An American in Paris: Being American in Paris

"The American Dream is the Planet's Nightmare." Seems to be a pretty common sentiment among random Parisians. | Photo by Annie White.

When I first moved to Paris, I had fantasies that my French would magically become flawless, that I would never get lost, that I would somehow be able to afford a fancy Parisian wardrobe, and that I would blend in with all the French people. Then I would sit in cafés drinking coffee by day and go to snooty wine bars by night. I had a whole thing planned out.

Of course, this is not what has happened. I don’t frequent cafés because I hate coffee and the waiters always laugh at me when I order hot chocolate. I did not buy a new Parisian wardrobe because, as it turns out, I like my old wardrobe just fine. I always get lost, and I usually don’t even get to finish introducing myself before whoever I am talking to asks me where I’m from. Also, in a cruel twist of fate, my Midwestern accent prevents me from pronouncing my name in a way that Francophones can understand. “Je m’appelle Annie,” I say. “Yani?” They say. “Annie,” I say, but this time with a fake British accent so it’s more like “Ahhnnie.” “But that’s a French name! Why didn’t you say so?”

My status as both an American and a student of Political Science means that most people I meet pounce on the opportunity to display their knowledge of American politics. I have had the unhappy task of trying to explain the primary process to several French acquaintances since I’ve been here, and they have all been completely taken aback by the prospect of a yearlong election cycle. I share the distaste of long elections, so I am usually able to bond with my new friends while discussing the horrors of Sarah Palin. However, the conversation inevitably turns to how the United States has single handedly (and perhaps even maliciously) destroyed the world economy. I usually take this opportunity to remind my conversation partner about Greece. This is often followed by an icy silence.

Political banter aside, it seems like many French people have burning questions about the American way of life that only I can answer. Most of the time, I really enjoy this exercise because it allows me to tell nice stories about my home and leave the not-so-nice parts out. Someone asked me to explain Thanksgiving to them, and I said it was a celebration in which we remembered the kindness of the Native Americans who saved the Pilgrims from starving by teaching them how to farm.

Of course, if you place Thanksgiving in the broader historical context of the systematic oppression and extermination of Native Americans, it’s not such a nice of a story. But I love Thanksgiving and my French vocabulary doesn’t include “systematic oppression and extermination,” so I chose to simplify. And now, there is a French man walking around who used to think Thanksgiving was just Christmas for people who didn’t feel like waiting until December, and now he thinks it is a way for families to get together and celebrate the fact that none of us can make it on our own.

I think my work here is done.

About Annie White

Annie is a senior in CAS studying political science.

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