don’t judge me, just break me.

romyschneiderFirst off, he says, the Parisienne is never satisfied. Here’s proof: I’m telling you how gorgeous you are and it’s never enough.

The Parisienne thinks she’s a role model. She can fill blogs and books with life advice.  In fact, she loves being asked what she thinks  And of course that makes sense because she’s already done everything. Seen everything. She knows it all.

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She’s outspoken and can swear like a sailor. She’s horrified when people politely say “Bon appetit!: Poor taste is worse than poor diplomacy.

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In a nutshell (and, trust me, I know her well), I’d say the Parisienne is completely cuckoo!

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Yes, the Parisienne often comes from somewhere else. She wasn’t born in Paris, but she’s reborn there.

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She’s Parisian, which is to say she’s melancholy. Her mood responds to the changing colors of her city.  She can feel a sudden surge of sorrow or even hope for no reason at all. In the blink of an eye, all those lost memories and smells come flooding back, reminding her of loved ones who are no longer there. And time passing by.

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When she’s walking out for good and slams the door behind her to show she means business, and then realizes she has no idea where to go.

* She’s capable of moving mountains but is in constant need of reassurance.

 

Excerpts from:

Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline De Maigreat, Sophie Mas

 

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A Risky Sort of Simplicity

We live on a raft, guided by nothing, the stars were merely there to spur discussion and imagination. In a world where we truly knew nothing, we understood that we did not live in the same world as the rest of our species, we understood the world the way a baby turtle rushes to the sea, it rushes without example and only a small chance of survival. Survival, we survive through the world by succumbing to our reptilian demands, and through the tumultuous and truthful moods of our ever changing Ocean. The Ocean, our ally, our enemy, our lifeline. We were effected only by rain, sunshine, and our minds, we tasted and luxuriated in the pleasures of the sea, we were tortured by storms, and ridiculed by our kind. Our kind, most of them romanticized us and were captivated by our stories and opinions, they occasionally come across us, full of curiosity and are always thirsty with questions that alluded with a voyeuristic sense to some sort of prurient fantasy. All of our kind ponder us and eventually through a nervous decisiveness conclude that we are crazy, irresponsible and lack the decency of normality that they all thankfully have…

There is no past, present, or future. We live on a raft, grounded by nothing, we belong only to the sea, the stars and our hearts.