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Parisians value intelligence more than happiness. In Paris, happiness is the sad symptom of an atrophied brain, the curse of the stupid, the limbo of the ungifted.
Mechanically he who is not happy is gifted, he whose brain does not agree with the world is intelligent. The more brutally unfitting the person is, the more gloriously superior his brain is. In this undeniable logic lays the utter privilege of the crazies: that of being looked up to by the Parisian.
The inability to handle the vicissitudes of life testifies to the Parisian eye of an acute perception of the incertitudes and difficulties that make up life. Knowing that life is about incertitudes and difficulties is pure intelligence to the Parisian. Therefore, if they were to choose between being an irremediably unhappy creative genius or a perfectly happy nobody, most Parisians would opt for the grandiose life of misery. If misery is the price to pay for intelligence, Parisians are happy to open wide their happiness wallet.
The glory points of the craziness package do not come distributed evenly. Some afflictions score higher points than others. Schizophrenia for instance inspires much less admiration than beautiful depression. When afflicting upper class people, some mental afflictions stemming or resulting in self-destruction become psychological pantheons. Such is alcoholism.
The affliction Parisians look up to the most is insomnia. Parisians all wish they could claim for their bed to be crossed by the unstoppable train of the unresting thought. Parisians admire insomniacs for whom they truly are: people devoured by the discomfort of thinking. Insomia is the most elegant claim of the active brain. All Parisians wished they could be the victims of their fully ruling brain. Slaves to a cerebral monarchy. The fact that being an insomniac is pure torture is irrelevant.
Longing to being something or someone in Paris by no means relates to these desires being pursued in reality. What Parisians cannot get enough of is poetic aspirations. As much as they love them, they are happy with quite prosaic a life.
The crazy in the end is a lovely thought. A crazy to the Parisian is the living evidence that being a tad more intelligent than him equals craziness and misery. Really, the Parisian got lucky. That intelligent. Yet not crazy.
That was close.
Useful tip: If you are in Paris and suffer from a mental affliction, just start wearing unusual clothes and call yourself an artist. Maybe that’s your path.
Sound like a Parisian: « Ouais, ça va, j’ai un peu de mal à dormir en ce moment, mais ça va…».
Tags: Crazy, depressing, depression, happiness, insomnia, mood, Paris
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I saw that picture of Emil Cioran up there. Being a francophone-romanian I always wondered what the french thought and think about Cioran. So?
ah the sweet agony of the existential… and where better to feel that agreeable pain than in Paris.
“Mechanically is gifted thou whom is not happy, is intelligent thou whose brain does not agree with the world.” Olivier, I almost get this but … are all the words in the right order?
Great analysis, as always. For some reason this reminds me of an old “medical” article of L.F. Celine: “L’insomnie des intellectuels”. In this article the author argues that insomnia is more difficult to treat in intellectuals, because they consider it as a sign of their intellectual superiority. He argues that they purposely try to resist any treatment and stay awake all night just for to prove themselves and their doctor that their insomnia (and therefore their superior intelligence) is resistant to any drug. Not sure about the scientific validity of the text but it’s still pretty funny.
I am so glad u have Emil Cioran there …. but he was a very normal person, tortured by the idea of committing suicide although he never tried to … As a student, I loved him and cherished him and his writing … Being 100% sane and normal seemed bland and boring… Now, years after that time, things look a bit different.
loving so called authentic stuff, still being totally framed…
a scheme in itself…
loving the losers that were the pioneers, still earning money and showing off…
Excellent Olivier
Stéphan
Excellent post, Olivier! )))
I really didn’t know all these ambiguities of “Parisian afflictions”.
What always sticks me in Paris thought is that majority of Parisians who play with such serious word like depression, which for us (Russians) always associated with the first symptom of schizophrenia (“Hello-Mr.Dostoyesvky-do-you-hear-us?”), are simply bored with life )))
Slaves to a cerebral monarchy. love it, so French. Being back here just today after 4 weeks away, i can already feel it seeping into my pores. I’m sure to be lying awake thinking about it tonight.
Hah! Too funny. I look forward to your next post, which I assume will be ‘Having a Psy’.
I wonder if the insomnia thing is supposed to suggest that true, raw, authentic Parisians are out pacing the gritty streets at night, mixing with the ‘real’ people after the tourists have gone to bed. Kind of like Brassai.
Great post! I especially love the ending.
(Good to know that if I drink too much and can’t sleep, Parisians will admire me!)
If I may be so bold as to rephrase what you said:
From a mechanistic point of view, he who is not happy is gifted, and he whose brain does not agree with the world is intelligent.
I could hear the French in your wording. It just wasn’t English.
Great post.
and how would an obsessive compulsive disorder be treated? i believe the afflicted person would be called “un toc” (?)
Ha! I can attest to your comments from first hand experience. Last year, some friends I met in Paris seemed very pleased to find that my friend and I were not only writers, but that we often suffered from insomnia. While we complained that it is hard to “switch off” at night, they thought the prospect of lying awake fretting over our work was “beautiful”! When we explained that, in Australia, people usually tell us that we “think too much”, we should “think less”, or take sleeping pills, they seemed to think the ideas were quite absurd. Later in the evening, when the conversation descended into “arty talk” about tenebrism, chiaroscuro and Caravaggio they were quite put off by the fact we were Australian and could talk about so called intellectual ideas. Their reaction was: “You are not very Australian, you are more Parisienne”. Parisians=1, Australians=0
M… Well, I’d say not all French people know him. Many have heard of him. I’d like to say most but I really don’t know. I guess most French people do admire foreigners who choose to and can (probably more for the can part than for the choose to) write in French.
Peter… Tried to fix that
True Duck… Didn’t know about that. Céline is probably my favorite writer.
Rosabell… I think you could find better examples of “normal people” than Cioran. Anyone who writes “Sur les cîmes du désespoir” at age 22 or so fits more under the “genius” category I’d say. But yeah, depressed genius for sure!!
Stéphan… I’m not sure I got that one.
Russian Liz… Depression in Paris is chic (and vaguely inevitable if you hang with Parisians too much). Can you imagine… being just like Dostoievski? Can you think of something remotely as chic?
Poulette… Hope that was because of jet lag and not actual insomnia!!
Accidental Parisian… Merci! Well, the worst part about insomnia is that you are immensely tired. And hopeful that you will manage to fall asleep soon. It’s not more life to live at night. More like less life to live in the day time.
Judy… Merci! Well… maybe I should qualify this. The drinking part works well for men. A woman who drinks is a completely different story I’m afraid. Actually, now that I think about it… even a woman who can’t sleep is not necessarily something people would look up to.
Wendy… Merci – and merci. Tried to fix it. Sometimes I just get a bit too ambitious with my English!!
1234… Yes, TOC stands for Trouble Obsessionnel Compulsif. How would it be treated? I don’t know… These days, I guess they’ll invite you on TV sets to talk about your TOC, film you at home acting a bit crazy and people will talk about it the next day at work? Not sure that helps but…
Vlr… Australians are to be farmers, surfers, and rugby players. All other Australians must not really be Australian.
PS – Picture 2 is Charles Bukowski. Speaking of drinking in excess…
Olivier
my english is probably not as good as yours is…
I meant, en français : j’adore l’idée que des gens subliment les loosers, ceux qui sont les pionniers, et qu’en même temps en bons parisiens ils soient les premiers à être pragmatiques, à gagner de l’argent et à le montrer, tout comme ils sont les premiers à montrer qu’ils suivent une tendance, un fois que celle ci est suffisamment lancée mais pas trop. En gros ils aiment les innovateurs, s’ils réussissent un peu.
Stéphan, in french
Olivier, no props to women who drink and can’t sleep? not even if they’re writers and live in New York?? Perhaps that was only in the 1980s…
I’m with you, Judy! I think Olivier needs to step up and be man about it. He should lead the revolution and pave the way for women who write, drink and lack sleep to be socially accepted in France. After all, they accept someone like Carrie Bradshaw, don’t they?!
Joli!
Is it just me or is your style getting more and more aphoristic? What is this, wisdom? Wine? Lack of link-words?
No really, the whole thing sounds quite Oscar Wildesque, if you read it with a British accent.
Stéphan… C’est écrit en belgo-sudiste?
Judy… The living in New York part gives you major points. The writing bit could if you’re highly successful at it. You’d have your fans here, don’t you worry!
Vlr… I’ll do a lot to have more women who drink in this country. Absolutely! Now, as per your Carrie Bradshaw comment, I think she’s accepted mostly by women here. Men do’nt really know her. And then again… she’s probably accepted because she’s young, well dressed, successful and a New Yorker.
Myrrha… Merci. Your last comment shows that I’m probably not the only one drinking too much wine here. But yes, I ust confess a weakness for aphorisms. Not necessarily a conscious one but I like definitive sentences. They carry more tragic. Just wished English was as aphorisms-friendly as French.
Stéphan… C’est écrit en belgo-sudiste?
Judy… The living in New York part gives you major points. The writing bit could if you’re highly successful at it. You’d have your fans here, don’t you worry!
Vlr… I’ll do a lot to have more women who drink in this country. Absolutely! Now, as per your Carrie Bradshaw comment, I think she’s accepted mostly by women here. Men do’nt really know her. And then again… she’s probably accepted because she’s young, well dressed, successful and a New Yorker.
Myrrha… Merci. Your last comment shows that I’m probably not the only one drinking too much wine here. But yes, I must confess a weakness for aphorisms. Not necessarily a conscious one but I like definitive sentences. They carry more tragic. Just wished English was as aphorisms-friendly as French.
OMG!! I love this one…too much…I need to go see if I can finally get to sleep..mais, c’est difficile…ouaissss!
une fois, cong !
Au contraire mon ami! English is just bulging at the seems with aphorisms. Or do you intend something else by suggesting it isn’t as aphorism friendly as French?
I totally agree with you. This doesn’t work for women but if you are male and walk about the streets with wacky wild hair, smelly and dirty clothes, but say you are an artist, boy, do parisiens adore you! How about making a post about this: people always wonder why Parisien’s pace of life is so relazed and laid back. Well, what else is there to do for people without ambition nor imagination, and who blatantly resist, above all, change and diversity? Not much to do there in grand ol’ Paris but just look at pretty gardens and enjoy good food… And why are parisiens in comfortable western civilization so unhappy and never smile when people who live in squalor and poverty in Central America always seem to be happy and optimistic? Don’t parisiens know how lucky they are? This is what frustrates me about Parisiens……!!
Caricatural.
PS:I live in Paris.
There is nothing sexy or Romantic about insomnie et dépression – I have been on intimate terms with both, seemingly, forever.Perhaps I should relocate to Paris, evidently I would feel right at home. Ironically, I was there, alone, in winter ’01 on the cold rainy streets which resonated too fast with my turmoil and threatened at any moment to overwhelm. I was at once seduced and repulsed by its energy and I finally understood why Paris has always been the stage for so much tragedy and beauty. Instead, I live in Canada where existential crises are medicated and analyzed, as opposed to revered and sought-after, in the unrealistic hope that they can settle my internal conflict.
Intellect has not made me superior, it just made me ambivalent (souffrant)… and very tired.
Can we speculate on what has happened to Olivier?
KP Gallant… Thank you very much. Best of luck. Know the feeling!
Stéphan…
Peter… Well, French publisher doesn’t like may ahorisms… that’s all I can say
Steph… Word (la résistance).
Sylvia… Thanks for your input.
Turmoil… Sexy certainly not. Romantic is a different story… Is it silly to suggest exercise?
Vlr… Sorry I went MIA. Been SUPER busy with tastings, writing the book in French, writing the book in English, some exciting news for O Chateau that I will share soon … But anyway. Yup – I’m still alive. Quite pumped actually. I’ll try to post a new article this week or so. Thanks for caring though – I appreciate it.
I just knew that you had become too famous for your own good. Ha! I think all your readers are extremely happy that you are doing so well, and that you are “pumped” (So un-French, Olivier!). Let the next post come in your own good time. We will all be reading.
Vlr… Thank you for such a kind support. I very much appreciate that. Though I think too busy for my own good works better than too famous
This explains my husband and most of his family! He and I read this together and laughed so hard because it’s all true!
Would love permission to post to my blog!
Priscilla… I’m glad I can make couples bond
Avec plaisir to post this on your blog. Cheers!
French people are the most medicated in the world. Go figure.
La misère romantique; je connais bien. L’hypocrisie de vouloir etre heureux tout en refusant de lacher ses troubles mentaux par peur de devenir un beauf inintéréssant… le paradoxe du cramponnement à la déprime, complexes de supériorité et infériorité se confondant… L’idiocie humaine en résumé. Mais que c’est beau!