Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Les femmes françaises.


Since declaring my French major and introducing this culture as a main focus of my attentions and studies, I have often found a mysterious fascination with French women among my fellow Americans. Whether they’re referring to the heroic life of Jeanne d’Arc or the daring fashions of Coco Chanel, I believe many Americans, especially woman, romanticize the idea of who French women are and what they look like. From what I have observed, French women are often categorized into the following traits: beautiful. fancy. skinny. fashionable. great in bed. lead romantically simple lives. confident but submissive. are all mistresses. So what am I supposed to think when Americans confuse me for a French native?

I can’t exactly prove if those are true or not, partially because that would require the time and efforts of answering greater questions about what makes a woman French and what French nationality really is, and partially because I don’t have the resources of observing solely “French” women – living in one of the most multicultural cities in Europe, many women I meet are not French by birth.

I have, however, made a list of observations and thoughts in response to America’s perception of French women.


DISCLAIMER: As a feminist writer, I am eager to understand and translate the culture here in France with regards to women. I have no specific thesis or aim, however, thus making my observations and unofficial research difficult. In my writing I have made many generalizations, even though I personally find generalizations to be potentially damaging and offensive. That being said, when I speak of “American women” and “French women,” I am making very sweeping generalizations that I very well understand are not applicable to every woman living in one of these two countries.  


1.) Beauty and self-image.
One of the first things I noticed about French women was that I have never seen them look at the ground when they walk. For someone who habitually tenses her shoulders, stares at her feet, and attempts to take up as little space as possible, I was impressed by the confidence that exudes from these women.

Most wear little to no makeup. I could probably count the number of times on one hand that I’ve seen a French woman with hair that looked like she did more than brush it and/or throw it up in a bun. And while they of course take care of themselves, I have never seen this obsession that many American women have with waxing and cuticle care and eyelash extensions and looking exactly like the photoshopped size zero models on the cover of their favorite magazine.

Yet these women just shine. There is something about that “so what?” attitude that makes all these women seem incredibly gorgeous. They’re not ashamed of their less-than-perfect teeth or the hair on their arms or the way their body curves (so long as you dress chic, why does it matter?).

I once mentioned to a friend here that I felt so unattractive around French women, to which she responded with a puzzled look, “Eh? Pourquoi? Je ne comprends pas.” [Huh? Why? I don’t understand.] The more time I spent with her, the more I realized that talking about your body or your looks in any bad light is not a topic of conversation among French women. Ever. You are who you are, you look the way you look. No discussion, no problems. Just buy a fabulous outfit with some rockin’ shoes and don’t give a poop about what anyone else thinks – because honestly, no one else is thinking about you the way you think about yourself.   

2.) Fashion.
Yes, those stereotypes are all very real. French women (and I would add men) are incredibly fashionable and they all take it very seriously. There is no such thing as going to the store in your pajamas or owning ill-fitted pants. I’ll give you some advice, in case you ever decide to visit France: if you’re not sure about what to wear to any specific event or place, always dress up – you’ll fit in just fine.

French fashion is perfected in its modesty. Elegant but simple, chic but practical, classic but bold. Dark colors, clean lines, many scarves. But whatever you do, don’t lose your sense of personality and originality in your wardrobe. The “look” that Americans strive for is achieved in the understanding that French women have mastered – your best dress is confidence.

3.) Sex.
I unfortunately have yet to discuss this topic in detail with many French women. The social circles I associate with here in Paris are either not French or are highly religious, which would not accurately represent the majority of the French population.

From what I do understand, sex is seen as an important and healthy part of life, and there are no strict regards to marital status. And while it is not unusual to have many sexual partners, most French women, as with many American women, seem to prefer committing to long-term relationships rather than experiencing sporadic sexual encounters. Fidelity and monogamy are honored and valued in all relationships, much unlike how Hollywood tends to portray French men and women.

4.) Views on life.
A friend and I were once discussing why French women seem so much more confident than American women in almost every aspect of life. Why do French women expect and strive for the best? Why do they not seem to care about anyone’s opinion? What are American women missing?

While I am sure there are no simple answers to these questions, I would venture to argue that these attitudes might be a result of the freedoms and privileges that women enjoy in France that America has yet to reflect in their governmental policies. They enjoy greater access to healthcare, are given much longer allowances for maternity leave, and comprise of almost half of their governing parliament. And although sexism and misogynistic attitudes are certainly present here in France, women experience less violence than in America and enjoy greater freedoms in general. (see: http://www.ambafrance-uk.org/Women-in-French-society-today.html)





So in case you were wondering, I do see it as a compliment when I’m mistaken for a French woman.  

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Montmartre.

Paris is huge. There is so much to see, and I feel like I'm racing against time to partake in all its goodness.

But I just keep coming back to Montmartre.






Montmartre is that place you picture when someone tells you to think of Paris. Cobblestone streets, old Bohemian-style apartments, cafes on every corner. Romantic walkways, ancient churches, small vineyards that have been there for centuries. It's no wonder Montmartre was the home and inspiration to dozens of famous artists and literary legends.

This cafe, La Maison Rose, was a favorite of Pablo Picasso and Gloria Stein.







This is the famed Sacré Cœur Basilica (Sacred Heart Basilica), situated on the highest point in Paris. Rebuilt in the late 1800's, this beautiful edifice has been consecrated by Popes and visited by millions. They discourage photos, but for only 2 euros you can buy an imprinted coin from one of the various machines that dot the interior!






Unfortunately, Montmartre is a popular tourist destination [and no, I do not consider myself a tourist]. They're loud, walk incredibly slow, and many have absolutely no idea how significant this area is to the history of the humanities.
 

Nevertheless, I keep coming back. I can't stop exploring, observing, and loving. And if you visit me, I just might share it with you.

[don't mind the sarcastic face.]

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Le metro.


This.


I could easily name public transportation as one of my favorite aspects of living in Europe. It's fast, reliable, and usually pretty affordable, not to mention that it helps to lower our carbon footprint. And it even sometimes smells like a zoo! So really, it's great.

I ride the Metro here in Paris quite often. I'm talking about spending at least 1-2 hours of my life zipping through the underground tunnels of this city every single day. This obviously gives me a lot of time to think or read or stare or daydream or do all those things at the same time. That time on the Metro is precious to my selfish young mind that only thinks of things in terms of how they directly affect me.

The other day I decided to just watch people. People can be extremely entertaining, and I find it incredibly fascinating that every person you come in contact with has a story you will never read that shaped a personality you will never know. But it's interesting how the Metro seems to be one of the few public places that people can openly express what they're thinking. Some might not agree with me on that, since everyone here seems quite stiff and uncomfortable in environments they can't control. But I truly believe that when you look at someone on the Metro you can tell if they're happy or sad, just content or extremely frustrated, perfectly calm or absolutely crazy. Everyone is so self-absorbed that it seems they can't help but to share the expression they're feeling at that moment. You are allowed to wear any emotion you want on the Metro because it doesn't matter - even if they took the time to notice, you will never see these people again.


The Metro in Paris has a great capacity to be both an enlightening and a disgusting experience simultaneously, but for the most part it's been a blessing. It's definitely become a new hobby and I'm excited what new adventures await me underneath the historic face of this beautiful city.


        

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Mon travail.

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't have an illustrious escape plan designed to take me away from the place I'm obligated to call home.


At 6 years old I told my parents that I wanted to be an archaeologist and shortly thereafter became obsessed with the Mediterranean region history. At 8 I changed my mind and resolved to work on a giant panda reserve in China as a zoologist. Middle school made me seriously consider the medical field, skills that are greatly needed in the Peace Corps program. My teenage years were bent on going to law school to become a human rights lawyer or an ambassador or or or or....

The funny thing about dreaming that is implied in the definition itself [but everyone seems to forget] is that it's not real. Yet. But in the hazy vision of what could be, it's hard to imagine what it actually takes to get there.

After my first semester of college, I was clueless. All I knew was that I wanted to leave America and I didn't care how it happened, which is the least effective way of solving your problems. It wasn't until a sequence of divine events fell onto my life's path that I found my passions for international development. Subsequently I became incredibly obsessed with the French culture and language - something to this day I have never quite understood, but embraced nonetheless. 

Alas, the stars have aligned and I am living in an extremely short version of my fantasy = three months in Paris working in the field of international development.

I intern with a NGO called Sport Sans Frontières. They provide recreational learning and therapy through sports in Haiti, Burundi, Afghanistan, Kosovo, and France. They're looking to open up similarly successful programs in Italy, Brazil, and Canada within the next several years. The office is quaint and simple, boasting of about 10 employees. They all work extremely hard and are obviously dedicated to their cause. I love that about this place and other NGOs I've had the pleasure of volunteering for - people working for and dedicated to a cause and a purpose. I don't show up to work everyday to mindlessly translate documents and call clients and prepare events. I get to be part of something that directly affects the children pictured in the photographs scattered around my office. 


I guess it's just nice to know that I really enjoy this life. I love getting up and going to work. I love using my language and writing skills that I payed thousands of dollars for to help my colleagues. I love living in an exciting city that doesn't care one bit that I've just graced its presence. I love that I know that these past several years of hard work and frustrating times and self-deprecation weren't for nothing - I've tasted a tiny bit of my dream, and as it turns out, I still want it.




Check out this video of Sport Sans Frontières' Playdagogy program!
      

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Oui.

Bonjour mes amis.



There is just TOO MUCH to say, I don't even know where to begin.

I have blisters on my feet from walking so much. I can't figure out how to wash my hair properly under the pathetically weak shower pressure. I'm almost out of underwear and I'm planning on washing them in the sink because I don't know where the Madame's washing machine is and she's never home to ask. I dress super chic every single day for fear I won't fit in and I think I'm still failing. I didn't have time to buy food until yesterday and I've been living off of random people's kindness and crackers I saved from the airplane. I started talking to myself because the only human interaction I have most of the time is making eye contact with people on the metro.

I started an internship with an organization that does something I believe in and I feel like my life is taking direction for once. The members of my Church welcomed me with open arms and showed me a perfect example of what it means to be a part of a worldwide community of people striving to be like Christ. I've found myself getting lost in the streets of Paris and discovering the most beautiful places I would never have known about. The weather here is a perfect "slightly chilly" sweater temperature. I now know how it feels to stroll along the Seine while listening to Edith Piaf, and it was just how I imagined it. I just bought a pair of green pants for 10 euros.


I caught my reflection in a window today. And for the first time in a long time, I looked radiant. Take that for what you will, vanity or egoism or what have you. But that is what is was. I was exuding a foreign confidence that made my eyes shine and my normally sour face look pleasant.

I think I am very happy.

[cue the obligatory backyard selfie]

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Premier jour.

Ok ok ok ok ok.

Listen. I'm in Paris right now. And it is extremely overwhelming and scary and exciting and beautiful and everything good and wonderful.

But let me tell you the story.

So after two exhausting and sleepless flights, I arrived in Paris. I grabbed my bags and headed out the door only to find that NO ONE WAS PICKING ME UP. At this moment, I became incredibly grateful for my mission in Germany. Indeed, I am sure that my whole mission was just preparation for this moment, because instead of panicking or having a mental breakdown that I try to hide nonchalantly (my usual go-to method), I sat down, pulled out my new cell phone, and called my host family. I let them know I was coming, hung up, and went straight to the Metro. I had also printed out a map of how to walk to their house from the Metro stop, so using my Berlin U-bahn experience I figured out what lines to take and over an hour later showed up at their door!

As it turns out, I'm staying in the fanciest place I have ever seen. Seriously, this house (yes, a house in Paris) is amazing and they even have a cat! So obviously I'm at home. The Madame is very nice and accommodating, but not too much which is perfect for me because I'm afraid to carry on conversations for more than 15 minutes. She has several daughters around my age and a few of them live here as well, so maybe I can figure out what they're saying haha.

Speaking of which, my French is better than I thought! I just had a conversation at dinner with Madame about politics and la laicite and all I have to say is THANK GOODNESS I took that class this summer! She was quite impressed that I knew so much about it and I think I'm on her good side now. Anyway, I'm only really able to talk to the older people in  a fluid manner - the young people talk incredibly fast and use so much slang and I really have no idea what's going on.

Paris is beautiful, in case you were wondering. The weather is a perfect 55 degrees Fahrenheit and I was pleased to find that my clothing choices won't stick out too much. I've already been mistaken for a French person by a tourist so I'm obviously feeling pretty great.

As I was wandering around the neighborhood this evening I kept thinking of all the observations I wanted to share but I've forgotten all of them. I'll write it down next time.

This is so long and I apologize. The important thing is that I'm still alive, I'm safe, and I haven't started my internship yet so my mental breakdown hasn't begun.

Ciao!

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Ready or not.

Bonjour mes amis.

Have you ever googled quotes about Paris? It's extremely entertaining.


Par example:


If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”  - Ernest Hemingway


After substituting the "young man" for "young woman," I've found that these words suit me quite well. 


In case you're behind the times, I'm leaving in 2 days to complete a 3 month internship in Paris, France. And yes, I am excited. And scared. And incredibly happy. And and and.


This blog serves two purposes:


1. Update my family and friends on my Parisian life.

2. Inform my professors that I'm not fooling around.

Hopefully I'll be good about keeping everyone posted about my French doings and becomings. 


À bientôt!