Understanding the extraordinary reputation that Barcelona has in Paris takes grasping fully the superior bind that exists between Parisians and Barcelona. One, for the record, they are vastly oblivious to. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia. Its population vastly looks down on the rest of the country that in return generously dislikes them. The city is probably the country’s most appealing metropolis yet fails to charm other Spaniards, who see in it nothing but arrogance. Parisians can relate to that. They, too, feel like they are the fuel to the country’s engine and would like some signs of appreciation from the little people that make up the rest of the population.
Parisians like people that can resist. As such, they appreciate Catalonia’s fierce action in favor of their language, culture, and identity. They admire a group of people that can stand for what it believes in. A group of individuals that still believes in some things, even more so in concepts that in Paris are no longer in fashion, like cultural identity. Catalans are still holding strong to things Parisians have long given up on. In that they can look up to them; Parisians can relate to them.
When visiting Barcelona, most Parisians cannot help but think that they could see themselves living there. They will predominantly talk about the weather, the quality of life, and the energy. They will also mention the bars and the nightlife.
Clearly, the sun might be shining a bit too hard in Barcelona.
USEFUL TIP: Preferring any other Spanish city will make you seem old.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Et dans quinze jours, on va à Barcelone pour le weekend: trop bien, j’ai trop hâte. (“And in two weeks, we’re off to Barcelona for the weekend: can’t wait.”)
Reasonably Boring Nightlife
When asked by tourists or foreigners to recommend a good place to go out at night, Parisians find themselves quite annoyed. Older folks will come up with a general-enough statement, fully certain that destinations like Champs-Elysées or Bastille have everything the fun-minded noctambule might hope for.
Younger Parisians whose experience of nightlife is more recent and more frequent know such answers are not really helpful. Should they name neighborhoods, they would probably opt for Saint-Germain or Oberkampf. Things get more complicated when asked to name cool bars or fun clubs. Most Parisians are vastly clueless about good places to go out at night in Paris.
This phenomenon has to do with the patterns of Parisian entertainment. Parisians like to meet up with friends. They do so at house parties, dinner parties, or dinners out. In the summertime, they are also prone to do picnics and apéros. Except for house parties, food is—if not the central element—at least the main excuse and environment for Parisian fun. A good evening is one with good friends, and food.
Though the trend is on the way up, drinking for the sake of it is not a central element of French culture.
A nice meal is one that takes the time to drag on. It finishes in a state and at a time that can easily excuse tiresome. At that point, transitioning from a Parisian restaurant to a club vibe or a bar is certainly not the natural thing to do.
Another explanation for the difficulties most Parisian have in naming good places to go is the fact that such places are scarce. The festive ways of la Belle Epoque, the liberated excesses of la génération ’68 are long gone. While the practice explained above has always existed, Parisians were once more jolly. Most Parisians these days do not feel like partying, many cannot afford it, and the result is—in comparison to what may exist in other international capitals—a reasonably boring nightlife.
For Parisians, naming a good place for a fun night out is all the more difficult as it requires going out. Most young Parisians are in relationships, so the appeal of going out vanishes vastly as going out becomes a threat more than an opportunity. When they do go out, Parisians have a secret rule to stick to their friends. Groups arrive constituted and leave similarly constituted. After a few nights out in Paris, most outsiders start complaining about the difficulties of mixing and mingling with Parisians, even in bars and clubs.
Arrogant little things . . . thinking that Parisians could have any interest or find any pleasure in interacting with them. . . .
USEFUL TIP: Fancy clubs in Paris are difficult to get into: wait until at least midnight, be dressed up, avoid coming in large groups, and make sure you have at least one girl for every guy in your party.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oulah, et ils veulent danser?! Pff . . . j’sais pas moi. Marie, t’as une idée? Pour aller danser? Hein, nan, hein, j’sais pas . . . Saint-Germain c’est sympa, non? (“Oh boy, and they want to dance?! Pff . . . I know I don’t. Marie, do you know where to go dancing? I don’t know . . . Saint-Germain is OK, right?”)
Testosterone-Deprived Males
There are three types of males in Paris: the gay-looking homosexuals, the gay-looking heterosexuals, and men over fifty.
It is not easy being over fifty in Paris. Most men over fifty happen not to look gay, which screams that they are obviously one generation behind. They have no choice but to accept that situation for it is difficult to start looking gay after a few decades of looking straight.
Parisian males under fifty do not have such problems. They can happily look gay and have no one cast suspect that they are on the wrong side of the age hill. In Paris, gay men find themselves looking or acting gay and it is only fair. What is more surprising to the visitor is that the same pattern applies to the nongay Parisian male—who also finds himself looking and acting gay in most situations of life.
The first rule of a good Parisian male body is puniness. This objective is reached thanks to years of not exercising and not playing any sports at a competitive level. Add years of not drinking or eating in excess and the puniness grail can be reached.
To cover their glorious bodies, Parisian males opt for clothes that rank somewhere between neutral and gay-looking. The beauty of a neutral piece of clothing on a puny body is that it immediately becomes gay-looking. It is crucial to realize that, whether they choose to wear neutral or gay-looking clothes, heterosexual Parisian males do not have the intention to look gay. They look bien, normal.
Acting gay follows a similar pattern. While some homosexual males act gay for understandable reasons, visitors might be astonished at how gay heterosexual Parisian males usually act. Acting gay is to some extent a recent French habit, inherited from three decades of institutionalization of a cotton-candied, pacified vision of the world and of humans as a species. But once again, Parisians take this to the next level: when most French males outside Paris act gay on certain topics only, Parisians choose to go all the way. The concept of being “a real man” is vastly looked down upon for displaying far too obviously characteristics that relate to a lack of intelligence and refinement: concepts like strength, masculinity, physical power, and strong opinions or values are therefore very preoccupying in Paris. They are viewed as an open door to brutality.
At this point, one may feel compassion for the Parisian woman. Well, one should save his compassion for gay Parisian men. Gay Parisian men are probably the only people in Paris longing to see more testosterone around them. They should be the subjects of one’s compassion. Parisian men are happy to think of themselves as beyond activities and behaviors that attest of a form of masculinity. As far as they’re concerned, Parisian women do not necessarily know any better. If their boyfriend looks gay, it is primarily because c’est un mec hyper sympa, très fin, vraiment intelligent. Parisian woman have grown so wise that they have overcome their natural inclinations. Masculine is coarse and rough. End of the story. The idea that a male human could be masculine as well as being a refined person is not one la Parisienne is ready to embrace.
Indeed, examples of such phenomena in Paris are rare enough to assume that the rule of Paris is probably the rule of nature.
USEFUL TIP: Do not be fooled: looking and acting gay does not equal being gay.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: J’suis allé faire un peu de shopping: un p’tit t-shirt col V, des p’tites lune
ttes Kenzo et des espadrilles. Tranquille, quoi, pour l’été . . . (“I went shopping: a little T-shirt with a V-neck, Kenzo sunglasses, and espadrilles . . . Sweet, just summer gear . . .”)
Le Dalaï-Lama
The modern world deprives its people of real heroes. The entertainment, sports, and media industries do their very best to provide idols for the people they occupy. But these frequently lack the spiritual dimension that makes the real hero. A real hero has to be both spiritual and political. He resists the established powers and fights for his ideas.
Le Dalaï-Lama is one of the world’s only heroes. No Parisian would ever contest this fact. All Parisians are very much fond of him. His chubby face and benevolent smile make for a reassuring persona: the charming resistance against the tyranny of a faceless oppressor. His cause is the most just of all and the Parisian is a just person. He is always very prone to sign petitions against tyranny. Especially Chinese tyranny, which he doesn’t care for too much. He has the courage to tell his friends in France how appalling he finds the attitude of the Chinese government. He sometimes pushes courage as far as to threaten to boycott Chinese products. He rarely follows suit, though, because “it’s not what it’s about.” But such threats are very, very scary.
Interestingly enough, the Parisian, no matter how much he is into freedom of mind and against propaganda, rarely bothers to double-check his facts. He remains vastly foreign to elements that might otherwise feed and qualify his reflection. Knowing, for instance—among other elements that can easily be looked up—that Tibetan Buddhism is the latest of all forms of Buddhism, that as such le Dalaï-Lama is the pope only to an odd 1 percent of the world’s Buddhists, that a country ruled by monks has rarely freed him from religious obscurantism, that most Buddhists live in China where they are by no means persecuted . . . is not on the Parisian’s agenda.
Le Dalaï-Lama is good. China is bad. Amen.
On the topic of le Dalaï-Lama, as with most of those having to do with politics, disagreeing with the Parisian’s views is a dangerous thing to do. That will classify you—not as subversive—but instead as right wing. If your opinion is susceptible to reach a significant number of people through a given media, Parisians will start a petition against you.
It is best to behave really. . . .
USEFUL TIP: Having an interest in Buddhism will impress most Parisians.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Attends, mais quand tu vois ce que font les Chinois au Tibet, moi ça me révolte, j’veux dire. . . . D’ailleurs y a un concert de soutien organisé en juin. Ca te branche? (“Wait, but when you see what the Chinese do in Tibet, I’m revolted, I have to say.... Oh, by the way, there’s a big concert in June to support the Tibetan cause. Are you interested?”)
Interns
Forget about money, nice suits, and company cars. The real treasure of a Parisian professional life is interns.
Stagiaires, as they’re known in French, have become the cornerstone of business life in Paris. Interns fulfill two main functions in a Parisian office: they take care of the office’s dullest or most painstaking tasks and they bring sexual tension to the workplace.
Le stagiaire is always motivé, as (s)he likes to repeat in interviews. He works hard pour faire ses preuves. For his dedication and hard work, the intern is compensated generously with a hefty monthly check (usually around 400 euros [U.S.$500] per month for a full-time internship) and the right to add the name of the company to his résumé. For companies, interns are a glorious invention combining ridiculous pay and unrivaled obedience. Hard to beat.
All the more so as his position is filled by a new person every three to six months, since interns are rarely hired at the end of the internship. This keeps the workplace exciting for the unhappily married or sexually frustrated ones. T’as vu la nouvelle stagiaire? is a question that does not necessarily refer to the competence of the new intern.
Most French students will do at least three internships before graduating. Le stage has become a new French institution and le stagiaire the key to France’s remarkable productivity. The French job market is so highly dysfunctional it is almost charming to witness it from overseas. “Oh, the French . . .” Take the prohibitive cost of labor, spice it up with a vague impossibility to fire an employee, and sprinkle it with the culture of conflict and defiance employees have toward employers . . . let that macerate for a few years and you’ll reach a country with a steady (read minimal) 10 percent unemployment rate. The solutions to the problems are quite obvious and well known but would require a form of political courage. It is therefore best not to count on it.
The unemployment rate among French kids under twenty-five years old is above 25 percent. The oh-so-brave French politicians claim they want to tackle this problem. They probably will. It doesn’t take too much imagination to know that their idea will be to increase the cost of hiring interns and to make it impossible to fire bad interns.
As with most things in Paris, there exists a hierarchy in the quality of the intern. Extremely good-looking interns score high points, along with graduates of a French grande école. Ultimate victory will go to having as an intern a graduate from Oxford, Cambridge, or an American Ivy League. The most precise indicator of professional success in Paris is quite simple: really successful professionals do not have interns. They have une assistante.
Their assistante, of course, has an intern.
USEFUL TIP: All French companies hire interns: all you need is a student visa. Speaking French is, of course, preferable.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: J’ai un nouveau stagiaire qui arrive en mai; J’ai hâte là parce celui qu’on se traîne depuis janvier est une chèvre. Je suis complètement sous l’eau en ce moment. (“I’ll have a new intern starting in May. Can’t wait as the one we currently have is a complete catastrophe. I’m swamped with work right now.”)
Expats
When it comes to professional life, Parisians find themselves in a catch-22. They want the seriousness that makes a real job. And the sense of adventure that makes a real life.
Needless to say, such positions are hard to obtain.
“Real job” for Parisians implies either a corporate job or working for a prestigious institution. All other jobs are not serious. “Real life” implies the possibility of sailing a boat on the weekend and exposure to other cultures, while of course enjoying an eminently comfortable lifestyle.
Given these parameters, it will come as no surprise that Parisians love expats. Being an expat brings the best of both worlds: a good, well-paid position in a foreign yet cozy environment. Bingo!
Parisians would all like at some point in their career to be sent overseas on an expat contract. Since these days—as Parisians like to complain—ils ne font plus de contrats d’expat, many Parisians are given opportunities overseas on a contrat local. This option is acceptable for Parisians under thirty-five and for destinations where salaries are significant. If these two conditions are not met, chances are the Parisian is more into real life than real job. Expat contracts having become scarce, and those who obtain them tend to be on the efficient side and are therefore probably more into real jobs.
While Parisians look up to their fellow Parisians who go exploring on a mission, they do enjoy the possibility to socialize with foreign expats. Having an expat friend displays fantastic ouverture internationale and implies that the Parisian is both a gracious host and possibly a polyglot. Talking about his expat friend, the Parisian will always mention his nationality: “Tu sais, Mark, mon copain expat canadien.” He will also make mention of the quality of his position: “Il a un très gros poste chez Microsoft . . . un type assez brillant vraiment.” The Parisian will always compliment his expat friend publicly on his French: “Non, vraiment, il parle très bien. Non, c’est vrai Mark, tu as fait de gros progrès.” The Parisian doesn’t think Mark’s French is any good but he likes to come across as the benevolent paternalist mentor.
Having an expat friend is about adding glow to the Parisian’s life. Not all
countries come with the same glamorous touch. Having an American expat friend is the ultimate luxury, then comes South American, then other Anglo countries, then Italy. Having expat friends from any other country will only be acceptable in left-wing circles for whom the betrayal of having friends in the corporate world (losers) will be compensated by the unlikeliness of their country of origin.
Expats arriving in Paris are usually very keen to make Parisian friends and to work on their French. Soon enough, they give up on French and, not long after, on Parisians. Those who love the city enough end up re-creating a Parisian life with compatriots, other international folks, and Parisians who have lived abroad long enough. Those who don’t just leave—disenchanted.
For Parisians with social ambitions, the proportion of expats and foreigners at the events they organize is the safest way not only to attract Parisians of quality but also to place themselves on a nice international pedestal—with both their expat and Parisian friends.
Interestingly enough, in Paris, the quality of a social circle will be judged predominantly on the proportion of its internationals. The higher the proportion, the more desirable the circle.
Having many international friends helps Parisians overcome their catch-22. They keep their serious job, while getting a taste of adventure through their international friends. Between real job and real life, Parisians choose not to choose: they opt for real Parisian life.
Stuff Parisians Like Page 16