Stuff Parisians Like

by Olivier Magny

  Some foreign men mistakenly believe they have Parisian friends. There is no such a thing as a friendship in Paris that has not been sealed with urine on the street.

  While doing your thing, it is important to look cool and detached. A usual and always appropriate conversation is to talk about girls inside the bar. Talking about the boobs of the girl in red is always a safe bet, too. To thank a friend who invited you to urinate outside, you may gently flatter him by telling him that the girl in red, the one with big boobs, really wants him. Consequently, you may be invited outside again later in the evening for a follow-up brief on the girl in red and a detailed action plan for how to proceed.

  The mise en scène of nighttime street urinating is simple: the Parisian will open his legs quite wide when urinating while at the same time look over his shoulder to see if the police might bust his naughty little Parisian butt. If police indeed catch you, you are most likely to get a warning. For most Parisian police officers are men after all.

  Needless to say, urinating on the street is not acceptable for Parisian women. If your female companion finds out you have been urinating in the street, she will most likely call you dégueulasse, but deep inside she will start loving the Parisian beast in you.

  USEFUL TIP: Impress your friend while urinating in the street by reminding him that urinating in the street is called délit de miction.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Putain, viens, il faut que j’aille pisser. (“Putain, come out, I have to go take a leak.”)

  Riding a Bicycle

  Parisians like to make a difference. In Paris, that means riding a bicycle. Riding a bicycle is green. And green is good. Good for the environment and good for you. Some ill-intentioned right-wing people will argue that physical effort in the midst of traffic is not physically recommended but they are party poopers.

  Besides its obvious greenness, bicycle riding offers clear advantages over riding in a car: bicycles in Paris are quicker and easier to park than cars. Yet, before jumping on a bicycle to save time and the environment, one may want to be notified that in Paris, riding a bicycle carries high political implications.

  While pedestrians tend to look at cyclists with a certain affection, a real political war is waged between cyclists and car drivers. They only interact through insults and arm or finger actions. Not only because they endanger each other’s lives but more realistically because each judges the other politically.

  In the eyes of motorists, cyclists are left wing, dangerous, and unemployed punks. While cyclists think motorists are self-centered, polluting, and vulgar right-wing individualists. Such a war comes to a pause each weekend, when motorists decide to ride their bicycles with their family; soon enough, though, the weekend cyclist will insult motorists for being self-centered, polluting, and vulgar right-wing individualists. There is a clear hierarchy among Parisian bicycle riders. Riding a mountain bike is pitiful (do you think this is a sport?). Riding a Vélib’ is OK (yet uncomfortable). Riding a vélo hollandais takes you to the pantheon of Parisian bicycle riding.

  La Parisienne, when riding a vélo hollandais will immediately gain the favor of all surrounding males. All Parisian men want to fall in love with a girl riding a bicycle.

  USEFUL TIP: You need a chip in your credit card to use the Vélib’. Ride with a Parisian if you don’t have one.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Je me déplace partout en vélo. (“I ride my bicycle everywhere.”)

  Macarons Ladurée

  Parisians lack imagination. Baby shower? Macarons Ladurée. Birthday party? Macarons Ladurée. Thank-you note? Macarons Ladurée. Dinner party? Macarons Ladurée. Weekend in Normandy? Macarons Ladurée.

  Le macaron has become a key social lubricant in Paris. While most Parisians have given up on ancestral guilty pleasures (sex, drugs, alcohol), very few will say no to the modern form of socially acceptable vice: le macaron Ladurée.

  Le macaron is a traditional almond- and sugar-based French patisserie. One may now find macarons in most Parisian patisseries. But this not a good enough reason to buy them there. For in Paris, buying a macaron is not an act of gourmandise: it is an assertion of one’s social value.

  Not to fall into the “disgusting randomly sugar-eating” category, Parisians will always adjunct Ladurée after macaron, and thus upgrade themselves from hopeless sugar eater to sophisticated and well-off person. Buying your macarons anywhere other than Ladurée is considered either a subversive act or a clear indication of one’s lack of knowledge of Parisian social codes. And therefore ruins the point of buying macarons, namely making a social statement.

  Most fanatics of macarons Ladurée are women. While most Parisian women stay away from sugar with somewhat preoccupying discipline, they constitue the main client base of Ladurée. And Parisian women like to make social statements through their purchases (clothes, travel destinations, florist).

  The macaron Ladurée clearly serves this purpose. But it also allows Parisian women to treat with ill-repressed brutality their weird relationship to sugar: offering macarons Ladurée to friends lets the Parisian woman taste them and therefore look like she doesn’t have a problem with sugar (note that her attention will be focused all night long on the moment she can indulge in the macarons she brought). On top of this, le macaron Ladurée is a perverse weapon for Parisian women. Bringing macarons to a party will force other women to have at least one. And therefore to gain weight. So the Parisian woman not only feels better about herself but can rejoice for her friends, who also have to gain weight so she doesn’t look like the only fat one at the end of the evening.

  Parisian snobbery urges shopping only at the Rue Royale boutique. But a quick fix can be found on the Champs-Elysées (aka depressed corporate lawyer syndrome) or Rue Bonaparte (aka Saint-Germain des Prés guilty wife syndrome). The array of reactions when tasting a macaron Ladurée is limited. It is either trop bon (youngsters), hyper bon (cool wannabe bourgeois), or délicieux (cheating wife). Parisian wisdom invites sticking to the simple flavors. The most inventive recipes will frequently only fall under the “interesting” adjective. Which is a hidden disgrace for a macaron.

  USEFUL TIP: Most patisseries in Paris make absolutely lovely macarons.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: J’ai un dîner ce soir, il faut absolument que je passe chez Ladurée. (“I have a dinner tonight—need to stop at Ladurée beforehand.”)

  Wondering What the Point of Living in Paris Is

  Parisians are twisted human beings.

  Among other twists, Parisians cannot get enough of helpless self-questioning. A very Parisian form of questioning is technically simple to decipher and therefore easy to reproduce for each Parisian in an awful number of situations: they start with a question about their lives, making sure they make it sound like they actually have absolutely no control over their lives. (For instance, “Why am I going out with them tomorrow night?” or “Why do I stay with this company?”)

  This first question is always followed by a brutally critical appraisal that justifies the question and makes the Parisian look better or deeper than others. (For instance, “Why am I going out with them tomorrow night? I’m so sick of them.” Or “Why am I going out with them tomorrow night? I think I need something else in my life.” Or “Why do I stay with this company? I’m underpaid.” Or “Why do I stay with this company? I think I’m ready for a career change.”)

  A typical expression of this habit comes when the Parisian returns from a weekend getaway or a vacation outside Paris: “Why on earth are we living in Paris? This is ridiculous.”

  Among other critical remarks about his hometown, the Parisian will systematically bitch about the nasty Parisian weather and how the people are so rude. In the meantime, the Parisian will never fail to remind you that in the south, the weather is gorgeous, real estate is cheaper, people are “so friendly” and life is just way easier. Yet very few Parisians will actually leave the city for more than a few days. To explain this phenomenon, some blame the lack of quality jobs in other areas
of France, others claim that Parisians are ultimately just French and therefore complaint champions and notably change adverse.

  To understand Parisians, it is important to realize that such vacuous interrogations are a necessary part of Parisians’ psychological balance. Parisians are in constant need for some helpless interrogation (“Why I am alive?” “Why is grass green?” “Why is it raining?”). Being Parisian is about intellectualizing.

  Such questioning should always take the form of a real Parisian interrogation. Namely, why. “How” is not a relevant form of interrogation for Parisians. Asking themselves why gives Parisians a sense of self-satisfaction: Parisians only ask themselves real questions, noble ones. A how question would lean toward vulgarity for it would actually drag Parisians into the real world and possibly into actual changes in their lives or perceptions.

  Only real questioning matters to Parisians. To be a real Parisian, you just have to wonder why.

  USEFUL TIP: Venture outside Paris. Pure countryside is accessible only twenty miles outside le périphérique.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: C’est fou la différence de qualité de vie. (“The difference in the quality of life is just crazy.”)

  Rugby

  Rugby confronts all the things Paris prefers to turn its back on. While Paris talks, rugby does. Rugby takes strong bodies; Paris prefers to claim that good minds suffice. Rugby faces danger; Paris says there is no such thing. Rugby celebrates brotherhood; Paris worships the individual.

  Playing rugby takes as much humility as power; it requires courage and it requires others. It sharpens the body as much as it sculpts the soul. Fraternity is at the center of the sport; conviviality is its rule, simplicity its motto. There is no playing rugby without having a beer afterward. In rugby, the hard and the painful are always followed by the soft and the friendly. Rugby always finishes in conversations, laughter, and legends. Such is the life of rugby.

  While all Parisians like to mock the roughness of rugby and of the people who play it, they know there is more to rugby than its apparent brutality; there is more to these men than the bruises on their faces. There is in that sport a form of distinction and an undeniable poetic dimension. On a rugby field, one must run toward the peril, trusting that his team is right there behind him. Life on a rugby field is more noble. Even for Parisians, it is difficult to look down on more noble.

  It is also, at some point, difficult to look down on the obvious sense of brotherhood that reigns in a rugby team. The friendships rugby creates life rarely manages to untie. Les valeurs du rugby are values Parisians can only look up to. Even though it is a sport, it is OK to like rugby.

  Rugby players like to claim that anybody can play rugby. This is true to some extent. On a pitch, there is indeed room for the big and the little, the smart and the stupid, the quick and the nonchalant. Yet sociologically, rugby is mostly played in the upper-middle class. Rugby mixes and confronts but only among a certain category of people.

  Parisiennes sense that, except for their tendency to drink and party in excess, rugby players make for good husbands. Parisian families welcome the rugby culture, knowing that it is one that educates about otherness. Parisiens appreciate the charisma and testosterone of people who play rugby.

  Rugby is after all a tough sport. Rugby is therefore only played by a small number of people. To tell the world that they, too, share the appreciation of rugby, Parisiens wear des polos de rugby despite their puny bodies and questionable presence. Manliness is progressing every day in Paris.

  USEFUL TIP: If you see a Frenchman wearing a piece of clothing with a pink bow on it, it doesn’t mean he’s gay: he just likes rugby.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Dans le train y avait une bande de rugbymans: très sympas, on a bien rigolé. (“A bunch of rugby guys were on the train: really friendly, we laughed a lot.”)

  Small Cars

  Most Parisians are not fond of cars. Owning a car in Paris is the cause for much more trouble than ease. Lack of parking spots combined with horrendous traffic have turned cars into an awfully slow and expensive means of transportation in Paris.

  A closer look at the vehicles occupying the streets of Paris shows that a vast majority comes from la banlieue. The Parisian is almost resigned about this: the central part of the street is simply not his world.

  There are nonetheless a few Parisians who own a car. If they do, they will most likely own a small car, considering that ça suffit largement. Owning a car in Paris imperatively takes owning or renting a parking spot. The car will leave the parking spot only on a few designated occasions: weekend breaks, Sunday outings, and rides to and from train stations or airports. Parisians have long given up taking their car for any other reason.

  Owning a small car and finding himself fine with it makes the Parisian look down on anyone owning a big car. These people will immediately be suspected of either overcompensating or of being a beauf. The worst beauf in the Parisian’s view is the SUV owner. If it were up to the Parisian, SUVs would be illegal (except maybe for the old beat-up one that stays at the family country home—but that’s different): Oh et puis l’autre avec son 4x4, il pollue, c’est dégueulasse. (“That person with the 4x4, he pollutes and it’s disgusting.”) Small cars are more than enough: C’est parfait pour les p’tits trajets et puis c’est quand même plus facile de se garer. (“It’s perfect for little trips, and much easier when parking.”) Social status in Paris is not gained or displayed through the car one owns. Instead of this utterly provincial attitude, the Parisian prefers to display attributes like the location of his apartment, the destination of his holidays, the restaurants he frequents, and, possibly, for adopted Parisians, the size of the flat-screen TV and the quality of his sound system. For these subjects of consumption, the Parisian seems surprisingly less preoccupied about what suffices or what pollutes less.

  Traditional Parisian households may push the limit and own two cars. In that case, there is simply no discussion: one will be a small car and it will be la voiture de madame; one will be a big car and it will be la voiture de monsieur. Madame will use her car for all the occasions mentioned above plus for those related to the children. Monsieur will take his car daily to go to work. Monsieur will then come back home grumpy, finding himself facing a Gordian knot: staying late at work or being stuck in traffic. Further conversations at this point will usually include phrases like ce connard de Delanoë (“this Delanoë jerk”—Delanoë is the mayor of Paris), pays de cons (“country full of retards”), empêcher les gens de travailler (“prevent people from working”), and conneries de gay pride et Paris plage (“gay pride and Paris beach bullshit”).

  Traditional Parisian households are rarely left wing.

  USEFUL TIP: Very old and beat-up cars are considered very cool in Paris.

  SOUND LIKE A PARISIAN: Je peux emprunter la voiture de ma mère si tu veux. Elle est petite mais ça devrait suffire honnêtement. (“I can borrow my mother’s car if you’d like. It’s small, but it makes do.”)

  The Idea of Moving Overseas

  Every Parisian softly fantasizes about living overseas. Yet to fully understand the phenomenon, it is necessary to divide Parisians into two groups: left wing and right wing.

  Left-wing Parisians see moving overseas as an experience, un enrichissement. Oddly enough, the main destination that comes to his mind is New York. Though they like to dabble with the idea of moving overseas, left-wing Parisians consider that France and Paris offer outstanding quality of life, great health care and education, and good infrastructure, and they see no real reason to turn their lives around.

  On the other hand, right-wing Parisians spend most of their free time threatening to move overseas. Right-wing Parisians feel isolated, living in a city and a country they know is only going down. They have little faith in their compatriots and in their government. They know that to make it in life, they only have one option and that is to leave. Living a good life in Paris takes a lot of money.

  Unfortunately, having a lot of
money in Paris requires being born with it. The French economy is slow, salaries are mediocre, and the tax level is high. A majority of the educated right-wing Parisian yuppies lives or has lived overseas for professional reasons: London is a prime destination; Asia is the new Eldorado. Living overseas, they sure miss some things about Paris (mostly the food), but they do not long to come back to the Parisians’ grumpy ways and depressing economy.

  Right-wing yuppies grew up listening to their fathers advising them to leave the country. Their fathers mostly complained about oppressive taxation on people who work and the disastrous mentality of the vast majority of slackers living off public money. More recent concerns include potential bankruptcy of the state and obvious problems ahead with the radicalization and violence of Muslim populations.

  Right-wing Parisians feel like their government does not have the guts to do what it takes. They witness the degradation of their country (financially, intellectually, and socially) and, all things considered, see no option for them but to flee.

  Not all right-wing Parisians move overseas. Having built a life and a family in Paris, for instance, makes it difficult. Those are the ones who will complain about the state of the country and advise those who can to go.