So much has been written about the French... some of it wrong, but much of it uncomfortably close to home.
The French being French, we disagree on most everything and succeed in confusing everyone, but there are a few bases for consensus: we are complex, our culture is rich, our history fascinating and our food (most of it, at least) delectable.
I am half-French and so I have the privilege of being only half confused. I'd like to look more closely at some of these stereotypes and determine which are true, which are outright lies planted by our historical enemies, and which are true-ish but we'd rather not admit it.
That is a bit unfair, as it lumps all French together. Parisians tend to behave more arrogantly than people from other parts of France, where you'll be surprised to find people are quite normal, possibly as familiar to you as your own. And even this isn't quite true. Parisians have made great efforts in recent years to be more welcome and have, to widespread surprise, succeeded rather well.
Let's face it, if you're from a city like Paris, you could be forgiven a bit of one-upmanship, don't you think? And let's not forget, we French tend to believe we are better than most...
Perhaps pride is mistaken for arrogance because the French are extremely proud of their country and won't abide any negative comments about it. This may be arrogant, or even rude, but... it IS.
If you're talking about the car that speeds past you at 150 km/hr, then yes, absolutely. And if you mean avoiding paying for parking or other small infractions, then yes, we do try to circumvent the law.
But on big things, we tend to be law abiding, especially if there is a price to pay. The French broadly demonstrated obedience and courtesy during the Great Lockdown of 2020, sticking by the rules (helped by a massive police presence and hefty fines). We will obey the law when there is a good reason to (like prison).
This is no myth: it's true. I myself rarely fly Air France because each time I've done so, I've been delayed by a strike of pilots or aircraft mechanics or air traffic controllers. That said, strikes are often predictable and workarounds can be found: people tend to walk off the job around holidays, to be as disruptive as possible but also because extending our paid holidays by a few days is not at all unpleasant.
That's a private matter and most French abhor talking about their personal lives.
What IS true is that the French aren't as hung up on sexual issues as are our Anglo-Saxon brothers and sisters. We don't take it lightly, exactly, but we don't consider it such a major issue either. The same goes for nudity. It may be outrageous to you, but to us it's just normal (or at least used to be until our younger generations became more prudish).
That said, some surveys have determined that the French have more sex each year than any other nation. Indeed, many French feel (and have felt for centuries) that adultery isn't all that bad as long as it doesn't hurt anyone and no one finds out.
We do. We also like to debate, and to contradict, sometimes with reason, but often just for the joy of the intellectual exercise.
Read a newspaper in French and English and you'll immediately understand. An English-language news story will start with the most important fact, simply put, and will work backwards, with the story unfurling in plain sight.
A French-language story will bury the main point somewhere within the folds of an argument. Instead, the story will start with something witty or clever, the point being to use words wisely rather than to say what you mean. Anyone with a brain should be able to read between the lines... Writing well probably carries more weight than providing information.
In the same vein, we tend to be abstract rather than concrete, with abstraction the more nuanced and therefore preferred approach. This, you see, provides us with more room for manoeuver, because we can shift along with the debate and adapt our arguments. Be concrete and you'll be locked into your position for life. How boring.
This leads on from the previous point, although it is not necessarily true.
We believe we measure up to our Germanic and Anglo-Saxon competitors with our technical savvy and industrial expertise and, when required, we can be precise and exact! But that doesn't stop us from wandering away from a technical discussion because a product's beauty or shape has caught our eye, a discussion that will inevitably end up heated, over lunch and halfway into the afternoon.
This is why beauty is so intrinsic to the French: we love it, in all shapes and forms, in art, in fashion and in ourselves. We don't have to look perfect, but we do have to look our best (a bit like Italians but with fewer hand gestures).
That depends completely on your definitions. If by culture you mean cultivation of the mind, the insistence on learning or knowledge and intellect, then yes. We prize these qualities and do our utmost to show them off in ourselves.
Our fashion style and sophistication is innate, although modern times and comfort are rapidly taking over and we can be seen wearing Nikes on city streets. Not often, thank heavens. We can look to the 17th century and the court of Louis XIV to trace our infatuation with beauty and sophistication. Since then, France, and especially Paris, has been a cultural leader within Europe and beyond.
But yes, we like culture and beauty. Why wouldn't we?
Absolutely. Everyone wants to be the boss, equally. Everyone wants to be right. And everyone wants equal time in the discussion. Yet the rules of class and hierarchy are rarely as well defined as they are in France, no matter how heatedly we might deny it. We know our place: our accent will betray us, with one arrondissement more worthy than another, with Paris lording it over smaller yet stunning cities, with the city classier than the countryside (unless you have a chateau in the provinces), and one region more attractive than another. We are so formal we may speak to one another as strangers after having known one another for decades.
Test our democracy in a shop. Whereas in some countries the 'customer is king', in France the customer is barely the equal of the salesperson. If I, the sales clerk, am talking on my phone to a friend behind the counter, you will wait until I'm finished and finally ready to attend you. My conversation is, after all, at least as important as your question. If that displeases you, go elsewhere. I don't own the shop anyway - I just work here (and am underpaid whether I'm nice to you or not.)
Remember, the country's motto is "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité." Egalité, or equality, is undoubtedly the strongest of the trio.
Sad but true, and oh how much has been written about this particular trait.
In fact, it has its own word, beyond complaining: râler, a cross between grumbling, bitching and moaning.
Let's face it, whatever delight we encounter is certain to have an underside that allows us some margin for complaint. We are rarely satisfied, perhaps due to aspirations to perfection. The complaints aren't major – it is merely our way of hinting we (meaning YOU) can do better. But they are automatic and rare is the French exclamation of joy that isn't followed with a 'but'.
This is mostly true, but not always. It depends on the rapport de force, the balance of power. If we feel it is in our favor, we will immediately grab the higher ground and voice our opinion, often forcefully. If, on the other hand, we perceive we are in a less powerful position, we will bow gracefully and shut up while looking for leverage. What we don't do (yes, there are exceptions) is become violent. We can raise our voices and call each other names but ultimately we'll each get into our cars and drive off.
Absolutely correct. Money talk is crass. I don't want to know how much you make or how much your house cost. And if you ask me those questions, chances are it might be our last conversation, ever. As a child my mother always taught me that asking the price of something was rude. Clearly that's a bit outdated, but it does give you an idea of the ingrained reticence about dollars and cents. It also explains why we often cannot balance our budget and why we are hopeless at paying our taxes accurately.
That's not true. We do smile, plenty. But when we have reason to. Say something witty and you'll see me grin from ear to ear. I just don't walk around the streets with a silly grin on my face. You may not think I'm nice. But frankly, I don't give a hoot. That's very French, by the way. On s'en fout! We don't give a toss!
Oh, how true. Our polite formulas probably haven't changed much since Louis XIV, and the subtleties are such that no one raised outside France can make any sense of them. I read somewhere – and do agree – that while the English are encouraged to write the way they speak, we French are encouraged to speak the way we write.
Our everyday lives are governed by formality, from the way we greet one another (Monsieur, Madame) to how we speak to one another (the more formal 'vous' as opposed to the casual 'tu', which is perfectly acceptable among young people and close friends), to how we sign our letters. Even a short note ends with a swirl of a formula more suitable to Versailles than to modern-day Paris, along these lines: Kindly allow me, dear Sir/Madam, to present you with my most excellent wishes. Yes, it's a lot easier to sign off 'Sincerely Yours'.
That said, these strictures are all relaxed in the face of foreign visitors. You can't be expected to know every detail, can you...
Indeed! While in many parts of the world shops are open on Sundays, in France this is a rarity, confined to the most touristed parts of Paris and the rest of the country. Otherwise, Sundays are sacred, not in a religious way but because it is when the family sits down to a Sunday lunch. Each time the Sunday openings rise to the surface of political argumentation, the topic is slapped down by everyone who wants to make sure they have their 'family time'.
This also speaks to quality of life. In some cultures, earning double overtime on Sundays is enough to encourage a healthy contingent of workers to set aside their weekends in return for the extra cash. Not so in France. While we will absolutely go on strike for more money, don't touch our Sundays! That is when we rest from the week. For the same reason, holidays too are venerated, not the ridiculous two or three weeks that some countries award, but a full six weeks of togetherness, where the family packs off together to their country house or rented holiday home or campground for a month.
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