The Parisian Pysche

My friends, I have been in a very dark mood lately. I’m not sure if it’s Paris or a hormonal imbalance, but the extra 5 pounds of croissant buerre haven’t helped the situation, OK maybe 10. Paris a place of glorious food, deliriously high fashion, and triumphant gothic architecture, but there is something so cold about it. People aren’t rude or uneven unkind, but there is little joy. Parisians seem to focus more on their image than their happiness. I honestly believe the reason people don’t smile is because they feel a little pout is sexier. (It is, of course, but that's beside the point.) They don’t see the beauty in unbridled laughter or any other outward manifestations of emotion. Of course, Parisians would say that I’m a loud and overbearing American. They may be right, but they are so busy conforming to an aesthetic ideal that they seem emotionally removed.

I have hesitated to discuss this because it’s so negative, but I find myself uninterested in writing anything else. I feel like it would be dishonest. So here I am saying it out loud. I think Parisians are so cool that they’re boring. There is nothing wrong with the Parisian point of view, and most are incredibly good looking. It’s just that their demeanor leaves me wondering if Parisians are more satisfied by more surface connections than Americans. This is disappointing because I often feel like kindred spirits with the French. It’s actually really fun to shove someone out of the way once in a while and it’s perfectly acceptable in Paris as long as you say 'pardon'. They follow a strict social code, and the resulting interactions are quite nice and gracious. I love how intellectual and cultural pursuits are the backbone of the society. The streets are teeming with philosophy, poetry, and art. They believe in the culture of food, using meals to catch up with friends and experience pleasure. There is no bigger sin to Parisians than creating a bad meal. One Thanksgiving, my mother in law served a store bought pumpkin pie, and I thought, “Doesn’t she love me?” I realize this is demented, but I blame my mother, who I’m sure would blame her mother and so on. However, Parisians would completely agree with the sentiment. Alas, these common threads do not make a true bond. After spending some time in Paris, I can see why the US and France are constantly at odds politically. I respect the French point of view, even enjoy it, but I wouldn’t want to be like them. And I believe the feeling is mutual.