WTF?!--What the French

by Olivier Magny

  For a French child, le goûter is such a prominent part of life that you don’t get invited to a birthday party: you get invited to un goûter d’anniversaire!

  Which of course takes feasting to a whole different level!

  Useful tip: Surprise your French friend on her/his birthday. Prepare a goûter d’anniversaire for her/him. Major retour en enfance and genuine thankfulness guaranteed.

  Sound like a French person: “C’est bientôt l’heure du goûter, non?!” (Is it goûter time already?)

  LE GAUCHISME

  To understand the predominant ideology that defines the way a people think, it is essential to look at who is dispensing formation and information. In today’s France, where the Catholic Church, which at one time held great influence, has become inaudible, that means taking a look at the ideological inclinations of teachers and journalists. Those two categories are in charge of filling up the brains of French people.

  Over the past few decades, an overwhelming majority of French teachers have leaned on the left side of the political chessboard. The figure of the prof gauchiste (leftist teacher) is one all French people have encountered a few times throughout their formative years (or those of their children): chin-strap beard, leather man purse over the shoulder. Those profs soixante-huitards (i.e., with the mentality of the May 1968 upheaval) thrive on ideas of class struggle, profit bashing, and mocking the Catholic religion. Most teachers who are not leftist are just left wing (a crucial distinction)—less hard-core, but in agreement with the values. French middle and high schools to that extent resemble watered-down left-wing indoctrination camps. For students having to endure the long-term one-sided ideological brainwash that is a leftist education, there is, however, one perk most await eagerly: the jours de grève (strike days), when a majority of teachers go on strike and class is canceled. These typically happen more than once a year and feel a little bit like leftist Christmas.

  The other category directly in charge of teaching French people how and what to think is journalists. Most polls show that journalists overwhelmingly vote for the left. This phenomenon is only growing stronger as the younger generation of French journalists, unlike the previous one, is the product of the leftist éducation nationale. Journalists have grown recently to be even more despised than politicians in France. They are typically viewed as chiens de garde (guard dogs) of the system, as foot soldiers in charge of forcing a homogeneous unsavory message down the throats of the general public. French journalists rarely question, listen seldom, but judge a whole lot. They typically are the epitome of conformism and, sadly, usually consider themselves progressive and forward-thinking. On TV sets, any dissenting view—on any topic—will be sanctioned: interviewers will morph into prosecutors, interviewees into suspects. A recent poll in the top journalism school in France showed that no student there had voted for a right-wing party. Zero.* In a sociological environment deprived of genuine disagreements, the real exchange of ideas and arguments between opposing views magically become obsolete.

  Teachers are directly in touch with social realities as they witness violence and deterioration and can see the situation getting worse year after year. Some are therefore waking up to the fact that blind leftism might not be the best way to prepare students to live in the real world. Consequently, French teachers are slowly starting to change the way they vote and—one might hope—teach. Journalists, on the other hand, often live in city centers and don’t have to face the consequences of the policies and views they advocate. They deliberately choose not to debate with people with dissenting views and so stories continue to present a one-sided view of the issues facing the country. Anyone who disagrees with what the modern orthodoxy journalists regurgitate is commonly viewed as facho (fascist) and banned from any discussion. Intolerance in the name of tolerance. Welcome to the Orwellian world of French journalists.

  In France, like anywhere else, people are born and educated with all sorts of political inclinations. The key, however, to understanding the French psyche these days is to realize that constant exposure to leftist messages since childhood comes with one essential consequence: the ideology pervades and other views are ignored or, worse, invalidated.

  France is consequently home to many gauchistes (leftists). Gauchistes are the virtual superheroes of social interactions. They are the police of capitalism and they’re out to get justice. Gauchistes are the bearers of the inalienable truth according to which evil capitalists are exploiting poor people and constantly taking advantage of them. Everywhere, all the time, end of story. There is no debating this. Start a business: you’re an evil capitalist. Shut down the business: you’re an evil capitalist. All companies are structures of exploitation in which an evil patron (boss) exploits kindhearted exploités. The facts that the job might be fulfilling, that the purpose of the company might be noble, or that the boss might make less money and have fewer vacation days than his employees are irrelevant.

  It is virtually impossible to have a conversation with a French gauchiste. They are absolutists. They are right and you are wrong. This is all the more frustrating as this “left” is but a pseudo-left, neglecting in every way the poorest and most exposed. Try to evoke in a conversation the real power in our societies, and you’ll be viewed suspiciously. Ask why the entirety of French income tax goes to pay the interest of the debt rather than to build hospitals and schools, and you’ll be seen not as an educated and perceptive person but as a mildly deranged and suspicious character. Criticizing small-business owners: good. Asking why a private institution is in charge of printing the dollar: bad.*Try asking why work (which is all poor people have to offer to elevate their condition) is taxed more than capital, and once again you’ll be viewed as a—you guessed it—facho! The main positive outcome of this double movement of radicalization and simplification of political discourse in France is that it shows that the concepts of left and right have become vastly meaningless in today’s world.

  However, leftism mentally pervades all French people, all the way to the right side of the political spectrum. The French extrême droite (extreme right) would undoubtedly be viewed as a left-leaning party in most countries on earth. When traveling to the United States, moderate “right-wing” French people invariably discover their inner left-wing Frenchie: all that mistrust for the government, wanting to have their own guns, and advocating total freedom of speech is really a bit dangerous . . . Les Américains sont un peu extrêmes quand même!

  Useful tip: It is essential to make the difference between être de gauche and être gauchiste.

  Sound like a French person: “Un vrai gauchiste, complètement à l’ouest, le mec!” (That guy’s a true leftist—completely wack.)

  TAKING FLOWERS SERIOUSLY

  It is fair to state that many outdoor spaces in France are quite manicured. One of the key aspects of the lovely aesthetic of many French towns and villages is the attention to public vegetation. This attention is not only focused on the many parks France boasts, both national and local, but also on regular streets, avenues, and plazas.

  France is home to approximately thirty-six thousand cities, towns, and villages—known in French as communes. Entering each of these municipalities comes with a few signs on the side of the road: one, mandatory, announces the name of the place, sometimes one will announce the time of Mass, and occasionally there will be one noting the town’s sister cities elsewhere in the world (villes jumelées, or literally “twin” cities).

  And then, in some small towns or villages, a uniquely French sign: one that announces just how beautiful the flowers look there—officially, in the form of a grade that acts as the sort of Michelin star of landscaping.

  Who hands out such a ranking? Villes et Villages Fleuris de France is a pretty serious French institution. Twelve thousand of those thirty-six thousand French communes partake each year in its contest.* If awarded, each commune may score one, two, three, or four flowers.
Les 4 fleurs are the towns and villages judged to have the most beautiful flowers and vegetation filling their public spaces. There are major bragging rights when your town gets to plant that sign to welcome visitors. The BS-free sign clearly states the town’s flower ranking and may bring secret joy to many French. However, if that village scored only one or two flowers, while their efforts are recognized and surely appreciated, they’re expected to up their game next year!

  While it may come across as a charmingly inconsequential prize, there is no doubt that having both elected officials and residents engaged in the beautification of their environment through flowers, plants, and trees adds tremendously to the quality of life of these communities. Caring for beauty may be under attack in France, but it is very far from being dead! The good news is, the communities that go that extra mile reap tremendous benefits in terms of tourism and image.

  Not so silly after all!

  Useful tip: Learn le langage des fleurs and make your flower gifting even more meaningful.

  Sound like a French person: “Tu as vu mes hortensias?” (Have you seen my hydrangeas?)

  DATING

  Traditionally, “dating” is neither a French term nor a French practice. The term got introduced into pop culture in the movie La Vérité si je mens! 2. This line from the film became famous and solidifies how foreign and mysterious the concept of dating is to French people:

  Une date, ça veut dire: tu crois que tu vas niquer, mais en fait tu niques pas, c’est ça une date! (A date means: you think you’re gonna get laid, but actually you won’t—that’s what a date is.)

  When it comes to courting, rules and codes are simply different in France. While things like asking someone out and going on the actual date are rather similar, the key differences lie in the what happens after that part.

  Should you have an interest in dating a French person, the three following ground rules ought to be clarified:

  As a general rule, French people don’t date several people at once. Courting someone and going on a date means interest is already established. Accepting to go on a date means interest is there. Foreigners dating a French person for the first time might perceive that person as rather needy or pushy after the first date. That is because the date was probably more meaningful and loaded with potential consequences for the French person in the first place.

  Except in the case of utter drunkenness, kissing the other person on the mouth more or less establishes the start of a formal relationship. Should you kiss or be kissed by a French person, that is the unspoken understanding. Undoubtedly, it comes with setbacks, and also with perks! Once this is understood, it becomes essential to time that first kiss properly.

  After dating for a few weeks, don’t tell a French person that “you’re ready to go exclusive.” For that matter, don’t tell that to anyone who’s not American, for the whole concept of “going exclusive” after months of intimacy is viewed as an acceptable thing only in the United States. The other seven billion inhabitants of this planet will look at you thinking, “You mean we weren’t already?” By French standards, the minute you kiss the other person on the mouth means you’re exclusive.

  In the digital age, the dating scene has changed significantly in France. Online dating has become a major phenomenon with sites like Meetic or AdopteUnMec. More recently the app Tinder has rendered the whole traditional concept of courtship laid out above vastly outdated for younger French people, especially in urban environments where the number of users (and therefore options) is much greater.

  However, in a very French twist, some Tinder users have recently started using the one-night-stand app to search for true love. Twenty-first-century romance is an ever surprising quest.

  Useful tip: Despite being French, the term fiancé is far more commonly used in English-speaking countries than in France.

  Sound like a French person: “Une de perdue, dix de retrouvées!” (There are plenty of fish in the sea!)

  BORDERS AND COUNTRY

  By definition, a country is characterized by the fact that it’s controlled by its own government. The less legally inclined would add other attributes, such as controlling your own borders, having a currency of your own, an independent military . . . or, more important, a national soccer team.

  Crossing a border is an exciting moment: the end of one world, the beginning of a new one. In Europe, however, borders have grown to become a thing of the past. Slowly but surely, crossing borders in and out of France became less and less memorable: little by little, no more customs officers, no more barriers. This situation has reached a point of complete underwhelmingness, whereby today, if you drive from France to Spain, you will no longer find a sign telling you that you’ve just arrived in a new country. Not one. The border has simply vanished. While it’s still visible on world maps, the border between France and Spain (or Italy, or Germany . . .) no longer exists in the real world.

  For a country to lose its borders is no small step in its history. Yet it happened so gradually, so smoothly, that most French people did not even realize it. While on paper removing some of the borders that separate humans does not sound like a bad idea, it is not the packaged narrative that was presented to Europeans over the years. The dominant narrative was: “Our country is too small. Look at the world: the U.S., Russia, China. We can’t survive on our own; we need to be part of a bigger, stronger entity.” Get big or die alone!

  France is now a member state of the European Union. With the creation of the euro, it lost control of its monetary policy and of much of its budgetary policy. With the recent full-on return of France in NATO, France also vastly lost control of its military.

  All in all, it is fair to say that France is now widely controlled by supranational entities (the EU, NATO, the ECB, etc.). Thankfully enough, it has preserved the most essential of country attributes: a soccer team!

  Useful tip: Pierre Hillard is an accessible French scholar and world expert on the fascinating topic of globalism. Well worth looking up.

  Sound like a French person: “Au moins, tu ne risques pas d’avoir d’ennuis à la douane.” (At least you won’t have any issues at customs.)

  FRENCH VACATIONS

  From an early age, the French learn that life is a succession of work and vacation, and that no matter how bad things are, vacations are at worst only a few weeks away. Throughout their school years, French youth get to enjoy sixteen weeks off per year. Broken down as follows:

  Les vacances de la Toussaint (All Saints)—one week in the fall

  Les vacances de Noël (Christmas)—two weeks in December

  Les vacances d’hiver (winter)—two weeks in February

  Les vacances de Pâques (Easter)—two weeks in April

  Les grandes vacances (summer)—nine weeks in July, August, and September

  Graduating to being an adult means sacrificing some vacation time. However, with a minimum of five weeks’ paid vacation per year, French employees have enough time off to build their lives around these guaranteed recurring oases of free time.

  While the legal minimum is five weeks, on average French workers each year take 6.3 weeks off work. If you happen to work for the French government, it is not uncommon to enjoy more than seven weeks off per year (not including sick days).* For most French people, les vacances are eagerly awaited and planned with much attention.

  When it comes to the subject of vacations in France, it is essential to grasp the notion of vacances scolaires, i.e., the sixteen weeks per year when school is off. For parents with a job, most vacances scolaires come with a problem: “I have to work. What am I going to do with my children?” During those times, grandparents, DVDs, and video games surely come in handy.

  As with most serious things in France, vacations are regulated by the government. Those decisions have to be made at a national level—of course. Since giving time off to a
ll French kids at the same time led to several inconveniences (excessive traffic, peak tourism, etc.), the decision was made long ago to split France into several “zones” in order to more efficiently schedule vacations throughout the year. When it comes to vacances scolaires, France is split into three distinct zones:

  Zone A: Bordeaux, Lyon, Burgundy, and the surrounding areas

  Zone B: Marseille, Nice, Normandy, Brittany, and the surrounding areas

  Zone C: Paris, Toulouse, and the surrounding areas

  All French kids are sure to know which zone they are in so that they can determine when their next vacation will be. Each year, parents and children look with anticipation to see if the given vacation schedule will be advantageous or not: they don’t want their vacations to overlap with bank holidays (which are obviously distinct from vacations—please don’t be such a rookie). The whole family is quite bummed when a bank holiday happens to fall during les vacances scolaires. Lost paid vacation is definitely something to pout about in France.

  The concept of zones gives way to the peculiarly French phenomenon known as le chassé-croisé des vacances (the vacation crossover). Tourism destinations get successively filled by French people based on where they live. One week will be la semaine des Parisiens, the next la semaine des Marseillais. Intermediary weekends are moments of mad traffic on French roads. As one zone finishes their vacation period, another zone starts theirs.

  Vacation coordination is an essential aspect of French life. Parents coordinate their vacation time with that of their children, friends make sure they take time off work at the same time, and cousins living in different zones have to be reunited on the few windows of opportunity the schedule gives. All French people manage their vacation time meticulously. “Okay, I’ll take only five days for Easter, and this way I can take three weeks in August, and then maybe I’ll take one day after that bank holiday, which is a Thursday this year, so je fais le pont”—that is, I’ll get a four- or five-day weekend out of it by making a “bridge” of the one day off. Proper French social engineering.