Ideassey

The French are uncommonly proud and critical people — and that’s a good thing. Were they not, they would never have pursued the ideals most western societies are built upon today. Criticism requires a measure of situational awareness and a willingness to recognize how absurdly flawed things are. French pessimism has fueled societal introspection, sparking the Enlightenment in the 1700s, the French Revolution in the 1790s (and in 1830… then again, in 1848), the birth of existentialism in the 1950s, and a continued laundry list of European counterculture. Yet, that pessimism is also part of a familiar cycle: belief, reform, inevitable disillusionment.

Nonetheless, I admire that resilience and realism. My first trip to France was in June of 2018, when my mom and I spent 10 days in Paris. By the end of the first day, I was already declaring that I could live there. Yes, it was an arrogant statement, coming from someone who knew little of French culture, was oblivious to the country’s most pressing issues, and viewed the nation through rose-tinted glasses; it was downright American.

But even now that I’ve grown older and returned to France many times, I stand by my initial impression. Paris has a charm that can’t be found in any other city, including New York, which I know well. New York is driven by an unabated hunger, willing to consume and reinvent itself. It can be difficult to look at a building in New York and recognize its history because time there seems to erase as much as it builds. Only plaques and tour guides point to the past.

Paris, of course, is also slowly evolving. Unlike NYC, its history appears more open and inviting, yet there’s a quiet depth only noticeable to those who seek it out.

The Parisians’ attitude—marked by a laid-back, almost indifferent c’est la vie—contrasts sharply with New Yorkers’ relentless energy. But make no mistake: Parisians are far from silent. They’re masters of intellectual debate, seeking any opportunity to engage critically. I first experienced this when I encountered a Carrefour clerk with plenty to say.

“Are you American?”

“Yeah.”

From there, he launched into a spiel about the Iraq War. I was only six when the war began. Though his “I can’t stand Americans” should have been antagonistic, it didn’t come across that way. To declare such an opinion so boldly suggested he felt no need to hold back, and I honestly respected that.

But what impressed me most was how Parisians value being well-read, devouring everything from classics (such as Zola and Dumas) to satire (like Charlie Hebdo and, controversially, Houellebecq). Much like their gastronomy, their intellectual appetite is curated with care. Aside from the bouquinistes (traditional booksellers) near the Seine, I found myself drawn to two bookstores: the iconic Shakespeare and Company, where I enjoyed a stimulating game of chess (that I lost); and the French giant, Gibert Joseph, where I bought a stack of books in French.

Despite my willingness to absorb the culture, the Louvre was the only museum I visited on my first visit. It was fine — packed with tourists, as expected. And I’ll say it now: the Mona Lisa isn’t noteworthy. It’s not the crowds or the three layers of glass that make it so underwhelming; it simply doesn’t evoke the awe its reputation promises. I spent time trying to feel something for it, but I remained unmoved. I was far more captivated by the sculptures and revolutionary art depicting liberté, égalité, fraternité pour tous—a concept both beautiful and timeless.

Ten days went by quickly. But that was only the beginning. Each trip revealed another layer of the French spirit, whether in Lyon, a cultural and industrial hub with a rich history for innovation (considered world capital of gastronomy and was once the largest exporter of silk in Europe) or Marseille, a cultural crossroads that gives the city its warm and resourceful personality, much like the Mediterranean. It’s this cultural depth that keeps drawing me back.

So, if you need to reaffirm your love for democracy, be reminded how far we’ve come, or you just want to get lost in the arts – whether on a dining table or a wall – you should visit France.