The Paris Diary: How It's Going

Questioning if Paris is my dream city?

May 16, 2024

Written by Elena Chen

At some point when I was 22 and had just gotten accepted into an internship with a company that had multiple international offices, the unrealistic but nevertheless alluring idea came into my head to live in several other countries before I turned 30. On the provisional list was Japan, Korea and Denmark. I had visited Copenhagen in the winter and thought the simplicity of Nordic design against the lushest slates of snow to definitively be one of the most endearing ambiences that exist. France was not on the list. I did not entertain the thought of moving to a country where I spoke neither the language nor had existing friendships in. Here I am in Paris and nearing 30. Whenever I told people about this “dream” I had of living in all these places I saw hints of impossibility and doubt flash across their faces and I understood it because I too had no real clue how I would realize these plans. Now that I’m here in Paris, even if it hadn’t made it to my list before, I can now confirm that it should have been on there.

However, I need to do a little smashing of the rose-tinted glasses. Because after the Netflix hit show Emily in Paris I think we just all got an even more skewed idea of this city. As Parisian apartments hold their fort as luxury goods, eating out has also risen to an almost cult-like status. I won’t mention the restaurants that are impossible to get into (ahem, Clamato) or the lines that never seem to end, but what I have discovered is that this city has done a lot of curbing to stay idyllic. For example, the mayor put in place some strict rules about road traffic a few years ago that were met with a lot of criticism and pushback. Now, I think anyone within Paris can really feel the difference. Less air and noise pollution, less nuisance in general and a much more pedestrian city that can be enjoyed by visitors and residents alike. I doubt there are such positive consequences to the housing market in Paris as well but one can hope. Regulating the traffic was an intentional governmental move to make the city more enjoyable. There are some things that don’t work as well and may not have such actionable solutions.

On a personal level, I think the psychological and social impact of being a “foreigner”, non-francophone immigrant, should be given emphasis. I strongly encourage anyone who’s considering moving to Paris or France to go to a dedicated language course in the country where you can have the most immersive experience possible. I am extremely fortunate because other than the 20hr/week French course I take, my partner is French and I have many opportunities to practice the language. My progress in the last year in this city has been astronomical in comparison to the year I spent studying in Los Angeles before moving. Even then, I have noticed many small, seemingly insignificant, incidents where my “lack of” fluency in French has created a psychological shift in me. I passed by this bakery I love the other day and saw they had a recruitment sign up and I immediately got the jitters – I was interested in trying it out. But then I thought about having to serve customers in French and having to socialize with my coworkers in French and almost instinctively my mind started listing reasons I shouldn’t take the job. “It’d be too hard”, “I’d be exhausted having to effortfully communicate and worry if I said the wrong thing”, “What if I’m not interesting or fun in French”...etc. Then at an apéro a few weeks ago, amidst all the wonderful drinks and nibbles, I heard a friend recounting the story of how I started reading Le Petit Prince more than a year ago. I still haven’t finished that book. And I can now, because I actually feel much more confident with passe simple (a specific tense used almost exclusively in literature) and my general level of vocabulary is at a place where I can understand 90% of the book instead of the 60% a year ago. But it was so frustrating to not be able to read one of my favorite books that I already read 3 or 4 times in English and a book meant for children at that. I must admit, it made me feel a bit like a child who was being spoken about by their parents sharing stories around the dinner table. Except it wasn’t exaggerated for comedic effect – I was quite simply reliving my childhood as an adult. Very Poor Things-esque. Because I still struggle with not being able to say things casually and having to worry about really simple things like: “did you guys end up going then?” Or “hang on”, turns of phrase that I wouldn’t give a second thought about in English or Mandarin. I have become increasingly self-policing and I just stay quiet sometimes. Like a child, learning and relearning how to be social when you don’t know how people are going to react to what you’re saying.

As if the people in Paris know about this infantilizing experience themselves, I have been met with so much patience and kindness and gentleness. The immigrant man at my local repair shop who made a joke in his also accented French. The store clerk at the supermarket downstairs who waited as I found the right word for pine nuts and helped me find them. He didn’t try to finish my sentence or correct my pronunciation or have an “AHA” moment of finally understanding what I said. It was kind and respectful. Because I was in a way vulnerable to his reaction and waiting to learn from this interaction what to expect from those around me in regards to my expressive language abilities. What I hadn’t taken into account before moving here is that this is a city with so much more diversity and respect for difference than I imagined. The number of languages, ethnicities, religions and identities that coexist in this 10 by 10 kilometer squared plot of mostly 10 story tall buildings makes me feel like I can actually be myself here. Because we are all so incredibly different from each other but so deeply alike.

I don’t like croissants really and I don’t drink coffee. Yet I enjoy spending 2 hours reading at a cafe, alone, with my tarte aux framboises. I don’t speak French fluently and I’ll always have an accent, but I love that people help me anyway. I care about the fact that me being someone who’s lived in a lot of different places with often conflicting value systems, I still feel like myself here. I rarely get to feel like myself. Because even in Shanghai where I went to high school, I don’t speak Shanghainese and I consider English my mother tongue. In the UK where I studied for 5 years and in the US where I have my nationality, I feel like my lack of interest in the hustle and my constant desire to philosophize is not really met with the same enthusiasm as it is here. As a resident I bought a carte blanche pass where for 20 euros a year, when a single entry is 16 euros, I get unlimited access to two of the biggest Impressionist museums in the world (Musée d’Orsay and Musée de l’Orangerie). This to me is a respect to the culture, the richness of our human experience, integrated at a societal level. It’s about giving access so that we can all foster a sense of curiosity for the beauty we have in this world. That’s all I want, really.

I’ve been trying to be “realistic” about my dreams. Paris having not been a dream I knew about helped with setting expectations around that. This city, rendered dreamlike through its endless references in fashion, art, cinema, literature, music, and food, remains for me like a dream. Yes there are strikes and metros are not always reliable. Yes, there is trash on the street and it isn’t as clean as it could be. Yes, life is expensive in a capital and Paris is no exception. But if you are into the fashion and art and cinema and literature and music and food that brought you to idealize this city, there’s a reason it was so successful in doing so. Here, where people take their time more and reserve eating for being together, going to the cinema as an opportunity for discussion after, and visiting museums akin to an education, you begin to see who you are and what you want amongst all these other people enjoying their lives. In realistic dreams, things hurt more because they’re real. You also don’t have to wake up if you’re already awake. The dream just gets to be a part of reality.

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5 GOOD THINGS

This Gaza Palestine embroidered sweatshirt - creator is donating all profits in coordination w/Operation Olive Branch. Purchase via Tiktok (I’ve bought a few items off TT Shop and don’t worry all my purchases were safely processed and have been happy with all of them)
More and more I am realizing that I desperately need a writing ritual. After reading author R.O. Kwan’s daily ritual, it’s encouraging me to come up with a not-so-rigid routine.
With travel season approaching, all the little essentials I pack in my carry-on.
I might give in and purchase my very first pair of Crocs, especially since they’re on sale
On high consideration is this art print by Nephthys Foster (and yes, it’s because I love sushi)

My dog might have or not eaten small bits of dark chocolate. It was after our walk that she had dropped a medium size piece out of her mouth, which I grabbed like it was a detonated bomb and threw it away. The chocolate seemed like it was still in tact, but soft and probably stale if she had picked it up from the sidewalk or a bush. She ate dinner fine, did her evening business like regular and I am watching her like a mother hawk. I’m sure she’ll be okay, but I probably won’t get much sleep having to check and see if she’s still breathing.

Thanks for reading and hi to new subscribers!

Your favorite dog mom,

DNAMAG