Last summer, I casually studied abroad in Paris.While of course my main focus was my studies, I managed to fit in a little time to deeply undertand why the place is called “The City of Love”. Okay, ‘love’ might be a bit of a euphamism. To meet the suave gentlemen we had heard so much about, my friends and I decided to utilize the most efficient resourc at our disposale: Tinder. The crop of nearby males was like a virtual hipster museum; let’s just say I rarely swiped left. Despite occasional language barriers, this application granted me everything from mildly awkward rendez-vous to sleepless soirees with foreign men, and on this reflective Thursday, I would like to reminisce publically on a few of these less-than-sexy times, as always, keeping it PG for the youngins.
In order to avoid hurt feelings, it’s most important to begin each relationship with the disclaimer:
Je suis en France pour seulement trois moins et je veux m’amuser. Faites le advenir. Allons-y!
**I’m in France for only three months and I want to have fun. Make it happen. Let’s go!
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Guillaume–My sophisicated fling. A French Literature professor at La Sorbonne, he was far more well read than I and therefore exhausting to talk to. My French vocabulary did not fully transcend to existentialism and poetry, so we drank a lot of wine in silence until I caught on. He also knew about classic French cinema: he slowly read the back cover synopsis of a DVD before we awkwardly made out in his living room. Spicy.
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Louis-–We can consider him the Cold War of my love life: we talked through Tinder for about four weeks and failed to meet up about six times, eventually abandoning hope altogether and pursuing other matches. Who knows where it coud have led? Restricted access to WiFi is a major cockblock.
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Mario–Italian. Surprise! He was a contemplative and rebellious pre-law student who openly despised everything American. He was also oddly flexible and had a butt fetish, both of which I was okay with. We got kicked out of one club for attempting to sneak on to a boat, then another booted us for provocative dancing. And that was only the beginning of our adventurous night. Sadly, this one could not last, as Mario was part of some traveling gypsy group that in all honesty made me a little uncomfortable. I think he may have stolen my lipstick.
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Mark–British. Obviously the accent is irresistable, but this guy was also a stunt double for Warner Brothers. After hearing he had stunted for Harry Potter and Game of Thrones, I really didn’t need a whole lot of conversation anymore. We snuck alcohol onto the tube on the way to a pub and I got what I would call the insider’s tour of London. He was currently working on Tarzan, so to prepare for it let’s just say I helped him identify with his animalistic side. It was bloody fantastic. Cheers.
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Alfonse-–He had strawberry-blonde dreadlocks. I really don’t need to say much else.
Then the three months ended and I had to say goodbye to them all, but we left on good terms. In fact, I bet a few of them are reading this right now. (Bonjour..?)
The main lesson I learned from my foreign frivolity is that putting yourself out there can lead to the best times of your life. No, I did not bring home a classy Parisian husband wearing rolled-up green pants and loafers (although I did create a sneaky album on my phone… “Hot Men on the Metro”….). Instead, I brought back endless tips on how not to date, an inappropriate French vocabulary, and ridiculous stories to whip out during a lull in conversation. Really all that was missing were the Vespa’s from Mary Kate and Ashley’s Passport to Paris.