clients, the Parisian will use that second of interaction to his advantage for the rest of his life. He will refer to the chef as a good old friend in every conversation about gastronomy. Thus gaining much social precedence over his fellow Parisians. Which, all things considered, sheds a new light on the value of that meal.
USEFUL TIP: Should you want to sound like a pro, use the word macarons instead of étoiles (“stars”). Also, if you’re on a tight budget, go for lunch (and reserve in advance).
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: La Tour d’Argent, eh bah dis donc. . . . Quoique, il paraît qu’ils ont perdu une étoile. Oh tu me raconteras. . . (“La Tour d’Argent, well, look at you. . . .Though I heard they lost a star. You’ll let me know how it was. . . .”)
La Bretagne
Some places don’t want to give themselves away. Their beauty lies in a cocoon, protected against the aggressions of the many. Some places remain shy despite their splendor. More aware of their flaws than of their qualities. Some places impose greatness in sobriety, they play silent symphonies. Some places shape people more so than people could ever shape them.
La Bretagne (also known as Brittany) is all this.
This region is a root, a flower, and a horizon. It is a castle and a breeze. It is the gray and the humble, the blue and the silent, the green and the painful. It inhabits its people. Its wind thickens the soul; its rain pervades hopes.
Easiness does not belong in Bretagne. Everything there comes at a price. Liking Bretagne is not about enjoying its beauty but about cherishing that price. This region of infinite humility can distinguish minds and souls as much as it can shatter them. Bretagne lovers are people of persistence. They are loyal to its defects to sometimes be privileged enough to enjoy its treasures. The immediateness of its rain fades away before the promise of its sun.
Parisians all fall for the superior beauty of the place. They all, too, fall for the idea of them loving Bretagne. Loving that gray and that rain, loving the cold and the unfriendly, loving the brutality of a character defined day after day by the unstoppable winds. Not all Parisians can take Bretagne. Unchained sunshines and insolent blues are reachable enough. They are easy enough. It takes a form of impermeability to the modern world to prefer the grays of Bretagne over them. Only poets can come back to Bretagne regularly, only they can cope with its superb attitude.
Most Parisians are deeply certain they love Bretagne. Yet very few go there repeatedly: Attends, je bosse comme un dingue, je veux pas retrouver à passer un weekend sous la pluie, ah non, no way. Rain it seems drenches even the most poetic of souls.
The gray skies of Bretagne let us contemplate that, observing this end of a land, one might also catch sight of the end of a world.
USEFUL TIP: The coastline of Bretagne is regularly breathtaking. Explore.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Ah non, la Bretagne c’est magnifique, j’aime trop. Par contre les Bretons, qu’est-ce qu’ils picolent! (“Oh no, Brittany is magnificent. I really love it. But the locals drink so much!”)
Friendly Old People
Parisians have a bad image of old people. Most Parisians consider them useless, slow, and vaguely senile. Modern individualism and urban life have untied the link that once existed in families between generations, so it will come as no surprise that not caring enough for your own e
lderly makes it difficult to cope with the others. For most Parisians, the ancestral wisdom guarded by older folks is no longer worth listening to. The world has changed too much, they think.
Interestingly enough, while older folks are very keen to testify how much the world has changed, they seem to ignore that their own country has gone through a dramatic makeover during the past forty years. All the values, principles, and beliefs that made France a world power for a few centuries have been purely and simply flushed. Over honor, Parisians now prefer respect; over patriotism, antiracism; over Christianity, atheism; over work, creation; over dignity, self-fulfillment. . . . In that context, advice from the elderly certainly fails to resonate. Outdated.
The modern French society of respect has awkwardly banned politeness from the cardinal values that make up the decent man. In the fascinating early twenty-first century French social microclimate, respect seems to do well without politeness. In Paris, friendliness and joie de vivre are concepts that exist exclusively in the mind of candid tourists and some old people.
Friendly Parisians are to be found in two sociological groups: people working in the food business and old people. Since professionals can always be suspected of being friendly in order to attract more business, pure disinterested friendliness is only found in interactions with some older people.
Parisians like these moments. They like to see a joyful older person. They find that super. They love to have a little banter with a friendly old person at the boulangerie or chez le fromager. This reassures them and puts joy in their heart. Parisians have found the explanation for the friendliness of these elderly folks: they have more time, they don’t have to work and therefore have it easy. The Parisian, on the other hand, has things to do, and therefore no time or energy to be friendly or polite.
Stuff Parisians Like Page 14