Frog Snot
Do the Parisians treat you like something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe? Well, maybe it's because you dress and act accordingly.
I had drinks yesterday at classic poor artist hangout Café La Palette, in Paris' 6th arrondisement (district), with Jason Stone and his boyfriend Eric, who just recently took the courageous and exciting step of moving to Paris. Eric's writing for Business Week, but Jason, who's a biz school grad in search of a real job, is looking to be hired by an American company...hint hint.
Jason writes a Paris blog -- one that's much more interesting than that of poor LA Times travel writer Susan Spano, who could possibly be the most boring person ever to write about Paris. (My version of her version goes something like this: "Today I saw dog poop. There is much dog poop here.") Every time I'm tempted to send her hate mail for being so boring, I feel too sorry for her...yes, a moment of restraint on my part...it happens. (Here's AG's parody of what it would be like if somebody wrote about Los Angeles from Spano's perspective.)
Getting back to Jason; unfortunately, Jason isn't half the mean bitch I am (ie, he only threatens to post photos of the offenders below)...but, after laughing over drinks with him and Eric for a few hours, I suspect that it's only a temporary condition, due to his job search. Here's his message to American travelers in Paris:
Note to American visitorsDear American travellers to Paris,
First, I hope you have a great time visiting Paris and where ever else your travels may take you.Second, please don't think that coming to Paris gives you license to wear that outfit you bought, but have never had the nerve to wear in your own home town. If there is a reason you have not worn it at home, then it is probably the same reason you should not wear it in Paris.
I saw some of you at the Hotel Lutetia last night as I was waiting to meet a friend for a drink. I know you thought you were getting away with it, but unfortunately, I had to witness your gaffe.
The pants that you thought were too tight are even tighter now after you have been eating all of that butter and drinking all of that wine since you have been in Paris. The rainbow tube top made you look like a person covered in Certs and it added about 15 lbs. And those gold leather slingbacks made you look like you stepped out of the cast of Saturday Night Fever.
I am all for expressing your individuality and letting people be who they want to be, but the above was just too much, even for me. Wear those things to your next Halloween Party or to the Folsom Street Fair.
If this behavior continues, I may be forced to photograph you and post it on my blog. You have been warned.
Sincerely,
Jason
As a service, to you, my readers, I will try to photo a few Ugly Americans In Paris so you can get a sense of the horror. I tried the other day, but I was too afraid to get my ass kicked, American-style, to unabashedly photograph the best (ie, worst) of them. Please try to to make do with this rather mildly awful example -- a photo of buttscratcher girl and her boyfriend, Hulk Hogan II:
Now, this is a very formal city. Are these people going on a Navy Seals mission or to Muscle Beach or are they going to the Louvre? They don't have to ask anybody to speak English. Their look screams TOURIST! TOURIST! (And that's putting it politely.) What, the guy doesn't own a pair of khakis and a real pair of shoes? Dressing like this in Paris is like wearing a bikini to church. PS It's still pretty damn ugly wherever they're from, too.
Back to my original point: Sure, there are rude people here -- there are rude people everywhere. But, for the most part, if you smile and make an effort, and you don't dress for dinner like you're enroute to a mudwrestling contest at the sports bar, you'll mostly be treated well. Oh, and if you don't shout loudly in English instead of simply speaking to the person you're with. They have a bit of decorum here. Try it sometime; other human beings will thank you.
Here I am being treated nicely at the grocery store:
And here I am being treated nicely at the patisserie (Stohrer, on rue Montorgueil, which has been around since 1730)!
these two photos of me are by Gregg Sutter
What's funny, too, is the wardrobe-based resentment directed at me that I sometimes pick up from Americans. Enroute to dinner on Gregg's last night, some hideously dressed American woman gave me a glare that I'm sure translated into: "French bitch." I smiled at her, attempting to telegraph back my correction: "No, American bitch!
photo by Emily Tarr
photo set up by Emily Tarr but taken by Gregg Sutter
Anyway, I'm writing much of this entry at La Coupole, a legendary brasserie in the 14th arrondisement (Montparnasse). I've been sitting here since 10am, eating and drinking up a hint of humidity (as opposed to a storm), and using their complimentary Wifi. I have my little dog in my lap, although she's just sleeping, because she's used to remaining under cover in restaurants, thanks to the stupid "health" restrictions against dogs in restaurants in the United States.
Serge Duquesnoy, the Directeur Adjout (associate honcho) of the place, who's been walking past me and smiling at me for hours (and no, not because he's on the make, all you cynics)...just came over, introduced himself, suffered my attempts to communicate in French with more friendly smiles and encouragement, and told me to please stay as long as I like and please come back often.
Again, for all you Paris detractors, I've been sitting here since 10am, and it's now 3:27pm. I've only ordered a croisssant and jam (for breakfast) and a sandwich for lunch. (Okay, so I had three separate orders of caffeine.) But this place serves raw oysters and champagne and fine food -- I'm not exactly girl high roller of the day. I am, however, very friendly (which goes far in extending one's pathetic attempts at communicating in French), and I smile a lot, and I greet the people here as if they actually exist. That's something I've learned from France. Not that I've ever been stuck up, but the person-to-person culture is different here, and I've adopted their way as my way...when I'm here, and back in the USA.
People here have relationships with each other, even in passing. It's a culture of relationships. They talk to a waiter as if he's actually a person, not just an irritating cog in a food delivery system. They greet the salesgirl when they walk into a store, and say goodbye when they leave. They look the cashier in the eye when she's ringing them up as if she actually has value as a human being. They say "bonjour" or "bon soir" when they encounter a stranger in the courtyard of their building. Yes, the French are "ferkockedta" commies (as my Bronx-born neo-Parisian pal Mark Gaito would say)...but we could actually learn a thing or two from them about civility and how to treat people.
Odd, isn't it, that "civitas", "civilized" and "civility" share the same root? I've been doing that whole "please" and "thank you" thang for many years now (after the teenaged surliness wore off) and it seems to pay off, even here in America.
Not that every sales person appreciates it -- or even notices it (which is another topic) -- but it makes me feel better and it often results in better service. If you can't be totally civilized, at least adopt the veneer!
(And ignore the dog poop.)
The Proprietor at July 18, 2004 5:38 AM
Just read Spano's robotic entry. How is something "pleasantly profound"? How many times can one use the word "lovely," and badly, in a 600-word essay? How dare the Times publish a column about Paris that has all the allure and depth of particle board? They should truly be ashamed of themselves--and you know, Amy, that I am not a Times basher. What an atrocity.
nancy at July 18, 2004 6:31 AM
I agree with you Cecile (The Proprietor). Even if people don't respond in kind. And Nancy, I'm sooo with you, too! Jason's not even a journalist, and he's much more interesting that "seasoned" travel writer Spano. I look at his blog to be amused and find stuff out. I only look at hers occasionally for that minor entertainment that being aghast at the errors and violently dull writing and thinking provides.
Amy Alkon at July 18, 2004 7:17 AM
Incivility ruins everything. The other day, Amy, I was on line at our neighborhood cafe, and this woman in front of me was having a yelling conversation with someone who was halfway across the room. In between her expulsions of bellowing fog-horn sounds, she's shove huge slabs of some kind of healthfood cookie down her throat. Visually, this woman had a lot going for herself -- an incredible body and beautiful skin. But her lack of manners -- her complete obliviousness to the fact that she was sharing public space with other people -- made her seem not quite fully human.
The good news is that civility is infectious. At one point, I asked her a simple question in a reasonable tone of voice, and she responded -- without bellowing!
Lena at July 18, 2004 9:05 AM
So...Parisians never wear T-shirts and shorts, even in the maximum heat of summer with air conditioners being far from standard?
I'd beg to disagree. But my family members who live over there may just be ugly Americans.
LYT at July 19, 2004 1:33 AM
Perhaps it's one thing during the "chaleur" -- the incredible heat of last summer. I didn't come last July, due to Marnye's death. These July days, however, if you look at my attire, you'll note that it's been rather chilly...about 60 degrees on a lot of days. Paris, as I mentioned above, is a formal city. I just ran into Matthieu, a novelist I know. Now, he's just writing -- at home, not going to an office -- and he's young and sexy, not some old coot - but when he walked into Le Flore (cafÈ) today, he was wearing a blue blazer, jeans, a nice men's long-sleeve shirt and nice leather shoes. Why is that a problem for so many Americans? Clothes are dirt cheap in the USA. Here, in France, they're quite expensive, for the most part...although Pierre (in the blog entry above this one) does do well with the bargains at Yves Dorsay! On the way out of Flore, I was nearly mowed down by two grossly obese American women in tee shirts and short skirts. Scary looking and loud. This is ugly wherever you slice it.
Amy Alkon at July 19, 2004 6:00 AM
Oh, PS, the standards for you, Luke, are different, I think, because you're a totally unique-looking person, and the Parisians appreciate that. Still, while an "Eat My Grandmother" or whatever shirt might work on top, I would vote against shorts and ugly Teva sandals as city-wear...here or in NYC.
Amy Alkon at July 19, 2004 7:24 AM
The question is, why are some people wearing coats in the summertime?
The Mad Hungarian at July 19, 2004 1:01 PM
It's been unseasonably cold and rainy here for July. Usually, July is hot and muggy.
Amy Alkon at July 19, 2004 1:07 PM
"Eat My Grandmother"?
I don't have that one yet. Grab it for me if you see it.
I still think Hulk Hogan guy is stylin'.
LYT at July 19, 2004 7:29 PM
"People here have relationships with each other, even in passing. It's a culture of relationships."
When I was growing up, I spent about 25% of each year (ie, June-August) at my grandparents' in Ireland. It always took me a while to get used to the greetings and other forms of courtesy that strangers would show each other in public places. Then I'd miss it so much once I'd get back to the states. I'd go out of my way to chat with people about nothing in particular.
Lena McWeena at July 21, 2004 12:41 AM