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Drinking with strangers

Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

OK. Winter is cold and vaguely boring. So let’s break the monotony of things.

I am very glad to invite you to the very first Stuff Parisians Like get-together. It will be held chez O Chateau, in our Caves. As I’m a good Parisian, I’m going short notice on you.

Let’s do this next Tuesday (the 19th).  Let’s say 7.30pm. Bring a bottle of wine. Friends welcome. The more the merrier.

Please let me know if you (+ x) are coming by responding here. Should be a good time.

Address is 52, rue de l’Arbre sec in the 1st. Metro Louvre-Rivoli (Line 1).

A mardi!

Olivier

PS – And for the record, drinking with strangers is not something Parisians usually like.

Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 66 Comments »

The word Putain

Sunday, January 10th, 2010

In Paris, putain is more than a word. It is a crutch.

A crutch for Parisian’s mental and social impendiments. Parisians love to use their little putain crutch. It is impossible to have a five-minute conversation with a Parisian without hearing the crutch resonate. That is true except if you are a Parisian yourself. Parisians have developed an unusual ability: that of not hearing the sound of the crutch anymore. When pronounced in a sentence by him or by any other person, the word is completely inaudible to the Parisian.

The noun putain refers to a prostitute. The interjection putain refers to no one. In its most common usage, it simply vividly expresses utterly Parisian feelings like discontentment, anger and frustration: stuck in a traffic jam: ”Putain, mais c’est pas possible“; talking about her boss “Il est complètement con, putain“… In those instances, the word works as a very Parisian capital letter or full stop. It is by far the most common usage of the word.

But the reach of the word goes beyond this initial scope. Putain in Paris also defines surprise: witnessing a car accident “Oh putain“; watching the clock: “Putain, il est déjà deux heures ?” It can also be a firm injonction to stop joking around: “Putain, t’es serieux?”, “Attends putain, deux secondes”. In the same realm, used on its own, putain in a conversation can express sympathy and interest when a sad subject is being talked about. “Parisian 1: Et c’est là  que son mari l’a quittée. Parisian 2: Putain. Parisian 1: Ouais, et donc elle se retrouve avec trois gamins…” Awkwardly enough, it can also express admiration or encouragement: talking about a really good movie: “Putain, c’était hyper bien”; discovering a friend’s new apartment: “Putainnn”; hearing that someone they knew took a trip around the world: “Putain..?”; watching a game on TV “Allez putain!!”

When follow by de, putain is used to emphasize: “Il a une putain de voiture”, “C’est un putain de restaurant”. This last usage is the only one that will be considered rude. Simply because it is the only instance where the Parisian will actually hear the word.

In the end, the word putain in Paris is used to express surprise, anger, encouragement, frustation, emphasis or admiration. That is for sure one helpful crutch. Be they physical or verbal, extensive use of crutches reveals afflictions. In the case of Parisians, extensive use of the word putain, in its most frequent sense, shows the social need for anger, roughness and frustration. These are social necessities in Paris. If you are not angry about most events of life, ready to swear about it, and not even notice it when you do so – you clearly are not a Parisian. Putain is just another tool to blend in. Running around when everybody walks with crutches would be straight up rude. The choice is simple fopr people who live in Paris: sprinkle every one of your sentences with a putain or go find a city of your own.

While it certainly is helpful, extensive use of crutches has one disadvantage: it creates atrophies and muscular unbalances. The outcome of using putain extensively in Paris is a form of mental laziness. Easy expression of easy emotions. A world of discrete facades. Making up emptiness with easy negativity. Pretending to be there while hiding behind words.

One of Parisians’ favorite people to imitate is people from the South of France. When doing so, he will systematically start or finish his first sentence with a South-of-France-accented “Putainnnggg…” Parisians have quite the sense of observation.

Useful tip: If you don’t know what to say, just say putain.
Sound like a Parisian: “Non mais putain… c’est pas possible bordel!”

Personal note: Just wanted to wish each and every one of you a happy new year. All my very best wishes to you and the ones you love.  Good health, good fun, good wine, and lots of love. Thank you for your continuous support with this blog. Really. Cheers. O.

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Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 43 Comments »

Sushi

Friday, December 4th, 2009

There are three dimensions to being cool in Paris: owning an iPhone, wearing Converse shoes, and eating sushi – at least twice a week. Failing to fulfill one of these conditions will make the Parisian lame, old and uncool.

Over the past two years, sushi has become cool Parisians’ (read under 40yo Parisians – for most Parisians under 40yo are absolutely convinced of the fact that they are cool) food of choice. If a Parisian eats out for lunch with his colleagues every day, it is simply impossible not to go sushi at least once a week. Impossible.
Sushi restaurants have flourished everywhere in Paris. They are usually owned and operated by Chinese people. It is amusing to notice that just like the other two dimensions of cool, sushi in Paris has mostly been made popular by Americans and is mostly made by Chinese people.

As the Parisian first starts eating sushi, he first feels like he is penetrating the secret and precious world of Japanese gastronomy – New York style. Thrill of differentiating culinary exploration. He then realizes that sushi seems to be low in fat and rather cheap. So he starts consuming it more regularly – gains confidence. When the Parisian gains confidence, gentle respect and cryptic devotion turn into absurd self-importance and outrageous rudeness. That is when the Parisian starts making fun of the Chinese accent of the waiter.

In most sushi restaurants in Paris, menus are quite comfortably repetitive and kindly made intelligible with pictures. Parisian men tend to opt for the sushi – brochettes menu. Parisian women, in a noble attempt to minimize caloric impact of their meal, usually favour sashimi. When the Parisian takes someone from province to a sushi restaurant, he will usually show him how to use sticks and will order for him. The Parisian is well-travelled and always considerate.

On top of the myriad of Chinese-owned sushi places, Paris has become very big on sushi delivery. Companies that operate on this market are more into marketing, and not operated by Chinese people. Every other Parisian under 40yo orders sushi on Sunday night.

Sooner or later, sushi eaters will claim to love Japanese food. ”La cuisine japonaise, tu vois, c’est hyper fin, moi j’aime beaucoup“. Loving Japanese food implies nothing but enjoying sushi. The apotheosis of this culinary escalation is the discovery of La Rue Sainte-Anne.  La Rue Sainte-Anne is Paris’ little Tokyo: one Japanese restaurant after the other. On his first visit to a Japanese restaurant on rue Sainte-Anne, the Parisian will enjoy the pioneering excitement of finally entering the world of “real” Japanese food, with “real” Japanese people cooking and waiting tables. On Rue Sainte-Anne, he will start dismissing sushi (ignorant food) and venture like the true explorer he has always been into sobas, udons, okonomiyakis… He will then start taking friends Rue Sainte-Anne – or more precisely taking them to ”un ptit resto japonais que j’adore, tu vas voir” (conveniently enough – that one restaurant is usually the only one he’s been to). Taking friends there, the Parisian will systematically warn them with the hint of condescendence that is the real cement of a true Parisian friendship “Attention par contre: c’est du vrai japonais, y a pas de sushi, hein“.

Being beyond yet not over one of the attributes of cool is a very Parisian response to the dictatorship of cool: I’m still cool, but I’m also more than cool.

If you do the math, that makes the Parisian super cool.

Useful tip: Unless you love lines, don’t try la Rue Ste Anne on a Saturday night.
Sound like a Parisian: “Oh, hier soir, j’suis resté à la maison, tranquillou, commandé des sushis, rien de spécial…”

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Saying they like classical music

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

Though to most Parisians “Quatre Saisons” rings a pizza bell, “Rameau” has to do with church and ”Rossini” is a way to prepare meat, Parisians are all big time into classical music. Classical music is one of these things Parisians are unable not to  claim they like. To the “T’écoutes quoi comme musique?” question, most  Parisians will respond saying: “Oh, un peu de tout, des conneries à la radio, un peu de chanson française, Brel, Brassens et puis un peu  de classique“.

The Parisian at this point never gets more specific. He never shares his love for Bach or Liszt. He never mentions a symphony he never gets tired of. His public effusions for classical music – when elaborated
upon – are always justified by deep sentences like “ça me détend” or  “ça me fait du bien“. Parisians never run short of grandiose hommages.

Parisians will never challenge each other when it comes to classical music for they all share the same exact policy about it. This absence of escalation is rather unparisian and truly unconscious. Parisians’ appreciation of classical music has been declared and repeated so many times that each Parisian ends up convincing himself that he does indeed like classical  music. The fact that he never actually listens to classical music is  no reasonable objection to this conviction.

Each Parisian vividly recalls these 3 minutes last year on a drive to somewhere when he flipped through radio channels and stopped on classical music. After 3 minutes, he got bored and moved on. But these three minutes were times of vast satisfaction (to come).
The more educated the Parisian, the more his cultural references are unconsciously inflated. Saying he likes classical music is just one of the elements of the discretely shiny cultural outfit the Parisian likes to wear socially: along the same lines, educated Parisians will enjoin their friends and acquaintances to “relire” such or such author, they will claim to love such or such writer while most likely only read one of his book, or they will pretend to have a deep knowledge of the Jewish culture for they had a Jewish friend in high school. All very much in good faith. Culture is vastly a masquerade in Paris.
Always a nonchalant one: when he runs across some classical music, it is impossible for the  Parisian man not to whistle along.
In Paris more than anywhere else, silence can really be golden.

Useful tip: Beautiful classical concerts held inside the splendid Sainte-Chapelle. Look them up!
Sound like a Parisian: “Ouais, mais en même temps, tu vois, Hitler il adorait Wagner”

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Le Café Gourmand

Sunday, November 15th, 2009

Some questions define countries. “Fromage ou dessert?” once defined France. But France has changed. Making this beautiful question obsolete. And the choice at the end of a meal even easier. For that question had shrunk to a monolithical interrogation: ”Dessert?” .

Modernity certainly comes at a price.

While dessert is worthy of a question, coffee never is. A meal without coffee in Paris is a bit like a day without alcohol in England. Something rare and peculiar. If there’s a meal, there will be coffee to wrap it up.

Over the past few decades in Paris, dessert has supplanted cheese; then slowly got supplanted by coffee. End of meals are that competitive in Paris. Recently, Parisians started blaming dessert for many of their own problems: dessert started being too pricey, too fattening, too time-consuming. Poor dessert. Meanwhile, coffee was bragging. Self-satisfied. Frequently accompanied with un ptit chocolat - taunting dessert. Arrogant little thing.

Le café gourmand is a just attempt to reconcile coffee with dessert. On one plate: an expresso and an assortment of miniature desserts just seem to celebrate the glory of bitterness and sweetness brought together. Colourful and peaceful joy.

The assortment of desserts that comes with le café gourmand usually includes un mini moelleux au chocolat, une mini crème brûlée, un mini clafoutis, and une petite boule de glace. Mini and sweet is something that satisfies the Parisian. Mini sweet is mini sin. Works.

The trick of le café gourmand is that though it is minimum sin, it is maximum indulgence. You have it all. Coffee and dessert. And multiple desserts to top it off. Restaurateurs with le café gourmand become the Parisian’s partners in crime: flattering his social sense of guilt, while stroking discretely his shameful gourmandise.

Not sure if you (want to come across as though you) still have room for dessert? Café gourmand in its plentiful discretion is here for you.

It is worthy to know though that while ordering it for lunch is fully acceptable, ordering it for dinner is much more suspicious: what at lunch time is viewed by fellow eaters as a charming expression of a sense of soft indulgence becomes in the evening a form of inability to fully enjoy. By some Parisian miracle, time of day started defining whether Le Café Gourmand had a centripetal or centrifugal influence on the self.

In the end, the surge of Cafés Gourmands in Parisian bistrots and restaurants teaches us about the evolution of the status of la gourmandise in Paris: vice in the day time, virtue at night.

Thank God for long and dark Parisian winters…

Useful tip: Screw people who make you feel bad for eating dessert.
Sound like a Parisian: “Oh ouais, tiens, un café gourmand, pourquoi pas, tiens! Alors, combien de cafés gourmands?”

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Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 40 Comments »

L’Ile Saint-Louis

Sunday, October 25th, 2009

When it comes to real estate, Parisians tend to settle for good enough. Thankfully enough. For if all Parisians lived where they really wanted to, L’Ile Saint-Louis would most likely drown.

L’Ile Saint-Louis has it all. It is central but isolated, beautiful but discrete, vibrant but quiet. L’Ile Saint-Louis is the essence of Paris. Its nest. Its most charming smile. No Parisian fails to notice that. Parisians are all irremediably in love with that island. Indefectible love it is- the type of love you know will never leave you. A love that ends up defining you.

Crossing that island feels good. Serene elegance is soothing. Beyond beautiful, it simply feels like home. You cross the island reassured. Reassured in beauty. This place seems untouched by the vicissitudes of urban life. This island does float.

Parisians make l’Ile Saint-Louis a destination for simple and timeless pleasures. A bike ride with the children, a kiss with a stranger, a gentle stroll with a spouse. Throughout a Parisian life, L’Ile Saint-Louis becomes, year after year, the theater of times to remember. As if of all bike rides, of all kisses and of all strolls, that very one on l’Ile Saint-Louis was more precious. L’Ile Saint-Louis embellishes moments. It gives every instant more depth and more flavour. L’Ile Saint-Louis makes life worth remembering.

Yet, l’Ile Saint-Louis is not a frequent destination for Parisians. L’Ile Saint-Louis pervades the Parisian’s soul. Its beauty can be a cumbersome companion. There is little time for this. Dispossession of self being no Parisian specialty, the Parisian chooses carefully its Ile Saint-Louis moments. Mostly let’s face it for romantic masterplans or Berthillon expeditions.  But sometimes, the stroll will have no point but itself. La promenade will in that case always be bitter sweet. Time passing by. Parisians like it bitter sweet.

L’Ile Saint-Louis is like a bottle thrown in Paris’ocean. A promenade there is just a way to try and get to the message inside. The message is hard to read. But some words just seem to be there, everytime. Telling us something.

Something about an island, and a continent.

Useful tip: Go late at night
Sound like a Parisian: “Non, vraiment, si j’avais le choix, mon rêve, ca serait d’avoir un appart’ sur l’Ile Saint-Louis”

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Considering Americans stupid

Friday, October 9th, 2009

Disclaimer: Following the many emails I’ve received, I would like to say that this article – just like the rest of this blog for that matter – is trying to be tongue-in-cheek. I am not actually anti-American. I do not think that Americans are all ugly, fat and stupid. I know right… I’m so avant-garde!

Olivier  

Parisians have a bit of a different physiology. Things like a certain inability to smile are quite well known expressions of this phenomenon. Some are much lesser known: an interesting experience when chatting with a Parisian is to place the words ”Les Américains” in a sentence. These two words put together – in any imaginable sentence - immediately trigger a chemical reaction in the Parisian’s brain. When hearing the phrase “Les Américains“, the Parisian will implacably lose track of his previous ideas to just be taken over by one overpowering thought. That is: ”Oui, mais les Américains, ils sont cons“.

There is no exception to that rule. Americans are all stupid. End of the story. The fact that America is the most successful and probably the most creative country in the world should come as no argument. The fact that all Parisians deliberately wear American clothes, watch American movies, listen to American music, use American words or fantacize about American celebrities either. Americans are fat, stupid and ugly. Period.

Parisians who have traveled to the US might have a more moderate opinion: they will view Americans as ”superficial”. Traveling surely makes Parisian more in touch with foreign cultures. ”Les Américains, ils sont hyper superficiels” is a sentence it is impossible not to hear when having a discussion in Paris about America or Americans. Parisians of all classes see every interaction entailing a person from the US as irremediably fake and empty.

The immediate friendliness most Americans display at once sends Parisians insane. “Mais pourquoi ils sourient? Ils sont cons ou quoi ?!” Friendliness, enthusiam and optimism are very American qualities. In Paris, these characteristics are marks of gentle intellectual decay. You do the math. In the Parisian’s mind, Americans are incapable of refinement. Capital Parisian sin. The fact that their vision is based on reality or not has no relevance: of course it is.

Parisians know for a fact that Americans’ exclusive interests are money, sports, war and religion. Americans have no other points of interest in life. No other aspirations. That is good enough a reason for Parisians to concentrate most of their  scorn for the opulence of Western life on America. It’s all America’s fault. It is true after all that Parisians by no means partake in this Western lifestyle.

When bringing to the table that not everyone in a country like America can possibly be stupid, the Parisian usually pulls out the culture card. “Ok, peut-être, mais ils sont complètement incultes, c’est grave quand même“. People saying this fall into two categories – that go across the board. On the one hand, people whose favorite after-work occupations consist of watching CSI , Grey’s Anatomy or Sex and the City. On the other, people who worship Woody Allen and Philip Roth. Parisians are avid consumers of American culture and at the same time fiercely convinced that such a thing does not exist. For as Parisians put it, “Woody Allen, il est pas Américain, il est New-Yorkais”.

It would be impolite at that point to bring to the Parisian’s attention that he starts to sound like the stupid American he despises so much. Plus, despite his obvious in-depth knowledge of America, chances are he might not get the joke…

Useful tip (to Americans coming to Paris): Rest assured, most people interacting with tourists know better. They appreciate Americans’ friendliness and taste for good service (read tips). So you’re in good shape. For optimal Paris experience, just leave your New Balance shoes at home :-) And of course, make sure to save a couple of hours for O Chateau in your busy schedule!
Sound like a Parisian: “Oh my God, it’s amazing!! Ha ha ha“

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Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 80 Comments »

Cherry Tomatoes

Sunday, August 30th, 2009

Louis Armstrong says tomato. No matter what, so does Ella Fitzgerald. Parisians on the other hand, prefer to say cherry tomato.

Parisians are that cool. 

One of the dimensions of cool in Paris implies being over tomatoes. As for all determinants of cool, being over tomatoes is something the Parisian is completely oblivious to. The Parisian happily eats tomatoes, but no longer buys them. When it comes to tomatoes, it seems that cool was a word simply created for the Parisian.

Meet the thrilling cherry tomato. All the qualities of a tomato, minus the defects. When asked “Why cherry tomatoes?”, all Parisians would agree that “J’sais pas, j’aime bien et puis ça change“. Say no more Parisian – change is your passion, we all know that. We understand. Adieu tomate. Bonjour tomate cerise.

Cherry tomatoes are everywhere in Paris. In restaurants, a quarter of a cherry tomato does wonders to decorate a plate. At a supermarket, placing neglectfully une boite de tomates cerises in your cart shows everyone around that you can afford that extra euro. At home, cherry tomatoes have the good taste of needing no slicing. Minimal effort, maximum effect. There is now no inviting friends over for a casual dinner without serving cherry tomatoes as an addition to your apéritif. “C’est tout simple mais c’est sympa, c’est frais“.

This evolution has tragic consequences on the Paris food scene. First collateral victim: la salade de tomates. Cherry tomatoes now make presenting a plate with actual tomatoes in it cheap and passé. RIP salade de tomates. Thankfully enough, the Parisian leaves Paris at times. When his peregrinations take him en province, he may notice that old school tomates still exist there. Making him resolute to give tomatoes a second chance. Organic tomatoes that time.

Needless to say these resolutions won’t last too long in front of the cherry tomatoes shelf. Seductive little things…

Useful tip: Check out http://www.reseau-amap.org/
Sound like a Parisian: “J’ai invité Nico et Elisa pour l’apéro. Tu peux passer chez Monop s’te plait?! Tu prends une bouteille de rosé, un peu de saucisson et des tomates cerises. Moi, je me grouille, je passe à la boulangerie avant que ça ferme!“

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Les Belges

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

Parisians are all high flying anthropologists. They know about other people and about other countries. Expertly enough, they manage to synthesize their in-depth knowledge about the people of any given country down to one adjective. This adjective cannot be challenged. Thus proving that it is accurate.

As an example, Americans are stupid, Portuguese are hairy, Vietnamese are Chinese, and Belgians are sympa… ”Ils sont sympas les belges!” To cheer a Parisian up, there is nothing like mentioning the word “belge“. Immediately, a joyful and smily heap of thoughts will invade the Parisian’s mind.

The Parisian will be transported to a world of accents, of moules frites and of people laughing. At this point, the Parisian will most likely come up with a silly sentence delivered with with a poor Belgian accent. He will most likely end that sentence with the phrase “une fois“. “Mah tu n’es pas un peu con, une fois…” Very rarely in his life will he be as happy as right after he comes up with such a sentence. Genuine Parisian bliss.

Parisians never crack a Belgian joke. Too risky for their image. But they love les Belges even more as they can consider them through that comforting buffer of superiority that decades of Belgian jokes have established precisely at the border between France and Belgium. This buffer of superiority is emphasized by the Belgians’ drinking habits (“tu veux une bière, une fois?!”). Parisians truly look down on anyone that drinks. Interestingly enough, this perception is slightly amended for les Belges. Parisians find their drinking habits if not cute at least typical – and ultimately quite entertaining. The fact that a Belgian could be sad or not joyful is not something the Parisian is ready to cope with. Belgians are joyful, generally drunk and speak with a funny accent.

Period.

Parisians love spending time with Belgians. But these moments can only be occasional. The Parisian who spends time with Belgians runs the risk of gaining some form of light-heartenedness. Parisians know better than hedging such a risk. Social threat.

Two elements tarnish what otherwise would be a true perfect relationship for the Parisian. One – that half of the Belgians are Dutch (for Les Hollandais, ils sont chiants). Two – this habit the other half of Belgians have to use savoir for pouvoir. As in: “Tu saurais me passer le sel, s’il te plaît”. Other Belgian phrases amuse Parisians. This one makes them cringe. All the more so as the Belgian won’t change this habit – even when asked to do so by a Parisian. Disrepectful Belgians after all? The Parisian prefers to see them as children – “de grands enfants” (disrespectful being something the Parisian can never be).

On top of the favorite topics talked about with a Belgian ranks Belgian politics. The Parisian knows nothing about Belgian politics except for the fact that the country is about to burst. The Parisian knows that for sure. And that’s all the Belgian politics he wants to talk about. The only relevant question in Belgian politics to the Parisian is : when is Belgium becoming a part of France? At this point, le Belge usually says something about Brittany or Corsica. Then the Parisian gets offended. And talks about sex scandals in Belgium or Johnny Hallyday.

In no time at all, a Parisian with the best intention in the world turned a cloudless relationship into an embarassing fight scene. Had the Parisians stuck to his initial ‘entertain me, Belgian man’ ways, things would have been just fine.

Really, good intentions and Parisians don’t seem to work well together. Une fois.

Useful tip: Read les BDs Le Chat, by Belgian, kind and talented Philippe Geluck - funny stuff.
Sound like a Parisian: “On a rencontré des Belges en vacances, hyper sympa… tu vois, elle, bon humour, sympa, lui, gros déconneur, très sympa aussi. Parc contre, qu’est-ce qu’ils picolent!!”

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Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 51 Comments »

Moderation

Monday, July 20th, 2009

If qualities were diseases, moderation would be the Parisian plague.

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…”

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Posted in Stuff Parisians Like | 42 Comments »

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