Last Updated on May 1, 2026
As someone who called Paris home for over a decade, and has been a French citizen for even longer, you might assume I’d stopped experiencing “cultural friction” of any kind. But this is far from being the case.
Countless binational vagabond types have reported similar sentiments— so this is hardly revelatory— but I never feel more French than when I’m away from France, and less so when I’m there. Well, ok, at least in certain moments, when things that seem perfectly rational and acceptable to your average Gallic person strike me as absurd or frustrating.
Earlier this week, my wife and I watched a stand-up show from the comic Sebastian Marx, a native New Yorker who’s lived in France for over 20 years and performs in both English and French. He’s amazingly (and enviably) fluent in the latter, despite poking fun at his remaining American accent — and basing a large part of his routine around what strikes him as the inherent weirdness and sometimes-absurdity of the French language.
His observations are often hilarious and spot-on (at least to me), and his experiences as a Franco-American person navigating the waters of both cultures— with eyes now wide open to the strangeness of each— really resonated with me.
I recommend watching this when time allows (he performs in French here, but there are subtitles throughout), and I’m also hoping to snag an interview with him at some point.
Anyway, his show led me to think it would be a fun exercise to start parsing the things about Parisian and French culture that continue to leave me perplexed, bemused and even infuriated after all these years. And since I spend most of my time focusing on how French culture has roped me in for life and won’t let go, I figure it’s fair ’nuff to “winge” a bit, as the Brits might put it.
So here goes….with the caveat, of course, that these points are mostly based on my subjective experiences. I’m not claiming there’s any hard data behind any of this, and like anything offered mostly in a spirit of humor, it’s to be taken with a grain of salt.
The grass “is resting”— making park lawns virtually unusable
One thing I find frustrating about visiting an average Parisian park or garden (and this is also true elsewhere in France) is that for most or all of the year, you can’t use the lawns for picnics, letting your kid “get their wiggles out”, nor any other form of recreation, for that matter.
Why? Well, obviously because the lawn has to rest. It’s very common in the capital and elsewhere in France to see signs reading Pélouse au répos — the lawn is resting, and you’d better not dare sit on it.
{See our full guide to Parisian parks & gardens including picnic and nap-friendly ones}
And if you think the ban on using most lawns in city parks and gardens is only enforced in the winter months, ostensibly (and reasonably so) to let the grass recover during its hibernation period, you’re in for some disappointment. In the spring and summer you’re likewise often banned from planting your derriere on that enticing bit of grass and attempting a nap or picnic.
Believe me, I’ve been told off countless times for sitting on lawns in parks, even when there isn’t a sign telling me it’s off-limits.
Having to give “la bise” to 60 people when entering a party
Ok, this one might make you think I’ve got a bit of a Larry David-ish streak in my personality (and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong). In Paris (at least pre-pandemic), it’s been customary to faire la bise (exchange cheek kisses or at least air kisses) with as many strangers as are present at a private party or function (excluding, say, enormous galas).
{See my French etiquette 101 guide}
So I’ve regularly encountered situations where I’ve come late to a party with dozens of people (again, more of a reality pre-pandemic than these days) and felt obliged to systematically tour the room, going to each person in turn to introduce myself — “Bonsoir, je suis Courtney” — and faire la bise.
Don’t get me wrong— I generally like the “bises” custom, finding it much warmer than the awkward waves exchanged between strangers at comparable private social functions in the UK, where we now live most of the year. It creates a sense of connection and somehow (along with a bit of wine), “fluidifies” the social interactions to come.
But 40 people? Aargh! The effort and time are a bit much, and the sounds of my own repeated name and kissing noises start to grate in my ears by the end of the exercise.
To avert all this, I’ve occasionally resorted to arriving at a party, waving warmly at everyone and saying “Bises collectives!” (Collective bises for everyone!) But I do wonder if I come off as rude as a result…
The way random strangers disapprovingly comment on your snacking habits– but plain baguettes can be devoured without issue
I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve found myself regaled by someone wishing me “Bon appetit!” in a clearly sarcastic tone while I’ve munched on a sandwich or quiche between appointments. This was especially true during my early years as a student in Paris, when I had a precarious gig as a corporate English teacher that saw me run ragged around the city, teaching executives at various offices.
I pretty much never had time for a proper lunch, so would more often than not buy a crappy sandwich from somewhere and scarf it down while rushing to my next class. Sometimes this would be at odd times— say, 3 pm— because I missed “normal” lunchtime.
But I have to warn you that in Paris and many other places in France, eating outside of prescribed times, and when walking in the street, is still seen by many people as, well, gauche. And some, rather than keeping that opinion to themselves, let you KNOW they find it uncouth by looking straight into your eyes and saying “Bon appetit!”— the intent being to slightly shame you. There may be a smile. But it’s a wry one.
Partaking from takeout coffee cups is also something that many find undignified, though that’s changing with the inevitable onslaught of globalized, samey habits and Parisians adapting to them, as people do everywhere.
Now, I wouldn’t be exasperated by all this, were it not that it’s nevertheless considered normal and acceptable to tear pieces off a plain baguette and munch on it in the street or the metro. The trick is to snack on a baguette that was theoretically intended for home consumption, not a meal, and delicately nibble at it (until it’s all but gone by the end).
Why this is acceptable, but eating a filled sandwich isn’t, is something that will always mildly infuriate me. But the slight absurdity of it all also amuses me.
Too many museums with minimal context or explanation
There’s been some improvement on this front in recent years, notably at freshly renovated museums including the National Medieval Museum (Musée de Cluny) and the fascinating historical Parisian collections at the Musée Carnavalet.
But, at least from my perspective, too many museums in France continue to offer inadequate context and informational materials in their exhibits, leading visitors to scratch their heads in frustration as they try to understand what’s being displayed, and what its significance might be.
This was a particular critique levied against the Musée du Quai Branly (pictured above), whose “post”colonial collections of art and artifacts from Asia, Africa, Latin America and Oceania perpetuate, for some critics, colonial-era practices by not offering sufficient context on what visitors are seeing.
So things can too easily get lumped together indiscriminately, seemingly suggesting that the objects are mostly interesting because ‘“non-western” and thus “exotic”. Their particularity somewhat disappears. And that’s notwithstanding the even more serious issue of restituting and returning objects that had been pillaged or stolen from their countries of origin…
But I’m not singling out the Quai Branly museum— that would be unfair. I’ve seen the same issue in numerous fine-art collections, digital art galleries, and social science museums in France. Outside of Paris, most won’t have displays available in languages other than French— despite tourism being their bread and butter.
It just doesn’t make sense. And I hope it continues to change.
Apparently poor oversight of food hygiene in restaurants
We recently watched the TV series “The Bear”, which we ended up loving (like millions of others around the world). At least two episodes revolve around the Chicago-based restaurant at the center of the show having to close because it gets shut down by a hygiene inspector.
The beleagured chef and his staff are forced to fix a number of safety and hygiene-related issues with the restaurant before they’re able to re-open to customers.
Now, France does have a number of hygiene and safety codes that restaurants are supposed to be adhering to — I found them here. But while I don’t have any solid, empirical evidence that these codes just aren’t being rigorously enforced through inspections, my numerous bouts of food poisoning in Paris— the only city where I’ve ever been made ill by restaurant food— tell me something is likely awry on this front.
Most recently, I came down with a fairly violent bout of food poisoning (probably listeria) after consuming a slice of vegetarian lasagna from a local brasserie. The likely culprit? Probably raw ricotta in the lasagna, and the restaurant leaving the lasagna out of the fridge (I saw it, and foolishly ordered it anyway).
I see this sort of thing in many, many restaurants and fast-food joints. Meat, unpasteurized cheeses, salad greens and other perishable items being improperly stored, or left out on warm counters. Food that tastes “off”— or looks it. Bathrooms that look like they’ve been through a war, with urine as the chief weapon (c.f. Sebastian Marx’s hilarious bit on Parisian public bathrooms in the video posted above).
And while most restaurants aren’t guilty of these practices, too many aren’t adhering to basic hygiene and health standards. In my book, that’s the government’s fault as much as the owners’.
Thoughts? Comments?
If there are things about French/Parisian culture that you’ve found to be puzzling or infuriating, leave your comments below, and get a conversation started. Merci!
Courtney Traub is the Founder and Editor of Paris Unlocked. She’s a longtime Paris resident who now divides her time (as well as she can manage) between the French capital and Norwich, UK. Co-author of the 2012 Michelin Green Guide to Northern France & the Paris Region, she has been interviewed as an expert on Paris and France by the BBC, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Le Figaro, Matador Network and other publications. Courtney has also written and reported stories for media outlets including Radio France Internationale, The Christian Science Monitor, Women’s Wear Daily and The Associated Press. In addition to going down various rabbit holes of curiosity when it comes to French culture, history, food and art, Courtney is a scholar of literature and cultural history whose essays and reviews have appeared in various forums.
