At the end of the month, you get your paycheck. A significant fraction gets taken out immediately to pay for several social charges (on which more below). So only part of your paycheck actually makes it to your bank account. Fair enough.
Now, every morning, you have to drive to work. Every time you fill up your tank, 56 percent of that goes to the tax man.* Did I mention the taxes you’ve already paid on your license plate and your driver’s license?
After a long workday, you get home. After all, you do pay a tax on having a home—you demanding little thing.
Now you’re hungry, so you go to the store to buy food: 20 percent sales tax on that.
You’re exhausted. You turn on the TV. And why shouldn’t you? It’s your right: you do pay a tax every year for owning a TV.
In the morning, you wake up. Bad luck—you overslept. When you get to your car, bummer—there’s a parking ticket on the windshield. Attentive tax man, isn’t he?
Thankfully, next week you’re on vacation. Detox: you’ll be flying to the Alps to go cross-country skiing and drink lots of fresh mountain spring water: tax, tax, and retax!
Then, at the end of the year, you’ll be required to kindly be a good citizen and contribute to public finances by, you guessed it: paying your taxes.
When it comes to comparing perks against taxes paid, a number of people like to argue, “Yes, but in France at least you get free health care.” What these people usually don’t know is that, in France, taxes do not go toward covering the cost of health care (known as la sécurité sociale, or la sécu). The cost of the universal health care system is covered by an additional system of taxation known as les cotisations sociales (also known as les charges, or social charges). More taxation! Heck, taxes cover only 60 percent of the monies collected by the French government. The rest—a staggering 40 percent—comes from these cotisations sociales. Adding taxes and social charges together reveals that the actual taxation rate on French companies is . . . wait for it . . . 64.7 percent.* While French companies are being taxed into oblivion, your average—not rich—French employee typically pays over 55 percent of what he earns in taxes and charges of various forms.*Fifty-five percent! In short, when a company pays an employee €2,350 per month, once you deduct all taxes and charges paid by both parties, the employee is left with only €1,000.*
Depending on the exact rate, which varies from year to year and from person to person, 100 percent of what a French employee earns from January 1 to mid-July typically goes straight to the pockets of the ever-greedy French tax man.
Did somebody say “free” health care?
Useful tip: Don’t start paying taxes in France.
Sound like a French person: “Et les impôts locaux ont encore augmenté cette année. C’est quand même un truc de fou!” (Local taxes have gone up again this year. It’s truly mind-boggling.)
LA CONVIVIALITÉ
Understanding France requires having a good grasp of the concept of convivialité. Con “with”; vivi “life.” La convivialité is what makes a person pleasant to be around. If we say, “Jean-Claude, il est convivial,” it means Jean-Claude is likable, approachable, warm, engaging, easy to be around. The French adjective convivial (pronounce it right now, will you?) is close to the English word “friendly” but also incorporates a degree of typical French joie de vivre. More specifically, this may entail a commitment to the so-called plaisirs de la table—having a good time while sharing a meal. Ask a French person to think of someone who is convivial, and chances are good that person will not be skinny! La convivialité has to do with an attitude as much as with an ever-present invitation to indulge in the small pleasures and the gentle excesses—liquid and solid—that make life more enjoyable.
Being convivial is understanding, accepting, and fully playing one’s role as a convive—as a participant in what the Latin language referred to as a convivium, or shared meal. The English translation of convive—a diner—surely does not resonate with the same etymological and social charge. Conviviality has to do with the pleasure of being together, of making all the pieces of a great shared meal come together—from a love of good food to a taste for good wine to a particular knack for friendly and sincere conversations. La convivialité is a uniquely French notion, and the usage and meaning of the term have no direct equivalent in any other language, a testament to just how important eating and socializing are in France—how there can be no good conversation without food, and how good food without friends and dialogue is not worth much. Being convivial means having mastered this superior synthesis. The result: good times and good meals for those around.
Convivialité is so quintessential to French culture that the word can now refer to places in addition to people. It is therefore very common (and desirable) for a restaurant to be described as convivial. The atmosphere, the memories, the world of possibilities, the generosity, the choice of dishes—heck, maybe even the prices—all contribute to the beloved atmosphère conviviale the French adore.
Lately, in an interesting semiotic twist, the word has become a common translation in the IT world for what the English language refers to as “user-friendly.” Une plate-forme conviviale is one that is easy to use. Oh, the friendliness of zeros and ones . . .
Useful tip: As the level of convivialité escalates (proportionally to the wine intake generally), it becomes completely okay to randomly tap people on the back or shoulder!
Sound like a French person: “Un bon repas, c’est bien manger, bien boire, des amis et de la convivialité.” (A good meal means eating well, drinking well, some friends, and convivialité.)
LEAVING FRANCE
The number of French people living abroad has more than doubled over the past twenty years.* French people are leaving France at an unprecedented rate.
Oddly enough, the context of a country characterized by mass unemployment, striking negativity, a toxic ideology, mind-boggling overregulation, rampant insecurity, and brutal taxation does not seem to appeal to some.
The French are strange like that.
Preferred destinations include London, Canada, Australia, the United States, Brazil, Asia, and also, more recently, certain Persian Gulf countries. Opportunities (real or perceived), language, proximity, and lifestyle are all key criteria for French folks choosing a new destination.
This phenomenon is startling among certain categories of the population, particularly the young and educated upper class, entrepreneurs, and general go-getters.
In many French families, it has now become the new normal to have one or several children or grandchildren dispersed throughout the world.
Some young French people leave France with cotton-candy dreams, hoping to find a greener-grassed El Dorado, full of opportunities that will finally shine the light on the talent that their home country can’t seem to honor. Those Kool-Aid drinkers tend to leave France with no hard skills or with degrees that don’t translate overseas. They typically find themselves bewildered when other countries don’t seem to have amazing high-paying and “interesting” jobs for them. These ones go back to France and tell their friends, “C’est pas forcément mieux ailleurs” (It’s not necessarily better elsewhere). Their account of their experience usually ends stressing the all-important fact that France has “free health care.” Traveling surely helps them gain a better understanding of how the world works.
For those, however, who have managed to build true competence and/or reach their new destination with the willingness to work hard and be humble, opportunities frequently tend to arise overseas. Among these French people who find satisfying jobs and/or living conditions, the number of those aspiring to return to France later in life is diminishing at a staggering pace. What is at stake here is not mere expatriation or experience seeking. What is at stake is called emigration.
Until very recently and for many decades, France had been a country of immigration—goi
ng in. People from other countries came to France seeking opportunities, safety, a good quality of life, and, of course, formidable lovers. While nearby Italy, Ireland, England, Poland, Spain, Portugal, and other European countries had known significant emigration of their peoples in the past decades and centuries, that hadn’t been the case for France.
The country is currently undergoing its first emigration crisis since the (entrepreneurial) Protestant Huguenots left Louis XIV’s Catholic France beginning in 1685. In hindsight, this turned out to be terrible news for France, but a great boon for England, South Africa, the United States, and Germany.
There is no doubt that, when it comes to regulation, fiscal matters, and opportunities, the grass is no doubt greener in many other countries on earth (and certainly worse in others). Still, it is essential to grasp, and address, the collective psychological context that leads hundreds of thousands of a country’s most youthful, educated, and resourceful people to leave.
To many French people, France is lost. Its inability to reform itself (the job market), the constant worsening of key issues (fiscal, regulatory), and the degradation of the general quality of life (violence, impoverishment, unemployment) give some the sense that there is very little hope to be had for France. Most wouldn’t even consider getting involved and trying to change society from the inside. After all, it does take having a job (for younger people) or enough free time and energy (for people who work). A majority of French politicians are fonctionnaires who have never worked in the private sector.
Ultimately, many French people feel that efforts in France are not rewarded and that society as a whole will generally crush, torment, ruin, criticize, and demoralize you if you’re an honest, law-abiding, and hardworking citizen. If you happen to have or to make money, even worse. On the other hand, these same people notice the shocking difference in treatment and consideration, witnessing the free passes, free benefits, and undue advantages given to criminals and anyone (including many foreigners) who by choice or by circumstance do not participate in the collective effort to make a society work.
Consequently, France turns out to be perceived by an ever-growing number of French people as a sour, unfair, and ultimately insane place where hardworking French people get treated worse by their government than lawbreaking foreigners.
To the poorer individuals for whom leaving the country is not an option, hatred and resentment typically ensue—understandably. For those with enough cultural and financial resources to consider expatriation, a clean slate elsewhere usually sounds like a tempting option.
For millions of French people, the conclusion is that France is no longer a good or smart place to be. They will profusely—and rather Frenchly so—complain about it at every dinner party and every family reunion, encouraging anyone who can to leave ce pays de cons (this country of morons). The nephew who returns to France for the holidays will discreetly agree with his uncle’s rant, and will be glad to leave France after a few days, for truly, as his uncle once again demonstrated over Christmas dinner: “Les gens sont trop négatifs en France!”—People are too negative in France!
It shall be noted that the phenomenon at hand does not touch all categories of French society: for instance, politicians—some may regret it—don’t ever seem to leave.
Useful tip: More French restaurants, cafés, pastry shops, and bakeries opening near you soon!
Sound like a French person: “Eh beh, son neveu, celui qui est parti vivre à Londres, figure-toi qu’il s’est marié avec une Allemande!” (Well, her nephew, the one who moved to London, turns out he married a German girl!)
EFFEMINATE MEN
Saying that Frenchmen are effeminate is a trite platitude. However, like most clichés, it is grounded, at least somewhat, in reality.
There is no doubt that a foreigner walking the streets of Paris will be surprised at the puniness of the average Parisian male. Countless Parisians are shockingly deprived of basic muscle mass and apparently very uninterested in—or very unsuccessful at—developing any. Undoubtedly, architecture is not the only gift Paris has to offer: marveling at these skinny bodies no doubt adds a mysterious dimension to the memorable experience a proper exploration of Paris offers.
But what is true of Paris is not necessarily true outside Paris. While on average Frenchmen are not as meaty as American males, the degree of puniness typically drops outside Paris. Frenchmen come in all colors, shapes, and forms and, thankfully for Frenchwomen, not all of them look like your average Parisian. But on the whole, men’s men are few and far between, since Frenchmen are seldom instructed to provide or to fight.
What is often overlooked in the cliché about effeminate Frenchmen is that it is not only a physical thing; today, it is primarily a psychological trait.
French society takes the recent Western trend toward women getting stronger and men getting weaker to another level entirely. In a society that keeps half its people living off government money and that fiscally incites the other half to build a life as an employee and not as an entrepreneur, an artist, or otherwise a truly self-reliant, independent being,* an immense majority of Frenchmen are wage earners. They live their lives in an emasculating system that has them working and waiting for a paycheck from somebody else while enduring their daily dose of small hypocrisies. The result of this sociological reality is that there are very few real men left in France. Most of the virility left on French territory is concentrated in the banlieues, where the feminization of men has not gained as much ground. Needless to say, this social and geographical polarization of testosterone distribution understandably preoccupies sagacious observers.
Useful tip: If you’re interested in how French people “stay so skinny,” don’t forget to ask men too!
Sound like a French person: “Oh, t’as de gros muscles. T’es le plus fort! Ha ha!” (Oh, you’ve got big muscles. You’re the strongest now, aren’t you? Ha ha!)
SMOKING
For years, I heard many Americans in Paris telling me with genuine incomprehension and real fear in their eyes: “It’s crazy here. Everyone smokes.”
My best answer was an uninspired smirk. As a young Frenchman, I didn’t really think that “everyone” smoked. More like “some people” smoked, which seemed rather normal.
Last year, though, after having spent a few months in the United States, I returned to France and within days of being back couldn’t help but think to myself . . . “It’s crazy here. Everyone smokes!”
Merde!
Indeed, one is twice as likely to run into a smoker in France than in the United States (32 percent of adults smoke in France compared with 16 percent in the U.S.).* Among younger Frenchies (eighteen to thirty-four years old), the proportion of smokers escalates to 50 percent. A house party in France is basically another word for a smoke party: get that detergent ready, because those cool clothes you’re wearing will smell rank in the morning.
In total, a typical French person spends months of his life suffering through conversations about smoking. It all starts in middle school, when conversations deal with the thrill: trying cigarettes (or not), hiding them from parents, buying them, finding a discreet place to smoke them after school. In high school, as smoking intensifies, discussions shift. It’s called becoming more mature. The focus is now on the constant need for une pause clope (a cigarette break) and the best techniques to avoid your parents’ suspicions about your newly developed habit. After high school, adult life in France is mostly a long succession of conversations about smokers’ need to smoke and their need to stop smoking.
Life in France is fascinating like that.
The pause clope is a landmark moment of French culture. It all starts in high school, with quite the fascinating sight for the untrained eye: every two hours, outside every single French high school, hordes of kids suddenly flock to the sidewalk right in front of the school’s entrance for five to ten minutes, just to smoke
their cigarettes. When the bell rings again, they all scamper back inside.
Later in life, the cigarette break remains an institution. Just as in their earlier years, nonsmokers happily join smokers on their cigarette breaks. After all, why should they not get a break when their colleagues do? Good luck arguing with that one, boss man!
While since the 1960s the proportion of male smokers has dropped significantly in France, that of female smokers has surged. You go, girl—bridge that gender gap! Right after noticing, “It’s crazy here. Everyone smokes,” most American ladies usually add: “Even girls.” Then they ask, “But why?,” with fear in their eyes, suddenly turning to a mix of suspicion and jealousy, as they ask, “Is that how they stay thin?”
No matter how accustomed Frenchmen are to dissipating smoke screens, American women should realize that they know far more about a Frenchwoman than any Frenchman ever could.
Useful tip: Though illegal, weed consumption in France is massive.
Sound like a French person: “Ouhh . . . ça sent la clope!” (Ooh . . . smells like a cigarette!)
DIVORCE
Over the past few decades, all things related to family matters have evolved a great deal in France.
Starting with marriage. French people get married less or do so later in life: while in the 1960s the average age for marriage was twenty-four, it is now thirty-one (thirty-two for Frenchmen, thirty for Frenchwomen). These extra years to search for the right partner do not, however, seem to lead to a better success rate: the divorce rate is now over 52 percent, up from 10 percent in the early 1970s.
WTF?!--What the French Page 11
