Hiatus adjourned

So Sass and I have brought La Classe Americaine to La Belle France, literally, not figuratively. Headquarters are now in Paris, but we're not trying to be those cool American girls. Quite the opposite, because that would be too easy. A lot of effort here is spent simply trying to fit in and appear French. No one wants to be immediately pegged as an American (which we were the first night I arrived here. Upon walking into a bar: "What would you ladies care to drink?" How the fuck did he know?)

Now, one would think that mastery of the language is all you need. Nope. Sass and I speak pretty impeccable French, and it's simply not enough. Clothes here speak almost as loudly as a bad accent, so the wardrobe must be reworked, muted, at once dumbed down and refined. A scarf is key, but not enough, and whatever you do, don't wear rainboots. Apparently it's like a crime against nature here and just generally beyond grisly and indecent. Really wish I'd known that before purchasing a pair before I left. My mom and I had several serious discussions about whether or not they were worn here. We ultimately came to the conclusion that rainboots are really practical, the French are practical and yes, they are made entirely of rubber, but if they're Burberry, who cares? And now if the weather is inclement when my parents come to visit me in November - and according to Murphy's Law, it will be - then my mother will make me wear the boots, and I will die of shame.

But even with the clothes and the accent, we still weren't passing and couldn't understand why the hell not, until I had this epiphany. Background: Recently Sass and I met up with an American chick and her latest French lover. The unspoken rule in these situations is that the interaction will be conducted in whichever nationality has the majority of participants, and so we started chatting in English, only pausing once to ask this dude if he was following okay. He responded that no, he wasn't understanding the words very well, but that he got the gist because Americans are so expressive when they talk; their faces play a large role in telling the story.

And that's when it all became pretty clear: I can't assimilate into this culture because I can't control my face. This is true of most Americans, but is especially (often embarrassingly) true of me, and for the past two weeks I've been walking the streets of Paris smiling, sometimes laughing to myself, generally always wide-eyed at the spectacular views on every street corner, or glowering thinking about all the French bureaucracy I have to deal with on a daily basis.

Now, I will allow that French people might have feelings, but if they do, they're not going to show them to a goddamn stranger on the street. Their faces are exercises in stoicism. They are unreadable and untouchable. (This is especially true of French women.) The only expressions that they cannot seem to master are bafflement and disdain - that face you make when you can't believe someone could be so stupid as to ask such a goddamn stupid question. I am often on the receiving end of this one.

So with regard to weaving myself seamlessly into the French fabric, it would appear that I am now le fucked, because even if I could learn to control my face (impossible), I wouldn't want to. I came to France because I like what the French are all about, which in a word, is living. Love, food, sex, pleasure in all forms - I think these things are valued here in a way that is healthy and entirely different from America. So I will wear a scarf and shun my rainboots if it allows me to participate more fully in the French tradition. However, the little tics, habits, styles of a nation are what make up its culture, and while I find the American ethos frightening at times, I think there is something equally as unpleasant in a culture that encourages, or at least cultivates in its citizens this tradition of heavily veiled (repressed?) emotion.

That being said, I'm loving it here. We're having a great time. We missed you though, class. Now that we're all settled in, we'll tell you all about it.