Often while talking with my friends in the United States, I have mentioned that I am learning to charm and be charmed here in France. I suppose that seems like an odd thing to say, but the fact is, charm is a revered art form in French culture. I’m not sure if they look at it as an art, but I have come to think of it that way.
The French have a certain something—I don’t know what it is—that is completely different from what I’m accustomed to. They are not afraid to turn on the charm. Not afraid to be laughed at by their peers because they said something slightly flowery and over-the-top. Not afraid to offend women by complimenting them or looking at them with admiration. Mostly because the women seem to expect it and practice the same captivating techniques on men. It’s normal and happens everywhere, including the workplace.
Being charming is not the same thing as being a drageur or womanizer/skirt-chaser/player. France has its share of schmucks as much as the next country. But this je ne sais quoi seems to be just a part of this world that I’m living in. I’m not even sure how to explain it so I’ll give you some examples.
Last year a friend had a small party for me on my birthday. I wore a dress and my red high heels because I had no crown to wear on this momentous occasion. I was sitting on a stool having a conversation with my friend Pierre when he began to shake his head and finally said, “C’est dommage.”
I asked him, “What is too bad?”
He said, “Tu es éduqué à mort.” You are educated to death.
Of course, I didn’t know what the he was talking about, and he explained that each time I laughed, I unconsciously pulled my skirt down over my knees. And he thought that was just such an awful shame.
He wasn’t chatting me up … or beginning one of those uncomfortable conversations. He was just doing what Frenchmen do. No harm intended and certainly none taken.
Last fall I was at the market in Marseille with my sister. We hadn’t had sugar in at least an hour and we stopped by the table of a bisquit vendor. I asked him a few questions about a certain treat that caught our eye and after his explanation we bought one.
As he was putting our caloric indulgence in a little bag, he said to me (all the following conversations were in French which is, of course, part of the charm), “You speak French very well and your accent is charming.” Well, I know this simply not true and I told him so, but he was not to be deterred.
He said, “If you will permit me, I must tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes. Absolutely beautiful.”
I smiled (most likely batted my eyelashes) and thanked him for saying such a nice thing.
He said, “It may be nice but it’s also true.”
He then picked up two bisquits and put them in our bag. He said, “A gift from me. Bisquits made from the flower of the oranges, especially for the flowers” (meaning us). Wow! I can’t say that I’ve ever been likened to a flower!
This past summer I got on the bus one day to be greeted by a smiling driver. I tried to run my ticket through the machine, but it wouldn’t take it. I smoothed it out and tried again. Finally the bus driver said, “Slowly. Go very slowly. The machine is very romantic.” And then he beamed at me again.
I was walking home from the University recently and reading a brochure about a belly-dancing class I wanted to take. I passed a table full of men gathered around an outdoor table and one of them said something to me. I looked up, apologized for not understanding (after all, I was walking, reading, and most likely chewing gum … all at the same time!), told him I speak only a little French and if he talked very slowly, I might be able to understand. He repeated himself, slowly, and said, “If you continue to walk while you read you might just fall … into my arms … and I would like that very much.” When I laughed and smiled and told him that was a nice compliment, he asked if I might join him and his friends for champagne. And when I (charmingly) turned him down, he smiled broadly and told me it was his loss and I was très charmant.
