Stuff Parisians Like

Browsing through the site "Stuff Parisians Like" (which is likely the inspired French knock-off of the ever-popular American "Stuff White People Like"), I realized there are a whole lot of generalizations that people can make about Parisians - about the way they look, eat, talk and generally go about exuding an unmistakable air of Parisian-ness. To add to the site's somewhat impressive list, some of my own:

1) High heels. Parisians (well, Parisian women) love their talons. Whether it's in boots, pumps or terrifyingly fashionable designer heels (does looking at these make anyone else feel nauseous?), les femmes françaises seem totally at ease traversing the city streets with their feet a few inches off the ground. Whether it's a mark of style, power, or sexuality doesn't really make a difference. To me, it's all about looking (and feeling) confident.

2) Staring at strangers. There is no taboo in Paris about blatant and shameless staring. It's as if no one's maman ever bothered to nudge them to politely look away. ("Staring is rude, sweetie.") In fact, two of the city's most significant cultural institutions are essentially structured around the practice of people-watching. First off, the corner café, whose outdoors chairs are always positioned side-by-side to face the street. (If this is not so, it is likely not an authentic café.) And secondly, the métro, whose close quarters encourage, if not require, stranger-to-stranger eye contact. Perhaps this is why so many women wear heels - you never know when you're being watched (and judged.) In fact, you almost certainly always are.

Flirting with the fish man

One of my favorite things about living in Paris (or in any city, for that matter) is becoming a part of a neighborhood, or, in other words, creating a safe space against the chaotic and anonymous city life. And as I've mentioned, my current neighborhood in the Latin Quarter has enough local charm to go around. But it's the simple stuff, like knowing where to go to do my laundry, withdraw cash from the ATM or buy vegetables, that makes it feel like home.

And recently, it's been knowing where to go to buy my fish. As part of my recent commitment to cooking, I have begun to buy fresh fish at the poissonerie on rue Monge. The first time I went in, I bought swordfish (called espadon in French). A few days later, heading back for salmon, the fish man quickly recognized me and asked if I was back for more espadon. A week later, his memory was doubly impressive. Espadon ou saumon? he asked, with a neighborly smile. At that moment, I felt right at home in my little neck of the woods.