Parisian women are known to be relentless moelleux eaters. On a date, an observant Parisian can easily anticipate the outcome of this forming relationship. If the girl opts for le moelleux , sexual misery will ensue. Parisian women are known not to indulge twice the same night. It will therefore come as no surprise that ever since the introduction of le moelleux in Parisian restaurants, sexual activity in Paris has plummeted.
USEFUL TIP: A restaurant with no moelleux on the menu is considered either very traditional or straight up avant-garde in Paris.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: On se prend un p’tit moelleux? (“Care to share a little moelleux?”)
The Idea of Sailing
Parisians always have somewhere in their minds the idea of something greater.
Something endless.
Something far.
Parisians all have somewhere in their minds Baudelaire’s line: Homme Libre, toujours tu chériras la mer. Their minds are filled with a faraway blue.
Parisians are all, deep inside, sailing the seven seas.
Sailing is something a Parisian cannot not like. Not liking sailing is a clear indication in Paris that you are deprived of a soul. Sailing is elegant and poetic. It is therefore Parisian.
Nothing impresses a Parisian more that someone who left everything to go sail around the world: this is every Parisian’s vision of happiness. Some may argue that this form of happiness might be uncomfortable and wet. Such a lack of grandeur d’âme will forever discard you as an individual. Criticizing sailing is only permitted to one category of people: pretty girls who have actually been on a sailboat. They are the only ones entitled to say that sailing is humid, slow, and sometimes dangerous. That will comfort Parisian men in the belief of their intellectual and poetic superiority over their materialistic female counterpart. This will make Parisian men love these Parisian women even more.
Whether or not the Parisian actually sails is irrelevant. The idea of sailing is superior to the action of sailing. Besides, pretty Parisian girls are right, sailing is humid and slow. And sometimes dangerous. So a great alternative to sailing for Parisians is to display sailing gear. Wearing des chaussures bateau, un caban, or une vareuse in Paris (wearing them all at once is unacceptable—one item at a time, please) just means you are superior. And chances are, sometimes you cry looking at the ocean. There is no beating this.
Sailing is so present in the Parisian’s mind that he needs to be surrounded with representations of the greatness of sailing in his own home. All decent Parisians will always have a livre de photos with sailing-related pictures in it. If a coffee table book is not applicable, look for a framed picture in the bedroom or a poster in the toilettes. Pictures of angry oceans and lighthouses are also acceptable. Scale models of sailboats do not belong in a Parisian apartment. They should exclusively be displayed in the Parisian’s maison de campagne.
If one day a Parisian tells you that he sails, make sure as of that moment you introduce him to other Parisians as un super marin (“a great sailor”). Pure ego boost. Even though you are not a sailor, he will like you for being such a discerning person.
Yes. The Parisian is magnanimous.
Sailing makes you a better person.
USEFUL TIP: When wearing sailing gear in Paris, make sure it looks old and beat up. . . . After all, you’ve sailed the seven seas with it.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: J’ai un copain qui a fait une transat . . . un mec génial! (“A friend of mine did a transatlantic race . . . a terrific guy!”)
Winning Conversations
Conversations are to Paris what dance battles are to hip-hop: moments of truth, shortcuts to glory.
A conversation in Paris is both a scene and a battle. Parisians win conversations. That’s what they do.
For non-Parisians, this habit may seem unpleasant. For Parisians, it’s a mind workout. Some people play sudoku; Parisians converse. Sure enough, Parisians sometimes indulge in small talk. They do. After all, they are human beings. But small talking is not conversing.
Conversing in Paris is an activity with two strict rules. Rule number one is that a Parisian conversation can only tackle the following topics: politics, economy, or geostrategy. No other subject is acceptable. Vulgar. Rule number two is a state of mind. To converse like a Parisian, systematic opposition is necessary. If the Parisian is opposed to his fellow converser’s point, it means he obviously knows more than he does. His opponent soon enough starts wondering if the Parisian’s knowledge is endless. Well done, the Parisian is starting to destroy his opponent’s confidence.
Winning conversations is a matter of dignity in Paris.
If you merely partake in a conversation, you are a loser. If you lose a conversation, you are humiliated. You need to win. It is a necessity. Therefore dirty strategies are wildly tolerated.
A dirty trick Parisians like to pull is to come up with figures. Statistics. Percentages.
Parisians love figures in their conversations. This is a hard blow for opponents to counter. There is usually no coming back. It is implicit Parisian knowledge that the figure you come up with need not be true. It only needs to be well presented (“The other day, I was reading a UN report that . . .”). Parisians cannot get enough of the deadly efficiency of the dirty statistics strategy. They use it at all stages of conversation: as a final blow, as a continuous flow, or as a way to counter the opponent’s superior reasoning.
Parisians have a sense of aesthetic beauty in the intellectual combat-à-mort a good Parisian conversation ought to be. Many Parisians will therefore stand for a cause they absolutely do not believe in. Especially when the room is filled with consensus. Consensus is a turn-on for many Parisians. The opportunity to take on a whole group of people is rare but potentially extremely rewarding. If you win, you will be feared and revered. This is gold for a Parisian.
When talking to his socialist friends, the Parisian will systematically wage a fierce crusade against les fonctionnaires, criticizing relentlessly the inefficiency of French bureaucracy. When talking to his friends from America, the same Parisian will sing the praises of the wonderful protection sociale France offers, taking credit for and bragging about the admirable achievements of French public transportation or hospitals while showing obvious contempt for America’s disgustingly individualistic society. . . .
Conversations about wars are also a great intellectual workout for Parisians. All Parisians are known to be completely pro-war and anti-war in Afghanistan. Depending on their audience.
In the occurrence where he needs to be pro and anti a certain subject a few days apart, it is of course fully acceptable for the Parisian to reuse his previous opponent’s arguments.
Some may consider this duplicity.
In Paris, it’s called brilliance.
USEFUL TIP: When completely ignorant about a certain topic, use the Parisian women’s strategy and call others “party poopers” or “too serious.”
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Je lisais récemment que plus de quarante-cinq mille espèces animales ont disparu au cours des vingt dernières années. . . . (“Recently I read that forty-five thousand species of animals have disappeared over the past twenty years. . . .”)
Foreign Girls
La Parisienne is a myth. Straight up.
Walking in fancy Paris neighborhoods, one will surely run into many pretty and elegant women. Granted. But what most foreigners do not know about Parisian women is that they all share the same objective in life. The same motto that guides every single one of their actions. And that is: not to be a slut.
The consequences of standing for such a noble cause are plenty. The most evident ones are absence of flirting, resolute absence of sex appeal, constant sobriety, no cleavage, and contempt for all women who do not stand for the same cause. . . . Throughout their twenties and thirties, most Parisiennes are in a relationship (which of course annihilates the concept of a singles scene in Paris). No matter how lame it is, a stable relationship is the best shield against being considered a sl
ut.
At some point, though, their relationship comes to an end, usually when Parisian men get sick of begging their women for oral gratification. These breakups lead to very serious life questioning and to much experimentation that usually goes untold at family reunions.
Needless to say, this unilateral take on life plunges both Parisian men and women into a very deep sexual misery.
Thankfully, Paris is a beautiful city.
A quick peak inside a Parisian bar will give you a good indication of how love works in the City of Love. A traditional bar in Paris will be 75 percent guys, 22 percent foreign girls, and a handful of French girls on the loose (usually just accompanying their boyfriends). In bars, Parisian men discover an unsuspected reality: foreign girls are different. They can dance. They drink. They have fun.
There is usually no coming back.
Examples of illustrious Frenchmen ending up with foreign women are plenty: our current president (Italian) and prime minister (Welsh), Vincent Cassel (Italian), Olivier Martinez (not quite sure). . . . Proving that even for Parisian men with wealth, charm, and power, foreign women are, really, the way to go.
USEFUL TIP: When you like a Parisienne, stop liking her—it will make her like you.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIENNE: Pfff . . .
The Word Petit
Parisians are exquisitely delicate people. In Paris, big is not beautiful. Big is vulgar.
Offensive to Parisians’ obvious refinement.
In Paris, anything plentiful is necessarily in excess. This applies to all fields. And especially to pleasurable elements of life, such as food, sun, fun . . . In Paris, a lot of pleasure is surely too much pleasure.
So, to keep their conscience clean, when designating a pleasurable indulgence, Parisians commonly precede it with the adjective petit.
Petit in French means “small” or “little.” It doesn’t carry the positive demeanor that you find in women’s clothing sections of American department stores. Petit is just the opposite of “big.” It conveys images of simplicity, moderation, cheapness, and conviviality. It is therefore a handy compliment for Parisians to designate their pleasurable activities. A way to relieve the discomfort that pleasure causes in their minds. Parisians are not into the grandiosity of life. They are the impressionists of entertainment. One petite brushstroke at a time.
There are countless examples of this staid mentality: Parisians are very keen to meet their friends for un p’tit restau, une p’tite bière, une p’tite blanquette de veau, une p’tite soirée, or un p’tit ciné. The adjective petit is used regardless of the greatness of work or expectations that the Parisian put into the experience or of the pleasure derived from it. The Parisian will never admit putting any sort of work in the preparation of anything pleasurable. Neither will he ever admit to expecting much from it.
The word petit is a double win for Parisians. Not only does it relieve their guilty conscience, but it also helps them assert their superiority.
Pleasure is a passive thing in Paris. A bonus. And the bonus will always be a little one. For Parisians, life is always already great. Any positive addition can only be a minor one. And the Parisian intends for you to know it.
To pet the Parisian’s ego, ask him questions about his p’tit weekend. At this point, he will usually come up with a list of the fantastic things he did over the weekend in a very absent and non-enthusiastic manner (“went heli-skiing, then chilled by the pool, and then had dinner at this two-star restaurant”). Thus implicitly stating that his p’tits weekends are much greater than your great ones.
Parisians are superior to you. Just don’t fight it.
USEFUL TIP: Similarly, painful or unpleasant experiences ought to be preceded by the adjective gros.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN : Je vais vous demander une petite signature? (“Can I ask you for a little signature, please?”)
Making Lists
Parisians are beings of culture. And of power.
As such, Parisians like to impose their cultural superiority.
An insidious way for Parisians to do so is by making lists. While other human beings make lists of things they have to do, Parisians make lists of things they know.
Such lists may sound useless. And they would be if Parisians were not gracious enough to share them with others. Many sentences in Paris will be ended by a list, a quick enumeration: a discreet display of knowledge. Eastern Europe economy is booming? The Parisian will enlighten others with a “Totally, yeah. Poland, Estonia, Ukraine, it’s crazy . . . completely booming.”
At this point, you would embarrass the Parisian for thanking him for this element of culture he brings to the table. He is being delicate and considerate with you and would appreciate equal courtesy from you in return.
Some argue that the less he knows, the more the Parisian comes up with lists (that is, peacock syndrome). It is of course untrue, and please excuse the Parisian for knowing that “philosophy is crucial, when you look at authors like Plato, Kant, or Schopenhauer. I mean, you really get things.”
As the Parisian’s generosity and culture are endless, he will frequently share with professionals his own knowledge of their specialty. So at a restaurant, the Parisian will frequently explain to the chef how to make the best cassoulet: “I usually go with white beans, garlic, sausage. . . .” He will of course always kindly let the taxi driver know the best shortcuts through the city. And he will usually tell the florist the meaning of a bouquet of white roses. Foreigners believe that Parisians enjoy conversing for the sake of it. That is a tragic mistake. Conversations in Paris are a means to act truly generously. A way to enrich others with firsthand knowledge and lists.
Parisians are just a bit more generous than you. Deal with it. The most skilled Parisians take the list habit to the world of adjectives. They believe in the power of the Parisian tertiary rhythm. The Parisian tertiary rhythm could be described as a list of adjectives. For instance, a play is not just moving. In Paris, a play is “touching, moving, shaking. . . .” A view is not just beautiful. In Paris, a view is “splendid, breathtaking, stunning. . . .” To achieve full Parisian tertiary rhythm, two rules ought to be applied. Never use “and” before your last adjective. And always finish up the list looking somewhat sad and disturbed. Parisians will greatly admire people that master the Parisian tertiary rhythm. To show that he is not taking himself seriously, the Parisian will mock the Parisian tertiary rhythm by turning it into a quintuple rhythm. This is the Parisian’s surest chance to seem educated, sensitive, and humorous all at once.
Needless to say, questioning the pertinence of a list is awfully rude. In France, pupils are not to question teachers. Similarly, people are not to question Parisians.
Especially on their lists.
USEFUL TIP: Make sure you always have a notebook when spending time with a Parisian.
SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: L’Italie, c’est trop beau . . .Naples, Florence, Rome. . . .
Le Ski
For Parisians, le ski is not a sport. It is a destination. Parisians go au ski.
Parisians usually go au ski once a year, for a week. The French Alps is the destination of choice. The Pyrenees are a no-go for they are not only far but also the preferred spot of people from southern France. Therefore lacking elegance.
Picking your Alpine resort makes a strong statement about who you are. Proper resort frequentation is imperative to be accepted in adequate circles. Tignes will bring you respect among real ski fans. Courchevel will gain you acceptance in snob gatherings. Les Ménuires will classify you as struggling.
The primary goal of the annual week au ski is to develop the best facial tan lines. Facial tan lines are a strong yet modest statement that, yes, you went skiing and that, yes, the weather was splendid, thank you. For that matter, the odds of finding Parisians on the slopes are low compared to those of spotting some sunbathing on the terraces of the restaurants d’altitude sipping on some vin chaud. First things first. Parisians know how to stick to their primary object
ives. Whatever it takes.
Of course, it is necessary for Parisians to complain about these stupid tan lines on their faces when they come back to Paris. For Parisians are real athletes, they will always have a word about the quality of the snow. Which is always either excellente or dégueulasse. Anything in between does not exist.
If one year, the Parisian happens not to be able to make it to le ski, it is imperative to justify it to other Parisians. Only two reasons will be tolerated: “I was too busy with work” and “I went au soleil ” (sun, like ski, is a destination for Parisians). Not going au ski for a Parisian is like not going to church for a Christian. It jeopardizes your respectability. Le ski is part of your identity as a Parisian. No ski, no Parisianity.
For that reason, it is crucial to come back from le ski with good stories: you need to be annoyed for meeting so many people you didn’t want to meet on the slopes; you also need to tell the story of how you almost broke your arm when this Englishwoman ran into you (she didn’t know what she was doing). Your most popular story will be how everyone on the train ride back home was looking at you funny because your luggage smelled a bit funky. Parisians will always arrange to bring back some cheese (Beaufort, Tomme de Savoie, or Reblochon) or charcurterie from le ski.
Stuff Parisians Like Page 8
