Who, in the whole world wouldn’t like to know something about the standard of the french seduction? Every time I go out of the French border, I meet someone who asks me many questions about that, and wants me to answer without any lie. Each time it ends the same: “french are inimitable”, says the person, with a regret in the voice.
I can’t explain why people out of France seem to be so greedy to get more explanations actually. Maybe because I’m french, things sound very different over here… I mean from the inside! I suppose the french myth, is a true one, at least because it’s seen like that out border. After considering things as a foreigner could, I really believe that the whole world is right: french seducers are really here, hooking as ever, in an inimitable style!
Well, I could begin first by their manners so… french! A mix between very good ones (used only by a minority actually) and very bad ones. French hate to obey for anybody, hate laws, hate school and everything that could prevent them from what they want to be, do or think. That’s one of these million reasons french are not polite: the revolution is written with blood in each french person. For a lot of women, the myth of the bad boy still exists: he plays guitar, doesn’t cut his hair, and smokes anything anytime anywhere. No God above, nor any cops around him: he doesn’t mind anyway. He’s free, living as he’s going to die the day after… Not weird: very Frenchy. Obviously, he doesn’t want to get in a marriage. He prefers to go here and there, changing his partners (which word could be better?) as often as he needs. Breaking free gets his reverse too: the french bad boy gets older alone, with no kid around and no love. But till the end, he’ll be the captain of his boat: his pride is as high his freedom is.
On the same way, the myth of a very beautiful french woman, ready to be loved (she’s not as stupid as you think to love in return), who likes sex and consumers of sex, fashion, make-up, fitness and diets is still living. I don’t cross this kind of lady very often (our roads are a bit opposite actually!) but I can say that they are very amazing women: money, power, luxury, posh attitudes or manners are theirs. They tan under different latitudes from those of other french women, and generally they know their esthetic surgeon better than their own mother. Nobody here can be shocked by such a way of living as these women protect themselves from what they use to call “the little people” that means everyone bellow them. I think you can find this kinda female anywhere on the planet, don’t you?
But there is one model which is on, always strange and undefinable, the one called the french Latin Lover, which in fact is a kinda no style at all: a male, a bit macho a bit feminist (it depends on the moment), who opens your car door because he wants to show you his mother did her best, who makes sport a lot, likes not expansive fashion but good wines, and being in love (I mean having good sex). He drives his car as it was an offensive arm, hates waiting lines, smiling out of a working promotion and shaving. He plays with your heart because he has been told since he was young that a real man must be rough, but cries when his first child borns. He swears all the time, lies, criticizes, moans about anything in life, from his birth to his death. The 2016’s french lover is made of an amazing number of contradictions. That’s the reason why he’s just a fool with a tricolore flag.
On the side of women, this is a bit different, but not as you think. Sorry to be so rude, but I can tell you that the myth of the Parisian girl is seen only on the britt magazines. For example, go and take a tube on the early morning in Paris to get it. Nobody here looks like a fashion french girl: it’s cold, early, dark outside and it doesn’t smell good around: Paris under earth is not a fashion carpet. This is the hell. But for sure, I can tell you that french women are the best on the whole earth to stay sexy when they’re broke, know how to make a skirt with a little piece of tissue, and be on diet from the begining to the end of the year without feeling depressed. They work hard, do everything at home with or without a man, are polite and educated, beautiful and smart. They dream about a charming prince (of course, because France has been a royalty for 19 centuries) who would be kind and sexy and would get the sense of humour. No way they would find him over here, but they try hard (understand they often cry because of men) because they are optimistic and passionate. And stupid with men as well… but they end to get it on the late (50, the age of menopause) when they decide to change their job/husband/country/wardrobe/car/sport/friends… I mean the french lady is a mix of thousands contradictions (much more than for men as you imagine) but she wouldn’t go out with no lipstick nor her legs not shaved. She’s a funny character in a tender movie, this one she plays in, each morning when she wakes up to go to work: hard, beautiful, lonely, never the same, never soft, but interesting, passionate and overall, hers.
Yours,
Jane