In Paris, no London style, no Vegas drunks, no Rio bodies.
Parisians prefer to the thrill of the full-on ride the comfort of the grey cocoon.
Excess is vulgar. So they shall not indulge. They shall not even give it a try. Admittedly, there is no need to give things a try when you know about them already.
Parisians never go all the way. Parisians never order that second bottle of wine. How crass. They seem to find more contentment in witnessing things than in living them. They somewhat cherish that distance. Distance is a Parisian’s best friend. A buffer between him and life. A seat belt between him and his own life. Excess is not safe. Parisians like it safe.
In Paris, the plague has gone rampant. Moderation that once was a vague companion has become the inspiration of every decision. From the smallest one to the most decisive. A whole life governed by fear. A whole life of resolute blending in. A life dedicated to not making waves.
One may think that moderation is a form of preservation of an existing happiness. That is not true in Paris – simply as no Parisian would ever present himself (let alone think of himself) as happy. The Parisian just preserves whatever it is he has. Even if he’s far from satisfied with it. Parisians never put themselves out there. They never aim high. Never go for the big prize. They are careful. Dreadfully careful. Excess implies forgetting about oneself for a second. There is in excess a true form of generosity. A willingness to let go and connect with others. There laid the foundations of the late Joie de Vivre.
Parisians even lost sight that a whole world exists between moderation and excess. This world brings unknown and newness to the table. The Parisian is very happy not to have to deal with these. He knows very well that outside moderation only exists things like outrage and emptiness. The Parisian is too wise. Deal with it.
When it comes to fun, true fun in Paris is necessarily associated with excess. And therefore carefully dodged. True fun is ultimately outrageous and empty. There is no point in having real fun. Soft fun is good enough. At least it’s safe.
The same pathological approach to reality has contaminated all fields of Parisian society. From politics to arts, from conversations to looks: moderation has taken over minds, souls and closets.
Paris has become a tepid city full of tepid people.
Useful tip: Resist
Sound like a Parisian: “Bon allez, je vais rentrer, je suis crevé en ce moment. C’était cool, on devrait se refaire ça un de ces jours…”