The OPMOM Blog

The Magic of Paris

What is it about me that loves all things French?

The milled soaps, the cured black olives, the fountains in the middle of every square in every park, city or town? The creamy cheeses and luscious red wines, the waiters in their penguin suits in the cafes? The men are suave, the women are stylish, and I find myself wanting to embrace their homeland, their mother tongue, their refined sense of all that is elegant, artistic, cultured.  Do the caves at Lascaux really hold the secret to the cradle of arts in modern civilization?  Paper may have been invented in China, Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel in Italy, but our idea of artiste, stereotypical or not, was born in the studios of Renoir and Rodin, the garrets of Montmartre, the gardens of Giverny.  David painted Napoleon crowning himself emperor, and the magnificent tableau hangs in the Louvre, one-time royal residence and now palace of all things historically significant in the art world.

It’s not just French art that sets the standard for the rest of the world; it is food, wine, and fashion.  France may not be the most technologically or bureaucratically advanced nation in the free world, but who cares?  Sitting at la Coupole, oysters, Bordeaux, the city’s most elite, the world’s cutest wait staff, the new French frock you paid a week’s salary for; on s’en fou. Whether you make it to the top of the Eiffel Tower or the steps of the Sacre Coeur, you’re still at the top of the world.

Paris is magical, alluring, entrapping you into believing you could live this life for a very long time, when in reality, French people work long hours (okay, not really.  They typically don’t go into work until 10 am and are home at 7:00.), pay their bills, walk their dogs (who poop on the sidewalk), put their pants on one leg at a time, live, and die.  But they do their living and dying with just a little more effervescent panache than the rest of the world.   That’s the magic, the bubbles in the Perrier and billowing out of the shop displays, the extra dollop of foam on the cafe au lait, the colors in the shop windows, the lovers on the park benches. C’est de la magie, c’est la vie!