Stars do.
There are few things Parisians like as much as discovering a night sky sprinkled with stars. Coming out of a house after a nice dinner, coming out of a car after a long drive, the Parisian is caught off guard by the disdainful beauty of the night. He finds himself charmed and thrilled by this view that exceeds him. Finally something does.
Stars don’t like competition. They prefer not to show in the City of Light. Seeing them is therefore a rare instance for Parisians. The emotion the Parisian feels under the stars is similar to the one he feels when faced with a raging ocean or quiet mountain range. An emotion away from home, a break from the petty. An invitation to somewhere intimate.
Stars comfort the Parisian in the idea that there is more to life than the mediocrity and ugliness he finds himself surrounded with. He feels close to that superior unknown.
So he will smile.
USEFUL TIP: Know that Milky Way to a French person will forever be the name of a chocolate bar.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, t’as vu les étoiles! (“Oh, look at the stars!”)
Le Marché
Parisians love le marché (the market).
Truth be told, most Parisians buy their groceries from supermarkets. Only two types of Parisians go to le marché to fill up their carts with groceries: those are elderly Parisians and housewives.
Elderly Parisian women take advantage of years of accumulated marché wisdom—combined, it is true, with the tortuous roads of sleep in old age—to take over the marché at the earliest hours of the day. Between 7:00 and 9:00 a.m., le marché is a charming place, full of elderly ladies, eager to bring home nothing but the best groceries.
As the morning unfolds, the scene changes, elderly women leave le marché. Parisian housewives get in with their strollers or their carts. Parisian housewives need wheels. That’s how they roll.
For all other Parisians, on weekdays le marché is just a reassuring encounter, a taste of province on their way to work. But everything changes on the weekend. Some Parisians are lucky enough to have a marché near them on Saturday or Sunday mornings. These marchés offer simple visions of a Parisian wonderland. Discreet perfection. Parisians playfully enjoy the charms of their local marché. With its characteristic colors, smells, and sounds, everything at le marché evokes a form of timeless simplicity. Le marché du weekend is a treat. Parisians feel as though they are doing themselves some good. Connecting again with simple pleasures, with simple people. Le marché du weekend is about letting go—between leeks and potatoes.
Among the weekend marché-goers, some Parisians are just too cool to go to le marché for strict grocery shopping purposes. How common. They go to le marché for the vibe. Sure, they shop a little, but they’re primarily there for the quaint atmosphere. No matter how much they like le marché, it is important for these people to show that this is not what they do. The cool Parisian goes to le marché in an eminently neglected outfit. That gives him the impression of being a New Yorker. Heavens. Sunglasses are almost an imperative accessory for cool Parisians at le marché: in that they testify of the greatness of the previous night, they show that le Parisien does le marché a favor by simply being there. He’s a tourist—visiting for a minute a normal person’s life.
Whether he’s in for the carrots or the vibe, the Parisian likes his marché. He finds nothing but comfort in this well-orchestrated scenography. Fleeting yet familiar moments. Rich of people and fruits, of smiles and colors. Le marché is the ultimate Parisian halt. A halt in motion and in noises. A halt that refuses to be one. At le marché, Parisians consider time with modesty, walking, playing, and sniffing: taking for a few minutes the chance of tastier moments.
USEFUL TIP: The best fruits and vegetables will be found at the beginning of le marché; the best prices at the end of it.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Ce weekend, c’était top: samedi matin, on a fait le marché avec Baptiste, après on a cuisiné toute l’après-midi . . . tu sais, on avait nos amis sud-africains qui venaient dîner à la maison. (“This weekend was really great: Saturday morning I went to the market with Baptiste, then we cooked all afternoon . . . you know, we had our South African friends over for dinner.”)
Crossing the Street in a Bold Way
Traffic on the streets of Paris may seem chaotic and disorganized. Parisians seem to roar in a chaos of metal and gray. These are misconceptions. Traffic in Paris is actually harmonious, and Parisians feel nothing but comfort in it. Road rules in Paris are simply vastly unwritten rules.
Some of these unwritten rules regulate normal driving techniques, others define an acceptable insult level, and others set a social frame around the interactions between drivers and pedestrians.
In Paris, the sidewalk belongs (mostly) to pedestrians and the road (mostly) to automobiles.
Mopeds, bicycles, and all other rolling objects tend to choose whichever option seems like the most convenient for them given the state of traffic. Alternating is OK—but drivers of two-wheelers should in that case be prepared to face older pedestrians’ grumblings.
When it comes to cars and pedestrians, all Parisians know that a car won’t stop for a pedestrian. Especially at a pedestrian crossing. A car that actually stops at a pedestrian crossing will be honked at and its driver immediately suspected of provinciality. Knowing that they don’t belong at pedestrian crossings, Parisians cross the street mostly randomly. So it’s only logical that Parisians cross the street whenever they feel like it or whenever there is a break in traffic.
The only Parisians crossing at pedestrian crossings are old folks. The rest of the crowd standing there is made up of banlieusards , provinciaux, and tourists. This comforts the Parisian car driver in the conviction that stopping to yield to pedestrians is a bizarre idea.
Since they cross the street in undue places, Parisian pedestrians have to compete with cars for road domination. Parisians are well exercised urban beings.
They have no fear and they demonstrate it. By engaging the road with brutal authority. Tourists mistake authority for insanity. Foolish!
But authority, deprived of a sense of politeness, is disturbing to most Parisians. It lacks beauty. To reenchant road crossing, Parisians unconsciously initiate an elegant dance. A dance made up of confidence in your fellow Parisian. “I dominate you, but I trust you.” Refinement in this dance is to cross the street while keeping your walking pace absolutely unchanged from one side of the road to the other. As in an urban bullfight, the closer you cross to the running car and the faster the car is going, the more thrilling, the more beautiful the move. Parisians caress cars.
In this urban sensuality, the Parisian feels the thrill of full mastery of the city and its codes. He is at home. Even in the simplest act of crossing the street, the Parisian—half dancer, half bullfighter—stays true to his blurry but confident identity. Always secretly inviting others to watch, learn, and admire.
USEFUL TIP: In order to look Parisian, never stand at a red light waiting for it to turn green. There has to be a better way.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Attends, viens, on traverse. (“Hold on, come on, let’s cross.”)
La San Pé
Parisians have always indulged. Today is no different. Parisians still indulge.
Mostly in fizzy water.
When ordering fizzy water, Parisians feel the thrill of excitement running down their spine. The taste of rebellion. The frivolous flavors of a bubbly world. Parisians are fearless. And conquering such mountains of sparkling unknown brings a genuine satisfaction to their table. A satisfaction only real adventurers get to experience.
The world of sparkling waters in Paris is a fast-changing one. The eighties were pioneering years with Perrier. The nineties saw the triumph of Badoit. But all these were mere preparations for the new millennium’s crowning. That of the queen of all fizzy waters: la San Pé.
Parisians deep inside are tender. And loving. Precisely for that reason, they will not name their favorite water San Pellegrino. In Paris, S
an Pellegrino has become San Pé. A Parisian’s liquid best friend. At a restaurant, Parisian males are especially fond of sharp and killer orders like “Deux onglets saignants et une San Pé.” Pure Parisian testosterone.
Parisians can’t resist the attraction of San Pé’s precise and gentle bubble. Vaguely retro, vaguely new, and vaguely healthy, San Pé fills the Parisian’s need for soft and stroking authenticity. But San Pé does more than quench the Parisian’s thirst, tickle his tongue, and enchant his environment. It also helps the Parisian regain at a decent price some social differentiation credits.
San Pé is indeed the gift that keeps giving. And it treats two of his attributes the Parisian likes to take care of the most: his palate and his ego. His palate is flattered by San Pé’s gentle and precise bubble. His ego by the double pleasure of ordering it, and paying for it. Few Parisians have friends that do them as much good as San Pé does.
By drinking San Pé, the Parisian does not drink tap. He is therefore perceived by his fellow Parisians as superior. Three reasons for that: he has taste, money, and a sense of indulgence. These are characteristics most Parisians wish they could boast.
Thus making anyone who does not order San Pé at a business lunch somewhat of a loser.
Santé!
USEFUL TIP: San Pellegrino is owned by Nestlé. Remember this to counter frequent attacks that San Pé is originally Italian.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Un crudités-poulet et une San Pé. (“Chicken salad sandwich and a San Pé.”)
Southern Accents
Parisians see the south of France as one. It is le sud.
While Toulousains, Niçois, or Montpellierains come from three very distinct regions of France, they are viewed in Paris as du sud. As such, they all have l’accent du sud.
All Parisians love l’accent du sud. There is no exception to that rule.
L’accent du sud twists the French language with a softer, more chantant touch. While Parisians mock the Alsatian, Swiss, or Northern accents, they cannot get enough of l’accent du sud. Anyone speaking with l’accent du sud will immediately score high points on the friendliness scale. As Parisians wisely put it: Les gens du sud sont hyper sympa. (“Southern folks are really friendly.”)
Hearing l’accent du sud takes the Parisian straight on holiday. The sun shines in his heart. He is thankful for that. So he might take it as far as trying to be friendly with the people from the south of France. Friendly back somehow! Thus suddenly acting very awkward. Most sudistes at this point get overwhelmed with discomfort and prefer to leave it there. It is hard for Parisians to befriend someone with l’accent du sud. Really.
Soon enough, l’accent du sud becomes a cultural barrier the Parisian can’t seem to break down. While building up cultural barriers is usually every Parisian’s prime craft and favorite pastime, this one cultural barrier affects him deeply. Realizing that a person with l’accent du sud will always come across as nicer and more fun than him makes the Parisian secretly frustrated.
So he will retaliate.
By making fun of people with l’accent du sud. Parisians love to imitate l’accent du sud to portray stupid people. If a Parisian recounts a story to his friends of getting pulled over by a police officer, every word spoken by the policeman will be transcripted with l’accent du sud.
This strategy of assimilating nice people to stupid people exquisitely satisfies the Parisian. And allows him to dominate his frustration. Ultimately, l’accent du sud is more than an ear-pleasing enchantment to the Parisian; it is an ego-boosting delight.
USEFUL TIP: When Parisians put a “g” at the end of a word when they speak (loing, cong, putaing), it means they are trying to imitate l’accent du sud.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Oh, t’as l’accent du sud . . . c’est génial. (“Oh, you have l’accent du Sud, that’s really great.”)
Considering Artists as Slackers
Parisians all work hard. They have little tolerance for people who do not work hard.
Parisians know that one category of people never works: artists. Artists are the biggest slackers. Parisians hardly have any respect for them. The only respectable artists are the dead ones. All other artists—in the Parisian’s mind—are just crooks.
Parisians assimilate artists to intermittents. Intermittent du spectacle is an advantageous treatment the French government came up with to offer protection sociale to artists. This system is an endless financial well, paid for by nonartists. Knowing that their hard work is subsidizing artists’ absence of work drives most Parisians crazy. Hence triggering a brutal rejection of artists. The concept of art in the Parisian’s mind has to do with posterity. It has to do with greatness.
Most Parisians consider artists to be socially useless. If objected to that some artists drive substantial revenues for their industries—besides the cultural and aesthetic satisfaction their work generates—the Parisian will quickly respond that these people are not artists. They are des vendus qui font de la merde (“sellouts who make shit”). Then the word “marketing” usually comes in the following sentence. Marketing is a very degrading thing to be involved with in Paris. Placing “artist” and “marketing” in the same sentence is the biggest offense a Parisian could come up with.
The Parisian likes to see artists struggle. The artist is to be broke. Broke means talented and real for the Parisian.
On the other hand, all successful artists are primarily marketing people. The Parisian knows that.
The same reasoning applies to the style of artists. Real artists need to have greasy hair and act tormented. An artist who looks good is a crook.
In many countries, students go to college to study the trade and craft of art for several years. France hardly offers such programs. People who make a living from arts are suspicious in the Parisians’ degree-structured brains. Artists are like fortune-tellers or life coaches: suspicious. All the more suspicious as the Parisian knows for a fact that no skills are required to be an artist. Writing? Painting? Singing? Acting? Any Parisian could do at least two of these things just as well as any so-called professional.
It’s true that the Parisian is talented. Making him somewhat of an artist. Just a potential one.
USEFUL TIP: The word artistique does not work as a compliment in Paris.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Ambiance artiste, un peu dégueu, je fume des joints . . . tu vois le genre quoi! (“The vibe was sort of artistic, kinda dirty, pot-smoking type ... you know what I mean!”)
P’tits Weekends
Parisians all get sick of Paris after a while.
So they regularly choose to leave the city for a few days.
Those expeditions are called p’tits weekends.
Le weekend is Saturday and Sunday. And it takes place in Paris.
Le p’tit weekend is those two days for sure, plus potentially one or two before or after. And it takes place somewhere outside Paris.
The destination and frequency of the p’tits weekends depend on the Parisian.
It is important to realize that in the Parisian’s mind, le p’tit weekend is not a luxury or a treat. It is a necessity. A need he feels deep inside his body. A sound door to escape momentarily the oppression of the big, fast, and loud city: J’en peux plus, faut que je parte m’aérer. Tu veux pas qu’on se fasse un p’tit weekend? (“I’ve had enough, I need to leave the city to get some air. You want to go on a p’tit weekend?”)
Le p’tit weekend can take place in the Parisian family house, in Normandy, in Brittany, in Burgundy, or in the south. But le p’tit weekend, being an utterly cool and stress-free concept, cannot happen with too much family around (anyone having a family knows that spending the weekend with them is neither cool nor stress-free): Mes parents sont au Maroc. On peut se faire un p’tit weekend chez moi en Sologne si tu veux. (“My parents are in Morocco. We could have a p’tit weekend at my house in Sologne if you’d like.”)
But usually, le p’tit weekend serves another purpose: that of allowing the Parisian to brag at w
ork the following week. Bragging implies sunshine (le sud), or gentle dépaysement. Being very wise, the Parisian usually looks for dépaysement in another big European capital.
Needless to say there is an unwritten ranking of coolness in big European cities. Top-ranking cities are Barcelona, Berlin, and London. Maximum bragging.
For un p’tit weekend en amoureux (romantic declination of the p’tit weekend), high points go to Prague, Vienna, and Budapest. For Parisiens, Eastern European capitals are considered the utmost destinations for un p’tit weekend entre potes (let’s-get-drunk-and-act-out-for-a-weekend—away-from-the-girl friends sort of deal).
Eastern European capitals make Parisiennes worried.
Un p’tit weekend outside Europe or au ski is also an option, but sends the clear message that money is not a problem. The mention of such weekends will only be made in the appropriate circles. When asked how his p’tit weekend was, the Parisian has only two adjectives in mind: super and excellent. P’tit weekends are never anything but that.
In all cases, the Parisian is happy to share that ça m’a trop fait du bien de partir un peu. (“It felt so good to get away for a bit.”) Since well-being and coolness are addictive, the Parisian prefers to experience them only by injections.
Two- or three-day ones are ideal.
USEFUL TIP: If you wish to see your Parisian friends in April, May, and June, let them know early. Major p’tit weekend season!
Stuff Parisians Like Page 4
