Bastille Day Saturday Night Fever: “it’s raining men” on the Champs-de-Mars

Last night, in honor of the celebrations of the 14 July—France’s Bastille or Independence Day— huge disco ball was dangled from the Eiffel Tower.

“It kind of makes the Eiffel Tower look like a Christmas tree,” said my friend, after careful study of  the site.

We had time to take in the scene at the Eiffel Tower—like hoards of French and lucky tourists who happened to be in Paris for the celebrations, we had parked ourselves a few hours before the start of the disco-themed fireworks with a picnic and a (hidden) bottle of wine of the iconic lawn of the Champs de Mars.

Finally, the hour was upon us. Everyone stood up and as the first explosions lit up the night sky, we were blasted with disco music blared over loudspeakers.

To my surprise, those gathered to celebrate the most French of holidays were blasted with … “It’s Raining Men,” sung gustily in English.

We counted. During the 30 minute spectacle, only six of the 27 songs played were in French.

And it was “YMCA,” and not Dalida’s “Laissez-moi danser” that actually got the crowd dancing.

*

This is interesting because France guards the artistic production of its natives fiercely—for example, an amendment to a 1994 broadcasting law states that 40% of music played on the radio during prime listening hours has to be in French. Ever wonder why France has such a big culture of independent films? Generous government funding for in-house production.

Looking for answers, I gave the magician behind the spectacle a call.

Jean-Eric Ougier is France’s firework king. He caught the bug in his youth in the town of Annecy, known to be France’s firework capital. The pyrotechnics master went on to found the society Festivals and Fire (Fêtes et Feux) and has been behind France’s most illustrious displays put on by theme parks (Disneyland Paris) and towns alike. This is the fourth year running that he has orchestrated the fireworks.

He said that it is the city who decides the theme each year.  The year they were bidding for the Olympics, they hosted an Olympic-themed display. Another year, the pyrotechnic celebration highlighted Paris’ liberation after WWII.

“The city wanted the celebration to be, above all, joyous and festive,” he said. “They wanted to give the impression that this feeling would continue even after the day.”

Ougier worked with two young DJs to create the disco mash-up.

“We needed songs with emotion,” he said. “’Last Dance’ is a great example. We listened carefully for tonality and rhythm.”

But he also wanted to speak to the audience.

“I wanted them to find themselves in the music, to lose themselves,” he said.

I admitted that I, too, was dancing in the audience. But I wanted to ask him about the language issue.

“Well, the funny this is, I found out that even the top French artists of the era recorded disco music in English!” he said. “So we didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

He still included numerous French artists in the spectacle including Patrick Juvet and Sheila B. Devotion, and the grand finale was coordinated to “Où sont les femmes?” by French songster Claude François.

Ougier did tell me of one exception to the rule he found (and incorporated into his spectacle) was “La Vie en Rose”… the Edith Piaf favorite sung in French and set to a disco beat by Jamaican artist Grace Jones.

*

So how did the French react to this display? I started asking around.

“There is absolutely no relation between the French national holiday and the Bee Gees,” said Anissa, a journalist in Paris, scoffed, though she admitted the spectacle was beautiful.

Nicolas, a graduate student in sociology at La Sorbonne, agreed.

“July 14 has really lost its symbolic sense for most French,” said Nicolas. “Initially, it was supposed to commemorate the transformation of a political and social era in France. These days, it is just another bank holiday like any other. It is no longer a day to celebrate French identity… it is far from that.”

But opinions varied. Martine, age 60, loved the show.

“Disco is really in fashion here,” she said, letting on that she had celebrated her last birthday on a disco-themed cruise on the Seine.

Interestingly enough, the first spectacle attendees quoted in an article by French left-wing paper La Libération were two American sisters, who gushed over the colors and lights… in English.

*

But even if the music had an American flavor, Ougier assured me that the culture of fireworks is very important to the French identity.

“Pyrotechnics are a big part of our holidays, but it is also something that we sell tickets  to, that people attend like they attend concerts,” he said. “If I could, I’d export this magic and success to every other country.”

And with that, he went back to the day of dismantlement and planning for “the biggest firework display in Europe” set to happen on the banks of the Seine on September 8^th of this year.

Marion gets… “the best internship ever”

“Um… best internship ever,” said my political junkie friend when I asked him what he thought of Marion Maréchal-Le Pen’s recent election into the legislature.

Of course, Marion doesn’t actually have an internship. She has a real job. The pretty 22-year-old law student and member of the National Front went from class representative to… representative in the national assembly in last week’s election.

I found a quote in the Guardian about the frontrunner for the Icelandic election, 37-year-old journalist Thóra Arnórsdóttir, that fit perfectly with the press surrounding Marion Maréchal-Le Pen.

“She’s young and blonde,” Svavar Halldórsson (Thóra’s husband) shrugged, “so we knew there would be a lot of attention.”

Ditto for France. Marion and her pretty smile has held all the cameras since her election in Carpentras (Vaucluse). She was, of course, the starring portrait in a photo slideshow entitled “The pretty faces of the national assembly,” published by French liberal journal Libération.

But note the plural: “pretty faces.”

While she is exceptionally young, Marion isn’t the only youngster (or newbie) to be elected in this election cycle. The French people voted in 234 new representatives… 38% of the legislature.  Fifteen of 17 representatives of the Green Party are new.

Yet the party with the biggest wave of new faces is the Socialists, who have 154 newbies joining the legislature for the new time. There are actually a lot of young women in their thirties and forties representing the party.

One notable one? Pouria Amirshahi, age 40, is the elected representative of French living outside of France.  She is also the national secretary of human rights in the Socialist party.

Politics

The huge wave of Socialists in the legislature reinforces Socialist president Hollande’s mandate. In a sea of European countries governed by the right, France has called for something different. I think that also explains the number of youngsters in office… France was calling for change.

But the same dissatisfaction with Sarkozy’s regime has caused other voters to turn in another direction. Marion’s far-right extremist party the National Front is back in the national assembly for the first time in 24 years.

You might have recognized Marion’s last name… Le Pen. She is the next in the far-right Le Pen dynasty… her grandfather founded the party and her aunt, Marine Le Pen, arrived in third place in the presidential elections. Far right politics is as integral to the Le Pen family as… Grandma’s meatloaf or Grandpa’s homemade chocolate cookies for the rest of us. Marion’s parents actually met in the youth party movement.

Interestingly enough, Marine Le Pen did not win a seat in the legislature. Instead, even FN voters seem to want change. Not that they strayed too far…

The other elected representative of the FN is Gilbert Collard, a close friend to Marine Le Pen. As representative of le Gard, he said he wants to be “a pain in the ass for democracy.”*

This kind of statement may make liberals extremely happy that Malek Boutih, the former president of SOS Racisme, also has a seat in the legislature.

* In French, the rather rude term is actually “casse-couilles,” which translates literally as a “ball-breaker.” I went with “pain in the ass” because “ball-breaker” has a different connotation in English.

Trierweiler’s tweet (and France’s collective moan.)

Tags

blog, celebrity, election, elections, france, Francois Hollande, French elections, French politics, internet, journalism, le figaro, Nicolas Sarkozy, paris, peopolitisation, politics, Sarkozy, Ségolène Royal, travel, travel writing, twitter

By now, the story is all over the place. The companion of the new French president has been tweeting messages against her man’s ex, who is running in today’s legislative elections.

OMG.

It is pretty scandalous, as is the fact that former first lady Carla Bruni is looking a little bit chubbs lately (according to my boss at the celebrity site where I work.)

We might be used to this kind of thing in the states (‘Did Michelle Obama REALLY wear that dress ?’) but it is actually a new phenomenon in France. One so counter traditional French political culture that it has a name: ‘peopolitisation.’ The word is a combination of ‘people’ (the term widely used by French to talk about anything celebrity) and ‘politique’ (politician) and basically means the culture of turning politicians into celebrities. It is such a big deal that No. 1 newspaper Le Figaro even has a blog about it.

Opinions vary, but for my friend Emilie*, a well-known political journalist and correspondent, this recent trend can be pinned down to a precise moment. It was during Sarkozy’s first campaign for president. His son, who was just a little boy at the time, appeared to endorse his campaign, saying something super cute like ‘Vote for my papa.’

No biggie in the US. I went to a Kansas City rally for Obama before he even announced he was running and remember vividly a little girl climbing on stage and talking about how she’d feel if he were ever to run for president. But that is the US. We are used to tangling celebrity life and political life. In the US, Bill Clinton was asked, under oath, if he was having an affair with Monica Lewinsky. In France, beloved French president François Mitterrand had a mistress and an illegitimate daughter, who came to his funeral and stood next to his wife Danielle. French people just didn’t mix the two.

…And then came Sarkozy. He may have been influenced a bit by British Prime Minister Tony Blair, the young, photogenic European leader who earned a bit of celebrity status during his time in office. But Sarkozy soon put even Blair to shame: right from the beginning of his entry into presidential politics, Sarkozy’s high-living and personal dramas were making headlines. And I mean immediately. As in he threw a raucous and extravagant election victory party at a Champs Elysée restaurant… that he is still apologizing for years later (“If that is all I have to apologize for during my years as president, I’d say that’s a pretty good record.” Cough.)

Emilie gave me a whirlwind hilarious history of various events in the Sarko years, but a big one is that Sarkozy is the only president to have divorced in office. And then he started running around with that leggy former model Carla Bruni.

Emilie’s father has never forgiven Sarkozy for the cringe-worthy moment when he said ‘Carla and I, it’s serious stuff.’

To him, Sarkozy seemed  less like a president and more like a teenager stamping his foot and insisting he’s serious about the girl he’s neglecting his homework for.

Fast forward to the 2011-2012 campaign season. Carla is now Mrs. Bruni-Sarkozy. And just before the start of campaign season, Sarkozy and Carla had a baby, Giulia (‘Surprising,’ said Emilie. ‘I was so sure they’d time it for election day.’)

Sure, French people read all the articles about Giulia’s birth, but they were getting weary of  all this. There are a lot of people like Emilie’s father.

This is one reason that people may have voted in François Hollande—who won his presidency thanks to a lot of supporters… and a lot of anti-Sarkozyists.

People called him ‘Mr. Normal.’ It might not sound all that great, but for a lot of French, it beat ‘Mr. Bling.’

‘Dallas’ in the presidential palace

But people seemed to be forgetting something. Actually, Hollande has a suuuper complicated love life. As in, his ex-wife (and the mother of his children), Ségolène Royal, is also a Socialist politician. And Ségolène ran against Sarkozy the first time around. Plus, she is still in politics (talk about awkward.)

There were a few rough moments during Hollande’s campaign like when he made a video of key Socialists in the party’s history… and neglected to mention Ségolène, the only female candidate to ever make it to the second round of elections.

ANYWAY, Hollande’s new companion is Valérie Trierweiler, a well-known journalist. Though they are ‘serious stuff,’ they aren’t married… making Hollande the only unmarried French president ever.

I’m actually surprised there hasn’t been drama before this. Hollande’s life sort of seems like a stack of loose kindling waiting for a match.

Enter Twitter.

Last week, Valérie used her Twitter account to endorse Olivier Falorni, a legislative candidate from La Rochelle running in today’s election. Fair enough. Except that she had endorsed the candidate running against Ségolène (remember, Hollande’s ex Ségolène is still in politics.)

Uh-oh.

A media flurry, which could have been called ‘War of the Exes’ followed.  France groaned, with more than one journalist saying ‘We thought this ended with Sarkozy’s ouster.’

So much for Hollande’s drama-free presidency.

Even Mr. Normal isn’t free from drama in the internet age.

As for Ségolène vs. Valérie, we’ll see after the second round of the legislative elections today if VT’s tweet had any impact on Ségolène’s success.

*Emilie is not Emilie’s real name.

Dog allergies and dirty feet

It was Saturday night and I was on the metro, heading home after a late night. I was tired, I was busy chatting to my friend and there were not many people on the metro at this hour.

Without thinking about it, I put my feet up on the seat across from me.

Aside: Granted, this is in NO way proper. Plenty of moms yell at their children for this. I am definitely not defending my behavior. It was simply the result of many factors, one of them being a sense of casualness that was tied to me, my upbringing, the evening, the company (a good friend from home) and the hour (I was tired.)

I was in the midst of a conversation, but I did notice a man stumble by with an enormous (and very ugly) bulldog in his arms. He literally collapsed into the seat across the aisle from me.

I continued my conversation, mildly wondering about how a creature such as that bulldog came to be, when I heard a loud and rude voice in my ear (speaking in English.)

“WHAT is this?”

I turned and the man (with the ugly bulldog) was staring at me angrily and pointing at my feet.

“Oh, pardon, excusez-moi,” I said, straightening my posture and pulling my feet down. I was kind of embarrassed, but mostly I was shocked by the violence in the man’s tone.

“Are you American?” he said, fuming. He was still speaking in English marked with a heavy French accent.

I bristled. I may have been doing something inappropriate, but this was my burden to bear, not my country’s. Besides, what kind of question is that?

“Non,” I said in French (I wasn’t lying, just half-truthing as I am also a British citizen.) I continued in French to say that I hadn’t meant any harm, I was simply not paying attention.

The man continued his angry rant, still in English. He fumed at the slight dust marks on the seat and how I had no respect for anyone else on earth.

“Did you even think about other people?”

I continued to accept I had made an error and apologize, always in French. I even used my hands to clean off the dust. By now, everyone in the metro was watching the situation progress.

His tirade continued and I started to feel both angry and humiliated. I had said I was sorry, I had remained calm and I had used my hands to wipe off the seat. Moreover, I resented his use of English (he refused to speak to me in French even though I was making an effort to show that I wasn’t just a dumb American tourist.)

I decided to ignore him. I turned to my friend and continued talking to her. He muttered some more rude things about me and my countrymen. I was now fuming. I had made a mistake, but I didn’t deserve this level of degradation.

Just as we were pulling up to our station, I had an idea. I stood up and addressed the man and his ugly bulldog. I spoke very loudly and clearly in French for benefit of the (many) interested onlookers.  “Just so you know, sir, I have extreme allergies to dogs. Did you ever think about other people when you chose to take your dog in the metro?”

I ended with a resounding, “Have a very nice evening.”

The doors opened and I flounced out.

*

I was kind of proud of myself (especially at nailing the perfect timing) but still angry.

The next day, I told the story to Luke (my family friend and former professor, who was leading a study abroad to Paris), his wife and co-director Mary-Anne and his students.

Funnily enough, the students chimed in with a similar experience from the same day.

They had been touring the infamous Père Lachaise cemetery and had taken a moment to stop and picnic. It was a lovely day and Père Lachaise is shady and green.

I think they were thinking of Père Lachaise as a tourist destination. Fair enough. But they had forgotten something, which a very indignant woman helped them to remember when she came up to them and practically yelled “This is a cemetery. A cemetery!” while gesturing at their spread.

She continued to tell them that a picnic was unacceptable. They hastily packed up, only to see her pull a sandwich out of her purse and start munching.

*

Luke’s answer to it all was that there is a fundamental and irreconcilable difference between Americans and the French.

Mary Anne’s answer was that the bull dog man and cemetery woman must be siblings.

I agree with both of them (in a way). You can’t take a story like this and make a sweeping generalization about French people. But, it is the multitude of such stories that give the French (and especially Parisians) a disagreeable reputation.

Here is what Luke and I discussed: At the base of French culture is an idea of tradition. There is also a hearty tradition of commenting on other people’s decisions and choices and offering your advice (which is, of course, always the best solution.)

This creates an issue with any American. In the US, we bristle at anyone who infringes on our individuality and we don’t like being bossed around.

And voilà, we have the start of a culture clash.

I have been able to live relatively happily in this culture by turning these clashes into stories and laughing at both ends of the spectrum. But this wasn’t always the case. I used to get really upset at French people telling me what to do and what not to do. Now, I can take a step back and both recognize and giggle about this “bossy” nature.

I mean, it does make for good stories.

 

 

So, a short confession…

Tags

american, culture, fashion, france, Girl, journalism, journalist, paris, summer

So, I have to take back something I said.

Remember the shorts post?

Well, the day after I published my rant, the sun came out in Paris and so did the legs.

I promise you that I am not exaggerating. I published my post and, feeling quite satisfied, headed out the door and off to work. I cross a park on my way to work and, as I walked, I noticed something bizarre. Where there had been no shorts before, suddenly there was an abundance!

Since then, I have seen lots and lots of shorts in lots of shapes, sizes, colors and materials.

I am still puzzling about how my initial reaction could have been so off… off enough to devote an entire blog post to something that turns out to not be the case.

Here is what I think. (Basically, I have two theories.)

My first theory is that France and French fashion is just a lot more tied to seasons. Shorts don’t come out before really good, summery weather. (Maybe there is even a mysterious start of the shorts date. I don’t know.)

The other possibility that came to mind is a big difference between men in Paris and men in my region of the US. Fact is, staring is a LOT more common here. So is catcalling, comments, etc. But the staring is the worst and it can make a girl from the Midwestern United States feel like she has been reduced to a piece of meat… a filet mignon perhaps, as we are in France.

Perhaps it was a combination of the above. In any case, I just wanted to come clean on this mistake. Not only are shorts accepted during summer in Paris, they are a fashion must and are appearing in all different trendy styles this season.

Working the bridge

Tags

Cannes, Cannes Film Festival, culture, france, Girl, holiday, journalism, journalist, paris, travel, travel writing, work

It was a Wednesday evening in the midst of Cannes and I had worked ridiculously late. Stuck in the office, glued to a computer screen, I had completely missed out on the glorious weather sweeping Paris.

It may have been dark when I was leaving my office, but the weather was still perfect. The idea of going home (and to bed) seemed too depressing. I just couldn’t bear not to profit from it, if only for a few minutes.

Thus, Wednesday or not, I soon found myself in one of my favorite Parisian bars. They had opened all the doors and windows and moved tables to the outside sidewalk.

I was surprised to find that, Wednesday or not, the bar was absolutely packed.

A friend came up to say hi and, by way of a conversation starter, said in French: “Are you making the bridge?”

My immediate reaction was something like… “Huh?”

I wracked my tired brains to figure out what she meant. This friend knew very well that I work as a journalist. Granted, a career in journalism can mean lots of things… but not usually construction work.

After a few long seconds of furrowed brows, I finally figured out what she was talking about.

The next day, Thursday, was a national holiday (aha, I thought… that explains why the bar is packed.) “Making the bridge” means that you take the Friday off, meaning that you suddenly have a long weekend.

I don’t know if this translates to any system outside of the France. In France, May is marked by national holidays. Almost every week is shortened by a national holiday. The French get work off to celebrate Labor Day (May 1), Pentecost and everything in between.

Even better, May this year has seen a wave of glorious weather. In France, May means that people rush to parks, picnic spots, restaurants and bars. People tend to look happy, relaxed and sun-kissed.

Except me and my co-workers, of course (we are looking rather pale, tubby and peakish.)

I broke the news to my friend that not only did I work Friday, I was also working on the national holiday. She looked shocked (in France, very very very few people work the national holidays). I explained to her that my life had been consecrated to Cannes coverage.

She practically gasped (national holidays are sacred in France.)

“It’ll be okay,” I assured her. “I’ll make up for it in June.”

I spent a few blissful hours unwinding with my friends before heading home. I ripped myself away from the festivities and headed back to real life. My friends waved to me like I was heading off to war.

“Bon courage,” they shouted.

The party was still full steam ahead.

For young people in Paris, national holiday is synonymous with party. Knowing everyone will be able to sleep off hangovers the next day, bars throw big “soirées” and young people stay out all night.

True to form, when I went jogging the next day, I had to pass through a crowd of people emerging ragged from an all night nightclub.

They blinked at me (and the emerging daylight.)

“The Festival of Kilos”

Tags

Cannes, Cannes Film Festival, celebrity, chocolate, diet, eva longoria, food, foodie, france, freida pinto, Girl, gourmande, ines de la fressange, journalism, journalist, kilos, L'Oréal, macaron, paris, pastry, red carpet

Pre-Cannes, we were warned of several things. One, that it was going to be intense. Two, that we were going to be working long hours for ten days straight (no weekends, no national holidays (of which there happen to be two during the following ten days.)) Three, that there would be chocolate.

Here is a (humorous, yet entirely nonfiction account) of what it is like to cover ten days straight of breaking news.

TUESDAY, MAY 15

6 pm: It is the day before the Cannes International Film Festival kicks off and the day that the English language Web site is launched. Things were feeling a bit heavy. In a moment of stress, the first tablet of chocolate (dark, with orange) was ceremoniously opened and passed around our team. My boss held up three more large bars of chocolate (“Don’t worry, I have been getting ready.”)

WEDNESDAY, MAY 16

Cannes officially starts and the German, Italian and Spanish editions of the Web site kick off.

As a result, at some point during the day, the chocolate on my bosses desk gets passed around. (dark with flecks of almonds and milk something or others)

3 pm: One person next to me cracks and gets potato chips from the vending machine. The sound of crunching inspires a veritable wave of journalists migrating to the machines. It is as big of a trend as long trained dresses on the 2012 Cannes red carpet.

Speaking of which, starting at 5ish, Eva Longoria, Freida Pinto, Fan Bingbing and Jane Fonda (some of the spokespersons of the official sponsor of Cannes, French make-up giant L’Oréal) debark on the red carpet at Cannes, Bérénice Béjo leads the opening ceremonies and Moonrise Kingdom (a Wes Anderson Film) is shown.

9:45 pm: Someone remembers that tomorrow is a bank holiday and no stores (or delivery services) will be open. We will be working, of course, while the rest of the French frolic. My neighbor resigns herself to leftover pizza for the next several meals (I, luckily, have stuff in my cupboards to tide me over.)

THURSDAY, MAY 17

Most French are sleeping in and relaxing today as it is a national holiday. The folks at Cannes (and those reporting from Paris) are, nevertheless, full steam ahead.

2 pm: My boss’ husband and her baby son stop by with a homemade chocolate cake, a super sweet way to compensate us for the work on a national holiday.

4 pm: The fact that the cake is there does not stop me from asking my neighbor for another square of dark chocolate.

The film Rust and Bone is on show at Cannes. The film stars Marion Cotillard, a French darling. L’Oréal spokeswomen Jane Fonda, Eva Longoria, Fan Bingbing and Freida Pinto are joined by Ines de la Fressange, a French designer and model, on the red carpet.

I have also noted that the number of conversations about weight gain are growing exponentially as the days continue.

FRIDAY, MAY 18

Things getting really intense at Cannes. I can tell. When I arrive, there is a bag of puffy French pastries sitting on the table.

I subsequently publish an interview with Eva Longoria in which she talks about her “sugar-free diet.” Shortly after lunch, I ask my neighbor for a square of chocolate.

3:30 pm: My supevisor arrives with an enormous box of macarons in fruity flavors.

4 pm: Weight gain conversations continue. “I gained 4 kilos last year,” recounts one passing journalist. I first hear Cannes referred to as “Festival of Kilos.”

5 pm: “Anyone want a cookie?” my neighbor says.

In the evening, Madagascar 3 is on screen at Cannes and Jessica Chastain and Jada Pinkett Smith are ruling the red carpet. Eva Longoria is throwing a charity dinner. I’m guessing that she won’t be eating dessert.

To be continued…

Red carpet, red carpet

Tags

american, Cannes, Cannes Film Festival, culture, expat, france, Francois Hollande, French election, French politics, french president, french presidential election, Girl, journalist, newsroom, paris, politics, red carpet

France is turning into one big red carpet and I feel like I am standing in the center of it. Ok, not on the center of it.

A more accurate statement would be that I have spent endless hours looking at red carpets to write about who is on them.

Here is what I mean. This week’s Press Review by French radio station RFI was called “François Hollande sur le tapis rouge,” (“François Hollande on the red carpet”). This is because on Monday, a huge red carpet was rolled out in front of the French presidential palace and Hollande, the newly-elected Socialist president, who just won a close race for office, was sworn in.

I kind of felt teary-eyed at the end of the French election, as this event has defined my time in Paris. One of the first articles I wrote for Le Figaro in English was about François Hollande winning the Socialist candidacy back in October. During my six months at Le Figaro, I took a crash course in French politics and got to learn the very intricacies of the election and electoral system.

So, this week, France is beginning a new chapter and so am I.

I finished my incredible internship at Le Figaro a few weeks ago. Thanks to an amazing series of events, I began a new job immediately. I changed worlds, going from hard-hitting political journalism to the world of beauty and fashion. I went from the most renowned political newspaper and the frenzy of the elections to one of the largest celebrity and glamor Web sites, which was in the midst of preparing for the frenzy of Cannes.

If I have disappeared for a bit from constant blog posts, it is because I have been launching a Web site for my new job. I am in charge of all content for the English-language version of the site, which means I write articles myself, delegate subjects and edit and proof other people’s articles. Today, for example, I found myself writing the note to a journalist: “Bérénice Béjo always wears the same eyeliner outlining her eyes and pale pink lip gloss no matter what the occasion.. be it Oscars, interviews, whatever (I did an article on it). So, since we already have that article, just reference it. I were you, I’d focus more on her hair at Cannes. Luscious waves and what not.”

So, on Monday, François Hollande was officially sworn into office… Tuesday, the red carpet web site I will be managing debuted on the Web and Wednesday, the red carpet was unrolled at Cannes and I began the mad work of covering it.

Some things are the same (the lack of lunch breaks and long hours, the thrill of publishing breaking news). There is also camaraderie and large amounts of chocolate eaten. And there are definite differences. Example. I never left Le Figaro with my hands covered with lipstick after checking all of our product samples to if I could identify what shade a star was wearing. (Metallic coral was the shade in the end.)

My life is pretty surreal these days.

Just to say it, I never saw myself doing this kind of thing. And it is not really my world at all. But life is full of crazy twists, turns and surprises. (As Sarkozy discovered) and I appreciate the glimpse into it.

All in all, when I have a moment to breathe, I think about how incredibly lucky I am to be in Paris for these events. Covering them has put me on a crash course to understanding both journalism (à la française) in all its diverse forms. Moreover, looking at in-depth at these events so important to the French gives me a better understanding of the many sides of French culture and a window on the events that define it.

Shorts spotting

Tags

american, culture, dress, expat, fashion, france, Girl, paris, shorts, skirts, summer

I walked into the kitchen at my new workplace and saw something that made me start.

Shorts.

Real-life shorts.

And pretty short shorts, too!

Yes, there was a girl inside the shorts, so I couldn’t really stare, but I was still overwhelmed by this rare sighting.

Here’s thing thing: shorts (and legs in general) are rarely seen in France.

While even the British royal family is opening up to bare legs (Kate Middleton just made waves by wearing a slitted dress with hose-less legs) yet France holds strong against this.

Funnily enough, just the night before, I was having a shorts chat with a Venezuelan friend. Both of us Americans were complaining about the veiling of legs in France, which becomes more and more noticeable as summer approaches.

“Have you noticed that French girls wear tights with everything?” my friend asked. “Sun dresses, shorts, pants, everything…”

And it is true. French girls should practically paint on black tights. They go SUNBATHING in black tights. 

I don’t have anything against tights. I like them a lot, actually. I have always adored dresses and skirts and so I spent a good majority of the winter in dresses, tights and boots. 

What I don’t like is that even the smallest amount of leg seems to provoke rather extreme reactions in France. 

For example, one day a few weeks ago, I showed up for work at Le Figaro in a decently long dress with nude tights. I found out that the sole act of changing the color of my tights (from black to nude) rendered the whole experience really awkward. Example: several women asked me pointedly if I was cold and kept bringing it up. I felt terribly self-conscious, after feeling terribly spring-like only minutes before. 

I have had similar (or worse) experiences in the street. Men stare pointedly and, if they are that type, they’ll hoot and holler a little to emphasize their manliness. Altogether it is uncomfortable and objectifying and not what I expected to encounter in this European capital.  

The thing is, this whole experience really shows cultural differences. I am not a provocative dresser. By my American standards, nothing about my outfits on the hoot-n-holler days are raunchy. Really. My dress length is conservative and my legs were covered, albeit by nude tights. I am not your stereotypical tourist who hollers low-cut and long legs. 

I am also culturally conscious. When I traveled in Senegal, for example, I was really careful about dressing (interestingly enough, in West Africa, legs are also the issue. Shoulders and cleavage… no prob. But a little bit o’ shin can get a lot of looks.)

Still, I expected that in Africa. But I didn’t expect to have the same issue in France. I was warned by a French friend before I left that some of my shorter dresses should probably not make it into my suitcase. Fair enough. Besides, I was off to work for a conservative, old-school newspaper. 

Since the nude tights experience, I have been paying a lot of attention to this difference. I check out girls legs in the metro and in parks. Skin spotting is very rare, I’ll tell you that much. I really became aware of the difference when I visited my sister in southern Spain. People wore color and she slipped on shorts without a thought about it. I’m sure the weather has something to do with it, but it is also clearly cultural. 

So that is why I was so surprised to see shorts at my new work place. But I should have expected it. First off, the weather is getting better. Secondly, the differences between Le Figaro and my new workplace are striking and clothes are just one way in which these differences manifest. But that is worthy of another blog post.

For now, I’ll stick with this cultural gleaning. In France, bare legs (this includes nude tight and hose) are not always welcome in conservative environments. They should certainly be avoided in areas with large immigrant populations, as many of these groups have even more conservative dress codes.

I’ll keep you posted for this summer.  I have already noticed more nude hose than ever before (I forgot to mention that the shorts that I saw at work were worn with nude tights) but we’ll see if the good weather brings changes to dress style or not.

Post-election vibe

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american, election, france, Francois Hollande, french, French politics, french president, french presidential election, Girl, journalist, Nicolas Sarkozy, travel, travel writing

When I wrote about the first round of the French elections, I wrote about a collective hangover hanging over the French people the day after.

Not so with the second tour.

On Sunday, socialist candidate Hollande sailed into victory. Results were announced at 8 p.m. and the party was still going on at 3 a.m., with people singing and dancing in the streets.

It was almost unheard of post-election folly for France.

The exuberance was still going strong on Monday morning. Today dawned with a new president and the sentiment in Paris was exuberant, fresh, excited.

The “Change is Now” feeling seemed to be pretty universal.

Yes, I am sure there were some very unhappy rightwing people who woke up grumpy in Paris today. But I don’t think they left their houses (maybe in mourning) because I didn’t really cross many people with sour faces. Instead, I encountered more people like the incredible man pushing his bicycle across the Place de la Bastille. I stopped him to ask him about the party that had taken place in the square the night before (thousands of Hollande’s supporters gathered to celebrate the first socialist presidential victory in over thirty years.)

“You know, I voted for Sarkozy but I am glad that Hollande won,” he said.

“Really?” I said. He seemed to be an awfully good loser.

“Yeah, because it shows democracy is working.”

Sarkozy’s supporters seemed resigned but not depressed (one Sarkozy-supporting friend of mine dryly posted on Facebook “And now… Le Figaro becomes the newspaper of the opposition,” while another complained he “always seemed to vote for the loser.”) Even the stock market wasn’t too bothered– but the end of the day, the Paris Stock Market had gained points (the last time a Socialist was elected in France, investors panicked.)

While Sarkozy’s supporters seemed ambivalent, Hollande supporters were downright glowing. People were eager to recount the “craziness” of the night before and their excitement for the future.

“I have never seen anything like it,” said a die-hard Hollande fan.

There may not be a large number of die-hard Hollande fans (a lot more of his support probably comes from die-hard anti-Sarkozy voters or die-hard Mélenchon supporters who settled for someone on the Left), but people seemed content and ready to move on.