It makes sense.
Friendly old people are also usually well put together. Parisians find them trop mignon. The elegance and lightheartedness they like to display is enough to touch the younger Parisian but certainly not to inspire him.
What good could they teach young Parisians anyway?
USEFUL TIP: Old French people love being smiled at.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Y avait une p’tite vieille à la boulangerie, toute gentille, qui m’a dit que j’avais un joli sourire.Tu me dis pas toi, hein, que j’ai un joli sourire?! (“There was this old woman in the bakery, very sweet: she told me I had a beautiful smile. You never tell me I have a beautiful smile!”)
La Fleur de Sel
When it comes to salting food, salt is good enough for most people, but Parisians can’t help thinking there has to be something better. Thankfully, there is: the Rolls-Royce of salt, la fleur de sel.
The single most highly prized salt on earth, gently raked by hand, in a gesture inherited from time, to capture only the finest flakes floating on the surface of the marshes.
A real Parisian is to own three types of salt: du gros sel, du sel, and de la fleur de sel. Gradation of refinement. Le gros sel will do wonders to saltwater, le sel will salt ingredients. La fleur de sel, however, will vastly exceed its salting atributes. It will crown a recipe, a presentation, and a social status. The fact that it is a much better quality salt, softer on the palate, visually satisfying, and mildly crunchy is secondary.
Buying fleur de sel is making a statement. You are a gourmet and spending much more for quality is something you are willing to do (even more so as—conveniently enough—we’re just talking salt). Fleur de sel is one of these things the Parisian is happy to buy and display yet rarely use. One of these delicacies he feels he should save for a more precious occasion, or for a more precisely executed dish.
Among all the fleurs de sel available, the Parisian will surely opt for la fleur de sel de Guérande. In a conversation about salt in Paris, the name Guérande will be dropped after usually less than ten seconds. No matter how common the reference is, the Parisian will still think of himself as an insider for bringing it up.
La fleur de sel is an unusual flower. As with all flowers, it takes water and sunshine to bring it to life. But while most flowers satisfy the nose and the heart, la fleur de sel takes care of the palate and the mind. If most people wish for a bit more salt in their lives, it is fair to say that Parisians often hope for more fleur de sel. As if a bit more of the simple were to bring a bit of simple to the more.
USEFUL TIP: Reserve la fleur de sel for the final touch on your cooking.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Hop, un peu de fleur de sel . . . et voilà! C’est beau non? (“Hop, a bit of fleur de sel . . . there you go! Pretty, don’t you think?”)
La Place des Vosges
Paris is a city of axes and perspectives. Its most glorious avenues, monuments, parks, and boulevards do not happen to be there by chance. This organization has been designed and orchestrated century after century by men with an idea of grandeur.
While the Parisian likes the tortuous and winding streets, he also likes to navigate reassured through his city, sensing the layers of accumulated greatness. Paris is a delightful city for it seems to know the human soul. It knows its need for beauty and its need for greatness. It knows its need for space and its need for intricacies. It knows its need for perspectives and that for projections. In Paris, the grown-up soul feels at home.
Parisians take credit for this unique greatness. All the arrogance the city chooses never to display, the Parisian has long internalized. Spoiled little children, certain that their parents’ talents and accomplishments were passed on to their genes. Precedence of their soul.
Some places manage to combine greatness and modesty. In these places, one can hear stentorian whispers. Architectural perfection fades under the perfect suns of the human soul deciphered. La Place des Vosges is such. Obscenely square and fully self-centered yet surprisingly convivial and truly welcoming. The formal harmony of the place does not oppress the visitor. Au contraire. It frees him. No matter how busy, Parisian, or preoccupied one may be, walking into la Place des Vosges, he becomes a visitor: he gets caught in the local pace, captured in the microclimate. This square turns people into promeneurs. Entering this square, they leave dirty Bastille and self-important Marais behind. They access a new reality, enriched with an ambition that those gifted with sight would not dare to question.
There is a form of immodesty in posing as less than one is. La Place des Vosges, however, asserts its modesty by imposing its greatness. The park at the center of the place follows the same pattern. It does not mean to enchant or to soothe. Consequently, it does. This square is fully congruent. And Parisians feel that. They like to loll around under the archways. Looking at the art. Resting on a bench. Observing life pass by in this odd carrousel.
Feeling little for a moment.
USEFUL TIP: If you like squares, check out nearby Place du Marché Sainte Catherine. Quiet different but charming.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: J’crois que sa famille a un appart’ sur la Place des Vosges. . . . Non non, beaucoup d’argent. Beaucoup, beaucoup d’argent. (“I believe that her family has an apartment on la Place des Vosges. . . . No, lots of money. Lots and lots of money.”)
Not Talking About Their Money
Legend has it that the French are not comfortable talking about money.
Wrong.
They are not comfortable talking about their money. Their money is no one’s business but their own. Oddly enough, that rule does not seem to apply to others: Parisians quite enjoy talking about other people’s money. While they do enjoy the usual miserabiliste bit on how poor some people are, Parisians are keen to move on rapidly to a crunchier conversation: that of how absurdly rich some people are. Parisians are fascinated with wealthy people. They revere them as much as they hate them. Once dissipated, the smokes of scorn unveil admiration (the reverse is equally true).
On top of the scandalously rich pyramid are two types of people: les banquiers and les footballeurs. There is little doubt that these men steal their money. Over the past few years, the acceptance level has grown for sports players’ earnings, but has dropped for bankers’ earnings. Parisians are somewhat more tolerant with entrepreneurs who struck it rich, but they, too, should behave and keep a low profile. After all, the Parisian can always pull the exploitation card.
Parisians love to talk about scandalously wealthy people, as they very well know that they never will be. It is easier to despise what is fully foreign. Left-wing Parisians abide by Notorious BIG’s words: “Mo’ money, mo’ problems.” The more lucid ones know the French business context and taxmen too well to even start considering enjoying significant amounts of money one day. Ultimately, only one type of Parisian finds himself comfortable talking about money: the Parisian who lives overseas. Not all Parisians living overseas become comfortable talking about money. Those who do usually don’t come back.
Parents and spouses are the only ones able to rejoice about someone’s dramatic increase in revenue. No Parisian will ever wish wealth or financial success to another being. Not because he might suspect that wealth is not necessarily the path to happiness, but simply because the Parisian would like for no one’s revenues to exceed his too significantly. That is his policy.
While Anglo magazines thrive on ranking companies based on various criteria, French ones rank indiviuals’ based on their wealth. The special “Classement des Français les plus riches” attracts enough readers to be on the cover of most mainstream magazines at least once a year. It is important for Parisians to stay on top of such crucial information. Knowing who has not abided by his policy.
When it comes to the money they earn, Parisians have a rule: it is not enough. Mostly because it is less than their boss’s (right-wing Parisian) and less than what the company’s profit would allow (left-wing Parisian).
Talking about money in
Paris is considered rude. Money in Paris is a vulgar thing. Spending it to make life easier is acceptable. Spending it to make it too distinctly enjoyable is not. Spending your life struggling with it is acceptable. Spending your life not struggling with it is not. In Paris, discretion and decency should preside over any decision or conversation involving money. Anyone enjoying the money he earned will immediately be called a nouveau riche. Until the Parisian gets to benefit from it, at which point the person will be deemed as hyper généreux.
Though kings and queens were beheaded an odd two hundred years ago, courtesans still prosper in Paris. With discretion and decency of course.
USEFUL TIP: Keeping a Parisian friend implies skipping most money-related subjects, except for those about insufficient revenues.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: C’est le fils je crois qui a fait fortune. Dans la constrction, ou la restauration, aux Etats-Unis je crois. Enfin, bref, le type est plein aux as et il s’est acheté une baraque incroyable dans le Lubéron. Enfin, tu vois le genre, quoi. . . . (“I believe it’s the son who struck it rich. In construction, or in the restaurant business, maybe. Well, he was in America. Anyway, they guy is super loaded and he bought himself a stunning house in the Lubéron. I mean, you get the drift. . . .”)
Sunglasses
The sun rarely shines in Paris. But when it does, the Parisian intends to enjoy life. After all the gray he’s gone through, he feels entitled to a vacation. On a generously sunny day, he will thus unilaterally decide to leave work early and he will wear sunglasses.
A few years ago, sunglasses were considered out of place in Paris. People wearing them were mocked and pointed at. Ridiculous show-offs. A form of nobility existed then in facing the sun, remaining strong, eyes half closed, enduring its attacks.
Things have changed. In Paris, the sun is now to be embraced. Not confronted, but instead dated. Sunglasses are a Parisian’s most precious asset in his ephemeral flings with the sun. With them on, the Parisian can fully enjoy. Enjoyment in Paris is no longer about dignified confrontation, but about enjoyment.
The choice of his pair of sunglasses is a very difficult decision to make for the Parisian. Fashion? Pas trop fashion? Marron? Noir? Ecailles, pas écailles? Trop rondes? Pas assez rondes? Modern dilemmas are breathtaking. The Parisian wearing sunglasses is unable to buy a non-branded pair. Walking the streets of Paris with a pair with no logo on it would be straight-up shameful. Sunglasses should help increase a Parisian’s comfort, not diminish it. Most Parisians cannot afford Christian Dior couture. So Christian Dior glasses will do: un petit luxe . . . The satisfaction about today’s consumption of luxury brands is no longer about being able to afford them or differentiate yourself with them—just the opposite. It’s about pretending and blending in. After all, the Parisian may indeed be more blinded than he thinks.
What matters in the end about the Parisians’ sunglasses is the size of the logo. The more discreet the logo, the more elegant the sunglasses will be deemed. The more flashy, the more nouveau riche or beauf. Each brand comes with its own mythology and associated social values. Depending on the social class and personal history of each Parisian, such mythologies and associated values will vary. Making the sunglasses scene an eminently controversial one in Paris.
USEFUL TIP: Save your money.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Le mec tu vois, chemises blanche, cheveux en arrière, Ray-Bans . . . la totale quoi! (“That guy was like white shirt, hair pulled back, Ray-Bans . . . the total package!”)
Saying Trop
Trop in French is “too much.”
Previous generations used the word to indicate things that were in excess; excess was usually bad: il est trop gros, il en fait trop, il parle trop, c’est trop chaud . . . Trop was beyond reason or beyond acceptable limits. It was by no means an enviable adverb.
The past few years have brought about a tremendous shift in the way the word was used in Paris. The younger generation has taken it over and injected a new meaning and mystique to it. That generation of moderation, deprived of character, indulging with no joy in opulence turned trop into a laudatory term.
Trop became a marker of enthusiasm. In an ocean of unexcitement, language became their ultimate buoy. Young Parisians started using trop to express favorable impressions: c’est trop bien, il est trop beau, elle a trop la classe. Très, super, and hyper were no longer enough. Cool was to be found in self-proclaimed excess. Needless to say that excess—the judge of it being young Parisians, hence most likely a being with little joviality or ability to ever explore it—in that case has nothing to do with the object of the trop.
While trop switched from meaning “too much” to meaning “very much,” its use grew more positive. Je suis trop content; oh, ça me fait trop envie . . . Paris started flourishing with trops. The phrase il est trop became a must for funny people or cute children. Parisians using trop in such a way try to look more enthusiastic about what they witness than they truly are. They try to come across as flabbergasted by things they usually can’t really get excited about. Trop is trying to be polite and cool at the same time. It’s about not seeming as depressed as you are.
This slow-motion shift of the definition of excess comforted Parisians in the idea that their reputation for being not fun was a myth. When everything in one’s life is trop, moderation becomes a necessity. Little by little, concealing dullness turned into justifying moderation and therefore—at the end of the day—fostering more dullness.
Older Parisians find themselves quite upset when they hear trop used in that way. Feeling a form of disconnection with the youth. It is hard to blame them. A youth that forgets to have fun is difficult to relate to.
USEFUL TIP: As a foreigner, it’s probably best not to go down this road.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Non, c’était trop bien. Musique de ouf: trop de la balle! (“No, it was very good. Great music: it was the bomb.”)
English Humor
Seen from Paris, England does not seem like a very likable country. Parisians like to recite the long list of afflictions the old nemesis seems to have: bad weather, alcoholism, ugliness, revolting food, hooliganism. . . . There seems to be no redemption.
However, there is one aspect of English culture that Parisians look up to. Oddly enough, it is not a phenomenon but instead an actual fringe of English society: upper-class English people.
Parisians thrive on the mythology of the vieux lord anglais and its escort of enchanting adverbs and manners. This mythology feeds a tiny but indisputable inferiority complex rooted in the prestigious mystique of England’s academic institutions. It is clear to all Parisians that England shapes its elite better than France does. The legend of Eton, Cambridge, and Oxford is undoubtedly more vibrant in Paris than it could ever be in the UK.
Parisians all wish they could have English humor. They revere the inherent distinction, discreet wisdom, and smiley distance that come in the English humor package; add the English true gourmandise in the choice of the words and you’ll find the Parisian irremediably charmed. In good English company, the world seems to be freed from triviality.
Though Parisians proclaim as often as they can their indefectible love for English humor, most cannot deal too well with absurdity. As much as reality can be disturbing, Parisians have a hard time resolving themselves to let go of it for a second. This relationship to reality explains that characters like Benny Hill or Mr. Bean do not gather unanimous support in Paris.
On the topic of English humor, Parisians rarely refrain from using the adjective pince-sans-rire. They are somehow jealous of that trait of English culture that allows its people to be intelligent and fun at the same time. They wished they, too, could juggle with humor and wit and be socially rewarded for it.
But it is too late. Paris has drenched the spark in most eyes. Humor is a mental exercise the city does not foster. Thus reinforcing Parisians in their vision that the bridge between them and upper-class English simply cannot be bridged. This vaguely depressing and resignated tho
ught satisfies the Parisian.
So much for wanting to be humorous.
USEFUL TIP: To make Parisian friends, don’t bother trying to adopt French humor (French what?). English is the way to go.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, Hugh Grant j’adore! Le côté très british, élégant, très fin, pince-sans-rire: excellent! (“Oh, I love Hugh Grant! The whole elegant British type, very intelligent, tongue-in-cheek: excellent!”)
Barcelona
Barcelona is the coolest city in the world. This Parisian truth is not negotiable.
Over the past decade, Barcelona has become a prime destination for a weekend break for most Parisians. Parisians like what the rest of Europeans do, starting with the fun atmosphere and the great weather. Parisians enjoy Barcelona all the more so as Paris and Barcelona share many characteristics. They are the business capitals of their countries and boast global appeal and reputation.
But because Barcelona is in Spain, Parisians cannot resolve themselves to look up to it. They can certainly recognize its impressive accomplishments, fantastic energy, and apparent wealth. This knowledge that the city is populated by overachievers makes the Parisian feel very much at ease there. Many Parisians claim to love Barcelona’s creative, hipster vibe and certainly do. But this energy can only thrive in a city that can afford coolness. Barcelona certainly can and Parisians love that about it.
Stuff Parisians Like Page 15