I recently returned from a semester abroad in Paris and had many realizations about the city of love, light, cheese, macaroons, brie, comté, fromage, camembert and baguette, cheese, cheese and cheese. I had lots of expectations about Paris. I had heard lots of cliches. Here are some I found to be somewhat accurate.
CITY OF LOVE
Paris is the most romantic city I have ever been to, however not necessarily in the way I was expecting. People are openly affectionate. Parisians LOVE LOVE. It can be romantic to be a tourist in Paris but the people having the real fun are the Parisians. They seemed to be making out everywhere. Which is chill. I am really happy for everyone in Paris. But is anyone in the city single? Or not making out? The answer, after spending six months in Paris seems to be no. Parisians are so into one another that they don't see or choose to ignore everyone around them. This is cute when in my case you are walking with your mother through Le Jardin des Tuileries and there is a lot of straddling going on.
Another common occurrence are the intense makeouts on the metro. There I am, minding my own business listening to my angsty Paris In The Winter playlist and bam I look up and see a gorgeous French couple licking each others faces as if they were enjoying a delicious ice cream cone from Berthillon but they are not ice creams, they are people and personally I would rather have some chocolate glacé in my mouth rather than a tongue. The Paris Metro is amazing. It is efficient and timely. You use tiny little metro cards to get through the turnstiles, it is also filthy. It smells like pee, vomit and sewage. Like any subway system at rush hour, you are squished up next to people and then have to yell and push your way through the masses to get off at your stop. For some, even this environment is romantic, C'est Paris, la vie est belle, the smell of sweat a few dead rats doesn't matter when you are in love.
I am single. I am not bitter. Honest. I just think Paris should be rebranded as the city where you intimately watch others make out in front of you, or the city where it feels like every other person around you is in love and you are kind of jealous but then also know that having your tongue that exposed on the metro is probably going to make you ill so actually you are better off on your own with your baguette.
CITY OF BREAD
Speaking of bread, that brings me to another surprising aspect of parisian life. Baguettes are delicious and I can eat them very often. This was less surprising than baguette etiquette. If you want to seem like a true Parisian, buy your baguette from a local patisserie and rip off the tip. Eat it on your way home at the end of the day. You will look like a local and I will want you to give me a piece of your baguette. The key is to make sure everyone can see that you have ripped off the top piece. Ripping off each piece of your baguette is actually how the whole baguette is consumed, even at the dinner table. Parisians for the most part do away with the bread knife. I cannot confirm this but I believe it is because a really good baguette should tear apart quite easily. So rule of thumb is eat baguette with your hands and look legit. Another note, it is not Parisian to eat the whole baguette on the metro home. However if you happen to be on the metro going home sitting across from a couple who have decided that moment is the perfect time for them to salivate all over each other just go ahead and eat the whole baguette. It's amour in Paris.
CITY OF FASHION
Black. Always wear black. You will look slim. You will not get weird stares for wearing a neon pink t-shirt with cherries on it. However, if you don't mind getting side eyed wherever you go, particularly on the metro, then wear whatever you want. Is it becoming apparent that I have some Metro anxieties? Side note: Stan Smith adidas are ubiquitous in Paris. Heels are not conducive to sprinting through the streets and getting to the patisserie before it closes, making it to the metro before the doors slide shut, running from canoodling couples etc, everyone in Paris seems to agree about the footwear situation. Stan Smith adidas do not need to be black, they can be white but the rest of your outfit must be black.
Another interesting observation -- the realization that every child in Paris is cooler and more stylish than I will ever be. Infants would watch me as I walked past in my bright floral liberal arts-esque dresses, shivering in the cool February air, they were ensconced in baby moncler ($490) or a canada goose ($275) kicking their cute limited edition Pharrell for Adidas clad feet and smirk at my foolish and vulgar fashion choices. Sometimes 10 year olds would zoom past me on razor scooters through a jardin wearing Sonya Rykiel pour enfants, a metaphor for how they were also whizzing past me fashion wise (and probably in other ways) from the day they were born. C'est Paris, C'est Fashion.
I learnt a lot abroad but mainly I learned that I love bread cheese, wine and wearing bright pink. Je t'aime, bonjour, la tour Eiffel, la vie est belle, c'est tout.