Friends with the ex

People around me are breaking up. It's that time of year. Good resolutions or something. This makes me really sad because there is always the problem when you have two friends together, that your friendship with one of the couple will crumble after the separation. When X left me, we joked that we would share custody of the friends we had in common, and never make them feel they had to choose. And this worked out pretty well.

Now the tables are turned, since the man I'm seeing is best friends with his ex. After years of explaining to people that it was foolish to feel threatened by my exes, and that we now only shared friendship, I'm on the other side of the fence.
And...I have no problem with this. Shocking, yeah? I like it. I like that he can go beyond tension and sadness and create a great bond with someone really awesome. And yes, I've met her.

Somehow I feel this sounds stereotypically French. I should be wearing a stripey T-shirt with effortless style, while eating croissants with my ex-husband's new wife, and smoking filterless cigarettes while accordeon music wafts through the open window.

Anyone here friends with their ex(es)?

Rape culture in France

I'd like to talk about the way rape and sexual assault are perceived here in France, and how it effects the people I know. I'm not a counselor, or a sociologist, so this will be about my experience of rape culture.

Rape has been recognized as a crime in France since 1980 (you can get up to 15 years in prison). The legal definition is as follows: "Any sexual penetration (otherwise it's categorized as assault and not as rape) imposed upon another person through violence, constraint, threat, or surprise, is a rape."

Marital rape was legally recognized in 1992. These dates tell their own story.

In the media, rape has two different contexts. "Rape in the suburbs" and "City rape". Suburbs in France are not middle-class havens: they are what I think Americans call the projets, or ghettos. Young people who come from the suburbs (especially the Parisian ones) tend to describe themselves as "ghetto members". A few years ago, gang bangs became the subject of many an investigation. Young Muslim girls who would not wear a headscarf had been raped by several young men (usually men they knew socially) or set on fire. This brought about the idea that only immigrant religious extremists would rape. Rape was the product of alienation and misinformation.

On the other hand you have the City rape. This is defined by walking home late at night and being assaulted in the street. Victims of City rape are mostly pitied, but sometimes you'll read an article describing how drunk/skimpily dressed they were.

This is what I would call mainstream rape. Everyone agrees it's rape. Voilà. You don't go alone at night in some areas, it's a fact of life. As a runner I avoid some parts of Paris if I'm running at night. It's automatic. You go against the rules, you will be punished.

Much more problematic is date rape. I'll take the Polanski example, not because I'm not tired of that polemic, because I am. Yet the reaction of French intellectuals to the rape was scary and illuminating. It wasn't a rape because the mother of the girl entrusted her child to a known womanizer to do nude pictures. (So she pimped out her kid, basically). It wasn't a rape because the girl was not a virgin. You get the idea.

If you know your rapist, good luck to get your rape recognized as such. You egged him on. You sent the wrong signals. He was drunk. You were drunk.

As a French girl, you're taught how to flirt, that is, how to go far enough without going too far. If you go too far, you might end up in a situation beyond your control. This will be your fault. Rape education is focused on girls. We can avoid rape. Little is done to prevent rapists from raping.

Do I feel afraid, threatened every day? No. Am I bothered every day by some random person in the street? Yes.

"Hey pretty girl, want to come over tonight?"
"No, thanks."
"Have a good day then!"

This would be the nicest version of the typical exchange. Usually it goes along these lines:

"Hey pretty girl, want to come over tonight?"
"No, thanks."
"You fucking slut, just die already."

When I complain about this, I mostly hear people telling me that I'll miss it when it stops. Middle-aged women sigh wistfully about how they enjoyed being complimented, how they feel invisible now. The same women who tell me that I would be asking for rape if I went to a man's apartment alone. That I'd be sending out the wrong signals. To me, rape is less about sex than it is about violence. When I ask these people if it would be my fault if I were beaten up by a guy in his apartment, they usually say no. Yet rape would be my fault, somehow.

What I can tell you about French rape culture is that regardless of how "good" I am, someone will blame me for being raped, if this terrible thing happens to me one day. It will always be partly my fault. If I'm not drunk, it's because I wore a short skirt in a dangerous area. And why was I out in the middle of the night, anyway?

One day I was explaining to X, who's Australian, that I was afraid of travelling on my own because of violence and assault. He looked at me as if I were crazy. I realized how much I had internalized the French message that I had to restrict the way I live in order to be protected.

It's my responsability never to be assaulted. Even if it means living less of a life than if I were a man.

French women don't get fat

This post was inspired by Britni's photo essay on plus-size models.

When I was living in America, two things surprised me: the way people would discuss their weight problems and diets while actually having dinner; and the way exercise was seen as something virtuous, even necessary. "I don't exercise" got incredulous looks. Don't you know it's good for you???

In France, you don't talk about diets during meals. Being on a diet is not something you share with other people, it's shameful. It means you are going to be a bore at parties. It means that you are going to annoy friends and partners with the question:"Can you tell I've lost X kilos?"

Exercise is not seen as something virtuous: it's bewildering for many of us. Why would you inflict pain voluntarily on yourself? Sure, people do it, but only for the aesthetic benefits. No talk of "how good it feels".

Yet weight is an obsession. It's a secret, a hidden obsession. It's not that French women don't get fat; many are. I believe our obesity rates are climbing every year. But in Paris, populated mostly by rich people because of rent costs, being fat is something rare and strange. And if you're fat, well, you know...Just stop eating.

When I lived in Chicago, my views on weight changed drastically. On the one hand, I, the "plump" girl, was considered normal. On the other, the American relationship to food troubled me greatly. Food isn't only fuel: it's also taste and pleasure. I was dismayed not by the quantity of food but by its poor quality. I began to wonder if we couldn't combine the French and American attitudes to food and diet to create a healthier approach to eating!

I also met some wonderful people who talked to me about the scientific facts behind our bodies. I became an advocate of Health At Every Size. I realized that my weight (now I'm considered normal/big-boned, at twenty I was called "plump") was something I couldn't control completely, just like my height.

But you know what? Living in France I still have to listen to people criticizing others for being fat, for not being in control. As a recovering bulimic, this is not very helpful, but beyond that, it goes against scientific evidence and common humanity.

We rarely see images of fat people. In my side-bar you'll find an awesome fashion blog by Big Beauty, who lives in Paris. She's one of the rare "fatshionistas" in the French blogosphere. Every month or so, some French lady magazine does a spread on "fat fashion", modeled by size eights.

I believe we are imprisonned by the ideal image of the effortlessly thin French woman, smoking her cigarette while savouring her chocolate dessert. We're supposed to be perfect, while never showing strain or effort. A poll came out recently showing that French women are the thinnest in Europe, and simultaneously have the worst body image. I'm not surprised at all. I'm just sad.

Don't push me

I am polite to the point of absurdity. I've annoyed countless people by over-apologizing, over-thanking, and any other over-politeness you can imagine. A typical exchange would be:

"Sara, can you stop apologizing all the time?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry it bothers you!'

So irritating.

I've been instilled with this since childhood and it's very hard for me to stop these reflexes switching on. It's like helping people carry their luggage in the bus or train: it's something I do because that's the way I should behave. I never question the impulse; I give in to it quietly.

Because of this, many have seen me as a doormat. I've been criticized for being too nice. I'm not nice. I'm polite. It's different. I can be nice, but I keep it for people I care about. I'm polite to everyone.

But underneath this veneer I am, in fact, a very angry person. I hate unfairness. I hate patronizing tones, disrespect, cruelty. It takes everything I have not to blow up when confronted with this in my day-to-day life. I think of my politeness as a protection against my aggressive side.

I treat people with respect. I try to make life a bit easier for everyone by smoothing over the small events of life with kind words and actions. That doesn't make me a good person per se: it makes me a frankly annoying person a lot of the time. However, don't push me. Don't treat me like someone who will accept anything. Because although the surface of the water is unrippled and calm, the turmoil underneath would scare you.

What defines national identity?

This morning I was stopped in the street by a cameraman who wanted to interview me for national television, on the following question: what constitutes national identity for you?

I must explain that we are debating this topic very heavily at the moment. France in the last 40 years has known several waves of immigration from North Africa, Subsaharian Africa, Turkey, and many other regions of the world obviously. We will soon have more practising Muslims than practising Catholics. Some people are afraid that our "national identity" is threatened. A minister even said that he feared that France was now a couscous land, instead of the more acceptable choucroute (which by the way is a German dish, but whatever).

I thought a few seconds about the interview. My mother is a quarter Belgian, a quarter American, a quarter Spanish and a quarter Egyptian. My father is a Scot. I'm French. You can't really say I'm a typical French person, yet I feel entirely French. It's my mother tongue, it's where I was schooled, it's the way I am. I am French. But I don't think that my roots make me any less French than someone whose family has lived here for centuries.

Maybe it's a religious issue. Maybe we are afraid of Islam, because when I told the cameraman that I was the product of immigration myself he shrugged it off:"You're European."

I didn't do the interview. I had too many thoughts to muddle through, and I have too much respect for immigrants to make a half-baked statement in front of the nation.

France for me is a language. I understand that immigrants don't always talk French when they arrive, but I definitely think they should learn it. France is a way of life: we have secular public institutions here, so religion does not play an important part in our lives. You can't wear a cross around your neck, or a headscarf, or anything else in that vein, if you are a public official or a teacher, or even a student, when you are in a place representing the state (aka a town hall or a university). If this makes you unhappy or uncomfortable I don't think you should come to France. Other countries are more open to religious displays.

But I'm still pondering. My sister lives in America, by tradition the land of the Melting Pot. A young country,shaped by immigration. I wonder if America has the same trouble defining what its identity should be. I wonder if people in China, where so many languages are spoken, and over a billion people live, have trouble defining their identity.

And since this week, I am helping to host 50 young students from all of Europe, I have to make a short speech on "being European".

I have no idea yet. But I'm thinking about it.

Singledom, swingers and cultural differences.

I am wary of general statements, expecially concerning America. I lived in the Midwest for a year, but apart from that I have no idea about how most of Americans live. Yet when I was in Chicago, I was flabbergasted by some of the things I learnt there.

So, dating. In France, we know about American dating, but we don't understand it. To us, when you date someone, unless you discuss it beforehand, it's understood that it's exclusive. Even in the tentative first weeks. Once you've slept together, if you decide to continue to see each other, you are considered to be a couple. These are general guidelines.

In America, people seemed to be OK with seeing more than one person at a time. Going to movies, having dinner, all that stuff. It was completely foreign to me. In the same way, casual sex is far less taboo for Americans than for us.Naturally it happens, but you wouldn't discuss it with your girlfriends. It's not something to celebrate, or to bemoan, it's a fact of life.

So when you say you are "single", this is French for "celibate". In America, "single" could mean celibate, but it could also mean other things, like "enjoying life".

So when I am asked if I have a boyfriend and I answer that I'm single, I get pitying glances from the French (because it means I now lead an immaculate life) and high fives from the Americans in my study program. The reactions go from "I'm sure there's the right guy out there for you..." to "Go get 'em girl."

I am amused by this. I find it funny that French people, with the most ouh la la reputation in the world, are so much more prudish than puritanical America.

I read blogs written by swingers, and I'm also struck by the difference in mentality. In Paris, we have many famous swinger clubs. Famous people are outspoken about their swinging habits. It's not a big deal.

So I guess we are more comfortable with cheating politicians and swingers, but less with the idea of American dating.

Funny, no?

Business class babies

When my aunt V had her babies, she didn't want anyone in the family to get near them (she's a bit neurotic) for fear that we would give them germs. Anyway...I don't know anything about babies partly because of this, so it was fun playing with baby Sym, but even more fun to hear my mother sound off on baby rearing techniques and how they change all the time.

On babies who are always regurgitating their milk: "I used to get naked in the shower, feed your sister, wait until she was sick, and then we'd have a shower together.Your father sometimes joined us. Stop smiling."

On babies and crying: "Babies sometimes cry to get attention, you musn't spoil them by always catering to them. Let them scream when they've already been fed and changed.Also Mozart works perfectly on angry babies.Not the Magic Flute. But chamber music for sure."

On baths and babies: "When your grandmother was young, they advocated three baths a day, to occupy all those stay-at-home mothers. When I was pregnant with you, I thought that I would do my best, but ignore strict guidelines. I had fun inventing my own rules."

On doctors and weight gain: "I was always criticized by your doctor because of how fat you were. What was I supposed to do? Put a baby on a fucking diet?"

On people who criticize baby names: "For Heaven's sake. Give the baby a boring middle name and if later he hates being called Montana, he can revert to Paul."

In France, babies are not supposed to be a public nuisance. Don't bring your baby to a movie. Don't bring your baby to the museum. DON'T BRING YOUR BABY TO THE OPERA. Terrible situations. French audiences do not enjoy babies. They will make remarks.

No one complains about babies in planes, since it's not like the poor parents had a choice. They're stuck with the howling baby too. But once I got upgraded to business class on a Paris-Chicago flight, and I offered my upgrade to a lady who was travelling alone with her baby, thinking it would be nicer for her to relax a bit with some Champagne and a lot of leg room. The baby was as quiet as a mouse.

So maybe babies belong in business?

N.B: Thank you for your comments on my last post. As usual an outside perspective works wonders! You are very kind.