Parisian Nooks and Woes
Paris is a drug. An easy to swallow bittersweet pill with dual effects. There are days when you are walking around cobblestoned Montmartre before catching line 12 to grab dinner at Ferdi, and then you are already on your way to start feeling like Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris. Then there are others. When you are sitting on a one-square-meter balcony looking at the cedar rooftops above the rushed streets with all the people taking part in this play, and you get the taste of this all being too… fictitious. I read somewhere that you cannot love Paris without hating it a little. I don’t hate Paris at all. But I detest the way it makes me feel.
Paris street style SS25. Photography Yu Fujiwara via Dazed Digital
You know those cities that are so big and movie-like that you just feel like a transparent piece to a transparent puzzle; however, you decide to get included, you would fit in by being yourself. Paris is not like that. There is a predetermined mosaic, a specific palette you can choose from. That really helps you get lost in something beautiful, yet at the price of losing yourself.
Let me start with the telltale. French Kiss, 2 Days in Paris, Emily in Paris, Amélie, the movie mentioned just a few lines above, even Big moved to Paris. The fantasy around Paris is at least half of what made it one of the most visited cities in the world. A surreal destination, a dream of many, Paris is built up around socially repeated narratives and stories. Mind you, I am not saying there is something wrong with that. Everything around us is built through speech and the meaning we assign to it. However, the trap around Paris is that it sets high standards. So romanticized, yes, for a reason, yet this puts tremendous pressure on you. In other words, Paris is giving me the biggest fear of missing out I have ever experienced.
I enjoy staying in my mini studio with my glasses of wine and a dictionary next to me while reading books in French. Because the pressure of going out can be too much. Internal (and external) push to speak French, overpriced tourist traps, tiny sidewalks, and fear of bumping into running Parisians so you just walk on the street and get extra attentive for honks. And if I genuinely had to spill my guts, I’d share that it honestly feels like a game sometimes. One to which we all somehow know the rules and they shapeshift us into the standard we are usually a bit far from. We say we love it because it feels like you have a role in the best movie ever. We are simply extras but we are still on stage.
Just like most of its spots, Paris itself has sort of a dress code. Truth is, most of the time it feels like you are trying on a Germanier dress while all along your style has been boho. But if you have gotten so far as to be sitting front row at the fashion show, how could you resist not trying it? We are not talking about clothes here.
Enjoy that lollygagging at home for three days in a row and here it comes. The begrudge suffusing through my whole mind, painting me greener while my withered finger keeps scrolling on the screen. That’s immediately followed by a crawling rapidly augmenting black stain on my back that eventually paints me all dark and lets me lay comfortably while I am caressed by my old friend—melancholy. I never felt brave enough to say it out loud until now, but this is how I spend most of my days in Paris. Fighting woes that are fighting the fomo that are fighting social anxiety mixed with loneliness and false expectations.
But sometimes I win. When the sun is bright and the rain hasn’t been for a day, and I find myself brave enough to grab my keys and just go. This is where it becomes interesting for you because I am about to share a few spots I found that make me forget those depressing rites I just overshared. And I finally taste Paris.
The kindest people you will meet in Paris are the ones working in boulangeries. I make sure to start my day like that, heading to the nearest one—in my case, Banette (15th arrondissement, rue Falguière). The burgundy shop invites me, along with my fall romanticized spirit, and offers a large selection of sweet and salty choices. Be sure to test your French here as they are severely polite and patient! While the options are rich, my indecisive guts always end up saying “un pain au chocolat, s’il vous plait”. There is a reason it’s so popular, trust me.
Once I have grabbed that, I am conveniently close to walk to the Luxembourg Gardens and enjoy my pastry there. In just about twenty minutes, I am inside. I stray from the central elegant part with the large pond and impressed tourists, as I head to the secluded parts of the garden, sit on the olive green chair, open Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and take a bite from the pain au chocolat. In a city where everyone always seems to be in a hurry, it is amazing how slow meals are so valued.
If you are living in Paris in your twenties, you’re most probably un jeune loup. Getting that work done can be easier when surrounded by towers of shelves filled with heavy books. In what feels like a mix of medieval, dark academia, modernly convenient temple, the vast space is filled by oak desks, minimalist wooden chairs, and a golden light intruding through the expansive windows. The softest hum of concentration, pens, papers, and laptop keyboards can be heard in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (BNF), (2nd arrondissement) where anyone can enter for free and immerse themselves in work for hours. Be mindful, the study space opens at 10 am, however, the queue already starts from around half-past nine. By being late you risk not securing a spot, as it tends to get full quickly.
The afternoon is reserved for my favorite cafe in Paris. Walking the short distance to the 3rd arrondissement, finding myself in the neighborhood of Le Marais famous for its artistic flair and chic cafés. Partisan Café Artisanal, ideal for socializing and meeting new funky people, offers this minimalistic and unpretentious interior which honestly feels like a breath of fresh air.
On the wave of that authentic French style, I walk uphill towards Montmartre and just before I reach Moulin Rouge I take a turn and enter POJO (9th arrondissement). A French restaurant with tight space, hence the close-knit atmosphere, and some of the best plates you’ll ever see. Mildly lit, somewhat loud due to their great selection of spirits, POJO feels like that safe corner in your mind you go to just rest for a bit.
If I don’t want the night to end, the bar Carmen is just a few streets away from where I dined, offering a spot that’s even more French. Stepping into what feels like a time travel machine that brings you back two centuries ago, you find yourself surrounded by opulent charm. An eclectic soirée, considered by many as a spot only true Parisians know about.
Then I end up at home. I jump on the bed with silk orange sheets and wonder what taste of Paris I’ll get tomorrow. The first step I took in controlling that narrative is not following the rules. Despite the pressure Paris puts on you, the key to escaping dismal episodes is to not try to fit in. Don’t bring the Chanel-style blazer, black mini skirt, haute couture shoes, and red lipstick just because it’s considered The Parisian set. The way you will feel Paris best is by simply enjoying a historic city in your authentic skin.
