How To Have French Hair

There is no term for “bad hair day” in French and it is clearly because French people don’t have bad hair days  – men, women, boys, girls – they all seem to have super chic coifs.  After being here for 3 months, my excessively long, lifeless hair was starting to become an embarrassment next to all the French chicness, so I decided just to walk into a hair place and get it cut.  I skipped class with the intention of going to a salon I pass frequently, but after three nervous walkbys I chickened out and went home.  I know, it’s just a haircut.  Get it together!  But I’m so attached to it…literally and figuratively.

When I was growing up I had my trusted stylist who knew every layer of my luscious locks.  After moving to Chicago, I successfully maintained a long distance relationship with her and would make sure to schedule an appointment if I was home visiting for any reason, but twice in the three years I lived in the city, I was forced into the scissor wielding hands of a stranger.  The first time I ended up paying too much for a mediocre haircut.  The second time I went to the Aveda Institute and paid a lot less for a girl who had failed out of college and decided to learn to cut hair on a whim to give it an inferior cut.  I love my hair to a rather sentimental degree so these were traumatic experiences for moi and now I’m a little frightened of going to someone I don’t know.

But I finally bit the bullet and went to a place recommended by a friend.  I walked in and despite it being pretty busy, they were able to cut my hair right then.  The guy working on me asked if I thought hair was better in France than the US as though I would say no while he’s taking shears to my mane.  Luckily, I could honestly answer that I did think it was better here.  Part of what I love about France is the general appreciation for all things aesthetic and a haircut is no exception.  While you can certainly find great stylists in the US, a lot of times, for the amount I like to pay for a haircut, you end up with the college drop out types who obviously don’t have an appreciation for the art of sculpting perfect hair.  30 Euros later in France, my hair is as chic as any stylish French woman’s. 

How to Profess Your Love (or not) in French

My favorite former French teacher once tried to tell me that the notion of the French romantic culture was just a big stereotype.  But having been here for a few months, I’d say that the culture surrounding love and romance, while not necessarily what we think of it, is a much more prevalent part of French society than American society.  Can I prove this using linguistic evidence you ask?  Oui.  Without further ado, linguistic insights into French romantic culture.

Do you like me or do you love me?

If you type “I like you” into an online English/French translator the answer comes up as “Je t’aime.”  If you type “I love you” the answer comes up as “Je t’aime.”  If you are as astute as I am, you’ll notice that “Je t’aime” and “Je t’aime” are exactly the same phrase. What?!  How will the ghost of Charles de Gaulle know whether I’m just saying “Hey, I think you’re cool. Let’s be friends,” or that I’m secretly covering notebooks in “Mme Charles de Gaulle” with hearts all over every page?

I cleared this issue up long ago, not by looking in a good dictionary, which would have been far too easy, but rather when I happened upon a french guy at a party in Chicago.  He said that “Je t’aime” is a very serious thing to say.  If you want to tell someone you like them you have to add a “bien” onto the phrase.  I don’t know how this distinction came about, but it seems like it would be very useful in that awkward moment where you tell your sweetheart you love him/her and he/she suddenly has an affinity for long distance running.  With the “bien” you have ample time to save yourself.

Person 1: “Je t’aime”

Person 2: (Deer in headlights face)

Person 1: “bien”

Person 2: (Relieved) Je t’aime bien aussi.

Thank goodness the French have come up with a way to avoid that embarrassment!  There’s no undoing the good ol’ English “I love you.”  You are stuck with those words.  That cat does not go back into the bag.

How much do you love me?

Also linguistically interesting regarding the culture of love in France (I’m so happy to finally be using my Anthro degree) is how the French strengthen the sentiment.  In English we would say something like “I love you so much” or “I love you more than anything.”  I’m sure similar phrases exist in French, but the one that surprised me is “J’aime que toi,” meaning “I love only you,” which my current French teacher said is a much much stronger way to say “I love you.”  But for me that phrase seems to beg the question of to whom else the speaker was saying “I love you” before.  Am I being too sensitive?

I’m guessing there’s a reason this phrase came into existence and I have a theory, though it should be noted it is unsupported by any real research or facts.  After watching tons of random French films in an effort to improve my listening skills, I noticed that the theme of mistresses and extra-marital lovers is very prevalent.  If art reflects life, then it would seem like that theme is one that is prevalent in real life French culture, so saying you love only one person is an important distinction.

Am I in love?

It catches me off guard every time.  Tu es amoureux? “Are you in love?” If you get into a conversation about someone you’re smitten with, and I have at least two other girlfriends who have confirmed this, French people are quick to ask completely deadpan if you’re in love with that person.  It comes out in the same tone as any boring question.  Are you going out tonight?  Cool.  Are you in love? Nice.  It doesn’t have to be someone you know particularly well either.  This would never happen in the US.  Well maybe it would, but I think there would be some drama or goofiness attached to the question and it would probably only be asked by friends that you would brunch with.  I guess they are just more open about l’amour here, but I am still working up the courage to tell France how I feel.  However, if you want to know, just look at the goofy URL for this site. 

Reader’s Choice

What would you, the readers, like to know about France?  I would be happy to clear up any stereotypes or describe adventures or whatever you want to know.  Dites-moi!

French Cuisine

Hands down my favorite thing about France is the food.  Every time I eat a pain au chocolat or some fresh figues or a pizza doused in crème fraiche, it makes all the inconveniences of strikes and trickiness of using disgusting bathrooms well worth it.  It is especially impressive to me how much French people know about their food.  I frequently visit a friend of my mom’s who lives in the countryside and at dinner she’ll always explain that the cheese comes from such and such animal or the wine comes from such and such region where the land is in a particular way that makes the grapes have such and such flavor, etc…  They know which wines bring out the maximum flavor of different cheeses.  They eat infinitely more varieties of meat than Americans who mainly stick to beef, chicken and fish.  What about duck?!?!  Rabbit?  Pheasant?  All delicious in their own unique ways.  Actually, to be honest, I don’t love the flavor of rabbit, but the texture is so tender and melty that I enjoy eating it.  I don’t even like it and I love it.  Eating is such a revered experience for the French that you can’t help but become interested in the food.

But where can I get a burrito?

As an American, you don’t realize how precious Mexican food is until it’s taken away.  Sometimes while I’m scarfing down yet another baguette, I wish I could switch it out for some carne asada and then promptly become depressed because, from my experience, French people don’t understand Mexican food.  I’ve had two run-ins with the stuff.  The first time was in Nice where I was vacationing with my extremely charming boyfriend.  It was monsooning and we were desperate for some food, but had no desire to leave our cozy little hostel room after venturing out earlier and getting soaked.  But starvation won that battle and we headed out into the night with our shoes a squishin.

The second restaurant we found was a little tex-mex place.  The first was a nicer place specializing in Paella, but the waiter told us we had to have a reservation despite there being only two people in the entire place.  When I asked if he was expecting more people later, he said “no” without any explanation.  My best guess is it was a front for the mafia and shit was going to go down that night.  So we found ourselves at a cozy little table sharing some chips and guac and chicken enchiladas.  Thank goodness you can’t screw up tortilla chips.  No!  You can!  If you put paprika all over them, I assure you they will be ruined. I will never understand that choice… On the bright side, it does go to show that you can do anything you set your mind to.

My second experience happened with a friend of mine from California.  We were hanging out and started salivating over our memories of good Mexican food and decided we would go to the only Mexican restaurant in Aix for a burrito.  Our options were beef, chicken or vegetable.  We asked what kind of beef it was.  “It’s ground beef.”  The guy said it like we should have known that that’s the kind of beef that goes on a burrito.  Duh.  After chuckling we ask, “what are the vegetables?” The guy behind the counter lifts the lid off of the vegetable container to reveal all the vegetables you would find in a good French ratatouille.  As we burst into laughter, he asks us what we’re laughing at and Cali asks “what are the vegetables?” Carrots, zucchini, endives etc…  Do you see what I’m working with here?

I related this story to my French professor and said that you’d think the French people opening these restaurants would at least research authentic recipes that are so readily available on the web.  His response was that the French are so proud of their cuisine, and it’s such a big part of their culture that it’s not surprising that the Mexican food had such a big French influence.  Sigh…  The food the French do right, they really do right, but if somebody wants to mail me some food from an authentic Mexican restaurant I will love you forever.  Don’t forget the margarita!

A Double Edged Sword

So I’m in France.  On Monday I will start classes in a French intensive program at l’Université de Provence.  Before I came here I had this criticism of the US, where I foolishly thought everyone works too hard and too long and in France they spend more time enjoying life.  Well, it is pretty true.  I’ve been staying with some French friends of my mother’s and we have a real dinner every night and two actual meals on the weekends.  There are 100 olive trees on their land and in December they will harvest all of the olives to make their own olive oil.  Amazing, right?  Totally… except when the internet goes down.  Then these french internet repairmen who have these lovely french lives take nearly a week to fix the internet.  You want to open a bank account during lunchtime?  Nice try.  The bankers gotta eat lunch too!  You want to find some roommates, which is super easy in the US thanks to craigslist? HA!  We will make you pay exhorbitant amounts of money to use roommate sites!  You know where this stuff would never happen?  The good ol’ USA. 

My time here has been a mix of awesomeness and frustration.  Everything I need to do is very difficult and requires that I do something else first, but the thing I need to do first requires that I do another thing, and that thing requires that I do the first thing.  Oof.  But I have eaten more delicious meals, seen more new beautiful things, and just relaxed more than in a very long time.  Hopefully I will get all the stuff taken care of that I need to soon so I’m don’t have to live in one of the beautiful fountains in Aix.