Little America

As someone who used to say that he was half-French but all-American (a rather bold statement given my complete lack of athletic ability), it somewhat pains me to admit a simple fact about our new home: there seems to be too much of America here in Paris.

Saying that there are too many American tourists here during the summer months is nothing profound. In August, English speakers outnumber French speakers by as many as four to one as the Paris residents flee the city in droves, abandoning their beloved city to the invading armies of pasty yokels in ill-fitting shorts from the backwoods of God-Knows-Where, USA. The few Parisians left behind are easy to spot; just look for the fashionably thin people giving directions to the Eiffel Tower to the overfed and underdressed podunks from Topeka. In English.

Still, as annoying as the hordes of double-wide American asses may be, they are but a fleeting frustration in the grand scheme of things. Like a bad case of herpes, they flare up when they're least welcome, and they're annoying as hell, but at least you can take some cold comfort in knowing that eventually they'll go away. No, my beef as of late has been the growing number of Americans who have decided to hop across the pond and settle down in this neck of the woods: the ex-pats who live, work and play among us.

I don't have any problem with the fact that thousands of Americans have made their home here, and truth be told I don't have any real problem with the millions of Americans coming to visit here, either. God knows, if anything, I'm critical of Americans for not getting out more, for not exploring the world and seeing how the other 5 billion people on this planet live. In that respect, I applaud those select Americans who take it upon themselves to live in another country, adopt another culture and strive for something new and exciting.

Or at least I would ... except that most Americans living here don't quite make it that far. Sure, a lot of Americans who live here on a permanent or semi-permanent basis eat the cheese and drink the wine and go away to the country on the weekend, but it's like they're cheating. They have it too easy. I mean, is it really adapting if everywhere you look there are imports and conveniences tailored specifically to the American consumer? If there's a McDonald's on the corner eager to help me and my fellow ex-pats take a break today? Or if the twenty-one (and counting) Starbucks locations scattered through the city are there to provide us with that familiar shot in the arm of caffeine every morning?

Well, it wouldn't matter if so many ex-pats didn't patronise them consistently. From many ex-pats, I often get the feeling that Paris isn't a foreign city to them at all; it's more like New York with better scenery and cuter accents. But can you blame them? There are innumerable websites, newspapers and TV programs designed to make the American abroad feel at home. Despite the efforts of the Academie Francaise to bring a halt to the anglicisation of the French language (good luck, fellas), untold quantities of advertisements and signs are displayed in English, targeting ex-pats and their abundant dollars. To be sure, it's not the ex-pats who are to blame for the market targeting them, but the simple fact is that Americans never have to travel very far to fall back within their old habits and language.

Even local stores fall guilty to aiding and abetting the Americanization of Paris. There are at least two English-only bookstores run by American ex-pats within easy walking distance of our apartment that Pegs and I know about, with countless others dotted throughout the city. Within a couple of blocks from where we live there are no less than three movie theaters that play American movies exclusively in VO (version originale, or English language with French sub-titles), and at least half of the people lining up to see these movies on any given night are speaking English at full volume.

Would these American conveniences still be here were it not for the amazing number of English-speaking ex-pats living in Paris? Well, some of them undoubtedly would. I mean, the French like to see their movies as they were originally intended, and the sub-titling industry has a long and storied past here. There have also been numerous converts in France to the American way of eating and entertaining, as evidenced by the ever-growing waistlines of French schoolchildren. And, of course, many of these businesses cater to tourists longing for a familiar brand name, a comforting mermaid logo or a glowing golden arch.

The funny thing is, though, that for many of these businesses their clientele does not strike me as consisting exclusively, or even predominantly, of tourists. It can be hard to tell sometimes, to be sure, but I get the impression that many of their patrons are ex-pats looking for that not-so-infrequent reminder of life back home. These are the Americans I see eating their Egg McMuffins on their way to work, or the ones sipping their Grande Mocchachinos with their loved ones on the weekend in November. These are the people I come across browsing in the English-language bookstores or having breakfast at the American diner on a side street in the Latin Quarter.

Just what do these ex-pats think they're doing? Why are they cloaking themselves in the trappings of French life, just to worship the icons of American excess? Maybe I'm generalizing a bit, but wasn't one of the reasons they came here in the first place to get away from that lifestyle? I mean, if they really want to live here, why do they still go back to the ways that they left behind? Why not abandon the Americanisms and stride boldly ahead into a more gallic future?

At this point, some of you may accuse me of being just a teensy bit hypocritical, and you know what? You'd be right. I only speak English at home, and I count peanut butter, Taco Bell and Coca-Cola as some of my favorite foods. I still feel far more comfortable speaking in English than I do in French, and if I'm going to pay 9.50 euro to see "Little Miss Sunshine", then I damn well want to hear Steve Carell and Greg Kinnear deliver their own lines. I like buying books at those English-only bookstores (it's soooo much easier than buying them on Amazon and having them shipped here), and I admit with shame that I have yet to read a single book in French since Pegs and I arrived almost two years ago. I don't drink coffee, but I do go to Starbucks with Pegs on the odd occasion that she wants a caramel-laced frappasomething, and she's Greek-Canadian. As for McDonald's, neither one of us could care less, but that little American diner in the Latin Quarter that we read about in the American weekly journal FUSAC? Best pancakes I've had in years.

There's no doubt about it, I'm part of the problem: I'm addicted to American culture, as terrible and superficial and fattening as it may be. The problem is that it takes a real effort to wean yourself from it, especially when you know that even here in Paris there's a dealer right around the corner just waiting to sell you another little slice of apple pie, or even cheesecake. But if we as Americans are going to live here in this, our adopted city and adopted country, we need to learn to give up the follies of our youth and try to live more in the present.

I'm not suggesting that we all go cold turkey; it's ok to fall off the wagon every once in a while and order some Domino's or Pizza Hut for the Euro Cup finals (yes, both are available in Paris, and they deliver). And it's perfectly fine to read books in English, just so long as we do it in addition to French books and newspapers. Rather than hang out exclusively at that Canadian bar down the way, maybe it's time we bought a drink at that outdoor cafe. Rather than watch a DVD of "Arrested Development" for the seventh time, we should try turning on the TV and watching something in French. Breaking the addiction to American culture is a hard thing to do, but they say that Step 1 of any twelve step program is admitting that you have a problem.

Hello, my name is Lee, and I'm an American.