Charm School

In a post this past fall, I mentioned that I was learning to charm and be charmed here in France. I suppose that seems like an odd thing to say, but the fact is, charm is a revered art form in French culture. I’m not sure if they look at is an art, but I have come to think of it that way.

The French have a certain something, I don’t know what it is, that is completely different from what I’m accustomed to. They are not afraid to turn on the charm. Not afraid to be laughed at by their peers because they said something slightly flowery and over the top. Not afraid to offend women by complimenting them or looking at them with admiration. Mostly because the women seem to expect it and practice the same captivating techniques on men. It’s normal and happens everywhere, including the workplace.

Being charming is not the same thing as being a drageur or womanizer/skirt chaser/player. France has its share of schmucks as much as the next country. But this je ne sais quoi seems to be just a part of this world that I’m living in.  I’m not even sure how to explain it so I’ll give you some examples.

Last year a friend had a small party for me on my birthday. I wore a dress and my red high heels because I had NO crown to wear on this momentous occasion. I was sitting on a stool having a conversation with my friend Pierre when he began to shake his head and finally said, “C’est dommage”.

I asked him, "What is too bad?"

He said, “tu es éduqué à mort”. You are educated to death.

Of course, I didn’t know what the he was talking about and he explained that each time I laughed, I unconsciously pulled my skirt down over my knees.  And he thought that was just such an awful shame.

He wasn’t chatting me up.... or beginning one of THOSE uncomfortable conversations. He was just doing what Frenchmen do. No harm intended and certainly none taken.

Last fall I was at the market in Marseille with my sister. We hadn’t had sugar in at least an hour and we stopped by the table of a bisquit  (a sort of French cookie) vendor. I asked him a few questions about a certain treat that caught our eye and after his explanation we bought a couple.

As he was putting our caloric indulgence in a little bag, he said to me (all the following conversations were in French which is, of course, part of the charm), “You speak French very well and your accent is charming.”  Well we all know this isn’t true and I told him so, but he was not to be deterred.

He said,  “If you will permit me, I must tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes. Absolutely beautiful”.

I smiled (most likely batted my eyelashes) and thanked him for saying such a nice thing.

He said, “it may be nice but it’s also true”.

He then picked up two bisquits and put them in our bag. He said, “a gift from me. Bisquits made from the flower of the oranges, especially for the flowers (meaning us). Wow! I can’t say that I’ve ever been likened to a flower!

This past summer I got on the bus one day to be greeted by a smiling driver. I tried to run my ticket through the machine, but it wouldn’t take it. I smoothed it out and tried again. Finally the bus driver said, “slowly. Go very slowly. The machine is very romantic”. And then he beamed at me again.

I was walking home from the University recently and reading a brochure about a belly dancing class I wanted to take. I passed a table full of men gathered around an outdoor table and one of them said something to me. I looked up, apologized for not understanding (after all, I was walking, reading and most likely chewing gum…ALL at the same time!), told him I speak only a little French and if he talked VERY slowly, I MIGHT be able to understand. He repeated himself, slowly, and said, “if you continue to walk while you read you might just fall…. into my arms …and I would like that very much. When I laughed and smiled and told him that was a nice compliment, he asked if I might join him and his friends for champagne.  And when I (charmingly) turned him down, he smiled broadly and told me it was his loss and I was très charmant.

This must be something French, like understanding wine. Whatever it is, each time it happens, it just makes me feel good. Charm for charm’s sake is a good thing. And I’m practicing with all my might.

In October I was at the office of Securité Sociale, trying to figure out how I might be able to get health insurance now that I’m a student (after all, doesn’t college life involve at least one or two beer drinking accidents? I need to be prepared!).  When I was finished and trying to put my 17 different documents that I had needed back in some sort of order, I was chatting with an older gentleman who was also waiting. At the end of the conversation, he told me I was ravissante. I smiled broadly and said thank you and then came home and looked up what he had said because I had no idea (someday this problem is going to get me in a heap of trouble).  Now, he could have possibly said I’m a kidnapper…but he’s French…and I’m betting that he was telling me I was charming/ delightful or maybe even possibly ravishing…. or something like that. And that sure as hell made the trip to a French government office a little easier to take.

I wish everyone a Joyeuse St. Valentin. Did anything charming happen to you today?

The silhouette and more cool clip art from The Graphics Fairy