Smoker until proven otherwise.

You can safely assume that this is the case with all Parisans.

I would say that the smoking demographic in Paris is much more varied than it is in New York. (I always compare Paris to New York, and try to forget the fact that I'm not cool enough to take permanent residence in either). Manhattan smokers mainly consist of 20-somethings, artsy/music types, young-professionals, or i-bankers who are stressed out about the size of their next bonus. But I would say that it's relative to find a 60-year old puffing away in the US.

Well that certainly isn't the case in Paris. I don't think smokers are more concentrated in one specific demographic. People of all ages and professions smoke. But why is that?

In Shanghai, about 60% of the population smokes. But I would say that the ratio of men to women smokers is about 20:1. The idea of women smoking tends to be frowned upon - but a good 85% of the male population smokes. No joke. So why are men given the choice to smoke, and not women?

I'd like to attribute the female smoking population in the US and France to effortlessly cool and undoubtedly glamourous female personas like Audrey Hepburn and Coco Chanel. They transformed smoking from a grungy after-work habit into a sophisticated and elegant hobby. And of course, if Audrey Hepburn takes up smoking, most of the female population are soon to follow in her wake.

But that still doesn't explain the difference between US smokers and French smokers.



A cigarette makes you look so damn cool.

It's true. You know it. There's something about holding that little stick that instantly ups your cool factor. Perhaps its due to figures like Andy Warhol, James Dean, and Charlotte Gaingsbourg who never seem to be without their cigarette. So, if James Dean (quite arguably one of the coolest actors ever) smokes, that means smoking is cool. Right?

I think lots of young people smoke for the image. I personally know people who smoke because they think smoking somehow identifies them as part of a certain social group (i.e. hipsters). Yeah, I know, what sad people. They don't care about the effects, the actual quality of their cigarettes, or even how expensive cigarettes are. Needless to say, the "I-smoke-therefore-I'm-cool" mentality seems rampant in the US - especially among college students.

Yet I think most smokers over 30 are somewhat embarrassed by the fact that they smoke. I mean, why else would people smoke outside their homes? They don't want their house to reek of cigarettes so when guests arrive, they won't know that a smoker resides in their house.

French people are more like smoking connoisseurs

Parisians seem to be very particular about what kind of cigarettes they smoke. Muriel's friend Nicole asked if I was okay with her smoking in the living room. I thought it was a weird question as it was not my living room, and she was Muriel's guest, but it was nice of her nonetheless. I told her I was fine with it, and she proceeds to whip out a large tin box. (I was under the impression that she just carries a shoebox of cigarettes with her wherever she goes...)However inside were all the goodies and tools for rolling your own cigarette.

Mega-coolness points right there.

As she rolled her cigarette, Nicole told me that buying cigarettes wasn't worth it, you have no control over the texture, the amount of tobacco, or the quality of the tobacco. It was clearly evident to me that Nicole was a connoisseur. And she told me that almost all her friends roll their own cigarettes as well, and that the hassle was a small price to pay for the end product.

Ofcourse, I can't claim that ALL Parisian smokers are connoisseurs, but it's seems to me that there are more of them in Paris than there are in Manhattan. It's unfortunate how people really look down on smokers in the US, I don't see it being any different that appreciating wine. (and this is coming from someone who doesn't smoke)

Too much wine will kill you, likewise smoking too much will kill you as well. And I think in moderation they are both equally bad for you.

Maybe the French are just more logical when it comes to these things than Americans are.

Wake up Dorothy, we're not in Kansas anymore.

1. The street that you live on is named after some left-winged extremist of the french revolution.

(Okay so I live on Bvld. Voltaire, but his ideas were crucial during the revolution...)

I mean, Rue Robespierre? Really? I find it interesting how Rue Saint-Just crosses with Rue Marat, and not Rue Robespierre... It's also interesting that Rue Marat and Rue Robespierre run parallel...

I don't think that was intentional, unless if martyrdom and terror just happen to be the same things.



2. You're defined by a number.

The district you live in.

I guess this happens in New York as well - but I don't think the boundaries are as defined as they are here in Paris.

In short, you have the rich hipsters in the 18th, the asians in the 12th, the arabs in the 13th, the conservative bourgeois in the 16th, the rich stylish people in the 4th, the super wealthy in the 5th and the 6th, the indians / africans in the 19th, left-winged young singles in the 11th and the Jews in the 3rd.

And that was the condensed version.



3. Butter & ham on a baguette is your go-to lunch

Apparently Parisians aren't very Kosher.

I wonder who thought of the idea of mixing churned animal fat with the fattiest deli-meat there is out there?

That said, the jambon-beurre is delicious.



4. The lifespan of a baguette is an hour, if not less.

The person who holds the world record for eating a baguette must be Parisian. Prehaps Parisians are built for digesting carbs at a fast pace. I've seen so many skinny Parisian woman buy a baguette and then proceed to devour it within the span of 30 minutes.

I wish my host Mom bought baguettes, I will never reach that level of Parsian-ness.



5. You can see 500 years of French History all on one street.

Have you ever noticed that the Louvre, Place de la Concorde, the Grand Palais, and the Arc de Triumph are almost in a line? It's as if you're walking through a timeline of French History - although things are a little out of order...

Maybe they did that on purpose so they can contain all the tourists to one stretch of the seine. Sadly, they failed and the tourists have infiltrated the sacred land of the real Parsians.


6. The city's iconic monument needs to its assert presence every hour with millions of watts of electricity

In case you forgot, the city thought it necessary to remind you that you're in Paris the first ten minutes of every hour after 8pm with 20,000 blinding flashing bulbs on it's beloved Eiffel Tower.

What a way to keep epileptic people away from your city...



7. Your toilet and your shower are not in the same room

I don't see how this could be remotely efficient...



8. It's horribly difficult to find a road that runs straight

They really like to make it easy to get around, I love those places like Bastille, Nation, and Charles de Gaulle where 12 road feed into one round-a-bout. And NONE of those roads seem to run straight. Paris really is a city of diagonals. I wonder if that's connected to the fact that ever square seems to house some sort of sculpture or monument - and thus roads leading up to said exciting monument had to be diagonal...


9. Women wear heels. Everywhere.

I love it when you walk down the street and see a woman in stilettos peddling away on a bike or a woman zooming down the metro stairs in 5-inchers. It's as if French women have lost all feeling in their feet and are able to withstand all sorts of pain & discomfort to look good. They're damn lucky. I honestly wish my feet were like that. I feel so gross in flats - alas, some of us have not achieved genetic perfection.


10. There's ONE skyscraper in the city, and EVERYONE hates it.

Poor Montparanasse. I'm sure your architect had high hopes for you, but apparently you're just seen as an intrusion because the Eiffel Tower is the only thing that's allowed to stick up in the Parisian skyline. Not to worry, I'm a fan of your height.

Labels: guide, paris

For my derive, I decided to do one of those seemingly aimless, (and albeit stupid) methodical approach to getting lost. Not that I needed ANY help whatsoever getting lost in Paris. That seems to come to me naturally, especially when I don't want it to happen. But there I go, taking two blocks up, and one block left.

I started going in the opposite direction that I usually take, heading toward the heart of the 11th arrondissement. I discovered that the 11th is home to a shitload of furniture stores. Like, you can't head three steps without running into a carpet shop or a futuristic/minimalist table store. There's also lots of really interesting clothing "boutiques". I use that term very lightly because these stores are often filled with cheap poly-blend fabrics and the styles are barely wearable by anyone who doesn't aspire to be a Vegas showgirl.

But once in a while you see something that makes you think. I came across a hot-pink furry bodycon minidress proudly displayed in a miniscule window. I hope that it was a store where drag queens and Vivienne Westwood types looked toward for inspiration. When you look at something that weird for long, it almost becomes cool. I'd wear that thing in a heartbeat - if only to see the public's reaction.

(going on a tanget, skip this paragraph if you don't care. lol.)

People take clothing way to seriously nowadays, whatever happened to liberalism and wearing what you want? Now it's all about what you want to say about yourself - but does wearing a tie really say "I'm important?" I think it says "I'm wearing a tie because that what you do when you want to look important." The Parsians seem to be better dressed than New Yorkers but perhaps its because half of the Manhattan population consists of i-banker types who take themselves too seriously to care about what they put on their backs. I think its because its much easier to dismiss fashion as something that's stupid and superficial than to actually attempt to understand it. It's much easier to follow the crowd and wear what everyone else wears than to try to find a way of wearing clothing that's innovative. But who want's to be like everyone else? That's like taking your individuality and squashing it like a bug. But they seem to celebrate individuality much more in Paris.

(end of random tangent, if you didn't read it, don't worry, you didn't too miss much.)

Anyway, here's some pictures that I took whilst getting lost. Somehow I ended up at the Louvre. Seriously don't know how that happened...

Labels: derive

Squeezed in between a tiny pizza parlor and a boulangerie, my apartment on Boulevard Voltaire is a quirky haven of art and kitsch. My host mom seems to have a fetish for everything "africa" - around every corner you might come across wooden carving, a kente inspired pattern, or, if you're lucky, the zebra-print toilet. Yet the apartment also contains references to many other cultures. In my room there hangs a painting of a chinese dragon and the kitchen houses a collection of italian prints - you know, the kind with the little fat italian waiter holding a bottle of wine, or a bowl of pasta and then it says "BRAVO" in big block letters? Yeah. Muriel hopped on that bandwagon.



However, it seems that my apartment is a pretty good representation of our arrondissement (well minus the African obsession anyway). We live in the 11th - famous for its furniture-makers and old artisanal traditions. I realized that if you wander down any random street in our district, it is almost certain that you will find signs written in at least four different languages, and three types of international cuisine. It's really interesting to see how people from different places share the same urban space.



Speaking of sharing, our bathroom is African Safari themed. It comes complete with a stuffed Cheetah that watches you as you shower. You think I'm joking, but I'm dead serious. We also have zebra and leopard print towels. But the best part is the mobile that hangs from the light. Yes, I said mobile.



My room is pretty spacious, but there seems to be an overload of artificial flowers and plants. There's also random pieces of reprinted artwork in here. A colorful Matisse hangs across from a Cezanne-esque bowl of fruits. It's almost as if Muriel likes the artificial more than the real thing for I've yet to see a real plant or a real bowl of fruits sitting around the apartment, but plenty of fake ones. Interesting.

Labels: apartment, paris