French Toast Read online

  But one can’t leave it at that.

  What continues to strike me is that Frenchmen and Frenchwomen like one another’s company. They don’t seem to feel any need for systematic antagonism.

  There’s a lightness in male-female relationships that we Anglo-Saxons don’t always get, at least not at first. Visiting Paris for the first time, the beautiful young American daughter of a dear friend of mine told me she was upset at being followed down the street by a French fellow. “But,” she said, a bit mystified, “when he saw I wasn’t interested, he just said, ‘Good-bye,’ smiled, and went on his way.”

  That’s because the rules of the game are different. “Frenchmen seek seduction, not domination,” a French gentleman friend told me. This world traveler and woman-watcher observed that in the States, letting a woman pass in front of you, opening a car door, paying the bill at a restaurant, giving the baisemain (kissing her hand—horrors!), which only a decadent European would do anyway, are all viewed with the utmost suspicion. “The idea that a man would take a woman to dinner, do all of the above, and not try to bed her is inconceivable in the States,” he told me with a Gallic shrug of disdain.

  One reason that Frenchwomen do not fear male-female games—or the opposite sex—is that flirtation does not imply or require follow-up. Flirting, he explained, is the same as strolling. “It’s for the pleasure of it. What might come afterward is fun if it happens, but it is not the primary goal.”

  Some people maintain that the relationship between Frenchmen and Frenchwomen is very special. As far as I can see, there is a tacit agreement between the two sexes. As long as women regiment the action from behind the scenes, which they do, everybody gets along. Frenchwomen understand this and they’re much too clever to get into a confrontation with men. The “special” relationship between men and women in France is based on the premise that if you don’t rock my boat, I won’t rock yours (my opinion).

  In her book XY: De l’identité masculine (XY: Of Masculine Identity) French author and sociologist Elisabeth Badinter maintains that the uniqueness of male-female relationships in France comes in part from the fact that Frenchmen acknowledge their feminine side. A case in point: Frenchmen don’t see buying lingerie for their girlfriends as a threat to their manliness, au contraire. Badinter says the Scandinavian man is “soft” and the American man is “tough,” whereas the Frenchman is the perfect combination.

  “The American type of tough guy has no equivalent in France,” she writes. “Of course, we have the patriarch, the ordinary macho, but not the extraordinary supermacho.” Rambo and the Terminator, she says, are definitely American specialties.

  Ah, so that “feminine side” explains why I have a soft spot for Frenchmen, thought I, after reading Badinter’s theory. They do have an endearing side. I exclude, of course, all those macho dudes behind the wheels of their teeny-weeny R5s or Peugeot 305s or the guys who yell “Connasse” (translation unprintable) out their car window: They don’t look to me like they’re “acknowledging their feminine side” one bit.

  “What,” asked an American man one day, upon learning that a mutual friend was going to marry a Frenchman, “do these Frogs have that we don’t?” To be sure, not every Frenchman is Gérard Depardieu or Jean Reno—but still, there are a few things that Frenchmen have in common that make them so . . . French.

  For one thing, a sense of seduction. As a journalist friend of mine remarked, a Frenchman is capable of flirting with you over the phone, sight unseen. She recounts a phone interview with the late Yves Montand in which he was positively seducing her with his charm. What did he care if she was sixty-five or twenty-two? He had never seen her and probably never would—but why not be agreeable just in case? The point is that, as any self-respecting French male would, he wanted to win her over. The sexual tension, the recognition that one person is a man and that the other is a woman, permeates life in France. There is none of this “Oh, we’re doing business; we’re all neuter” stuff. No one, thank God, forgets what sex he or she is.

  France has not succumbed to the politically correct movement in the area of sex (thank goodness). Thus, a woman is delighted, not shocked, when a man notices her new dress, and the man is not afraid that an innocent compliment will lead to a complaint of sexual harassment. Hey! But then no self-respecting Frenchwoman would consider herself “victimized” by a man’s paying attention to her. Au contraire!

  Many Frenchmen have a wonderful sense of humor about the whole game of flirting. France is probably the one country an attractive single woman can live in peacefully, because a woman is allowed to take or leave the attentions men lavish on her. To be more explicit: If you tell a man to bug off, he will. He was just trying, and if he succeeds in getting your attention or making you laugh, well, it was worth the attempt. One American woman who lived with a Frenchman for many years told me, “As far as making you feel like a woman, the Frenchman wins hands down.” And she added, “The French are the only men I’ve ever known who can make love with their shoes and socks on in the heat of the moment, because they’re not concerned about whether they look ridiculous or not.” For this woman, the American male, on the other hand, might get a better score both on treating women as equals and the use of soap, two points on which not all Frenchmen would get a passing grade.

  In a general sense, soap or no soap, Frenchmen are not afraid of body contact. It’s not unusual to see grown men giving each other kisses and bear hugs. They’re not afraid to go into a lingerie shop and choose underwear for their partner. (You can see them in the shops, earnestly studying the different colors and shapes.) An Englishman who wanted to get a pretty slip or bra for his wife said he finally couldn’t bring himself to do it because his sister, who ran a lingerie shop in England, had confided to him that the men who came in the boutique to look at the underwear were trying it on for themselves! He ended up buying his wife a painting.

  What about the myth of the French lover? One American woman who lived with a Frenchman for twelve years puts it bluntly: “The French don’t wash enough to be sexy. For me,” she explains, “cleanliness is next to sexiness. Americans like to take a shower before they get started and the French just like to dive into it without having had a shower in three days.” This, of course, is a generalization, and I’ve heard stories of very clean (by American standards) Frenchmen. But it is perhaps true to say that for a Frenchman, squeaky-clean leaves nothing much to desire. Not for himself, nor for his mistress. Wasn’t it Napoléon who on his way back from battle wrote to Josephine, “Don’t wash; I’m on my way”?

  “I think Frenchmen are much more charming and gentlemanly,” a young American who is engaged to a Frenchman told me. “On the other hand, since they are more gentlemanly, they want you to be more womanly. And that’s hard. You can be a knockout California girl in a T-shirt and jeans, but in general that won’t be enough. They notice everything. In a way, it’s nice, and in another way, it’s scrutinizing and an extra pressure on the woman.” And she added, “Another big difference here is that everything is out in the open. Sex magazines are right out on the shelves and the men leaf through them and buy them without sneaking around about it. In the States, if a guy is looking at one of those magazines, it means he’s got some hang-up. His interest is not natural or shared. It is much more suppressed.”

  As far as intimacy is concerned, another American woman married to a Frenchman told me that in her opinion Frenchmen are “better at intimacy and not embarrassed about sex; it’s not a hang-up for them. When they experiment with sex, it’s because they want to try something new, but not at all in a prurient way.”

  On the other hand, one American woman told me, “Frenchmen have enormous egos. For example, if they want to take you to bed and you don’t want to go right away and are thinking it over, they make you feel like you are abnormal, or unnatural. That way, the burden is all on you and they retain their ego.”

  Another opinion about Frenchmen comes from an American therapist who works with Fren
ch-American couples. “Frenchmen tend to build walls around themselves,” she says. “They try not to let people know what they are really like. It is difficult for them to question themselves, because of their upbringing, so they are constantly on the defensive. I feel that it is very threatening for them not to be like other people, even though they can be iconoclastic in intellectual arguments. But as for the rest, their humor evaporates the moment you swing from the norm. They are very self-protective.” She says that when she works with Frenchmen in a therapy situation, she is careful to show them that she respects this “self-defense.” Her words clearly come from close observation. Can anyone imagine a group of Frenchmen in one of those male-bonding groups that have cropped up in the States? No way. Touchy-feely hasn’t hit the French male yet.

  In spite of their sometimes monstrous egos and their “self-protection,” Frenchmen often entice foreign women (just look at how many American women in Paris are married to Frenchmen). A divorced Australian woman who works in a large multinational company and dates both Frenchmen and Americans told me that she finds it a relief to be able to joke around rather explicitly with her French male colleague because “he just laughs and doesn’t think of our conversation as a come-on, which the Americans do.” She, like other observers, says she likes the “dose of femininity” in French males.

  Badinter says that Frenchmen don’t need this tough-guy aspect because they have better relationships with their mothers. Her explanation is that the French mother hasn’t smothered her son the way the American or German mother has, nor has she abandoned him the way the English mother does by sending him away to boarding school. “Less prisoners of their mothers, our sons hate women less,” she writes. Interesting theory.

  Even the feminist movement in France, says Badinter, was not characterized by the rupture with men that has been seen in the States. “I am not saying that France has escaped a patriarchy or the oppression of women, but I observe a difference in the nature of it . . . there is less hate between the sexes here than elsewhere.”

  I agree on the last point, but I love the part about the French mothers. A lot of American women married to Frenchmen might contest the point about Frenchmen being “less prisoners” of their moms. Actually, some Frenchmen would like their wives to be their moms, or at least do things as well as she did.

  My French husband would like me to PACK HIS BAG when we go on trips. Since he doesn’t pack my bag, I don’t see why I should pack his. This is American equality, right? The last time this happened, we were on our way to the Norman coastal town of Etretat for a late-fall weekend. “You did bring my toothbrush and razor, didn’t you?” he asked, glancing over my way casually. Actually, for once in my life, I had ventured to pack his bag, congratulating myself all the while on my open-mindedness, my largesse d’esprit. But of course I had forgotten the razor, toothbrush, and just about everything else that was essential.

  After twenty years in France, I can’t get excited anymore about the issue of bag packing. I figure that (a) he doesn’t have all that much time, (b) he is absolutely not interested in what he wears, and (c) he’s bound to look better if I do it. Maybe I have become French after all. I’m in good company at least. Bernadette Chirac, wife of the French president, recently told reporters that she always packs Jacques’s valise. He wouldn’t think of going on any trip, official or otherwise, without her preparing his suitcase.

  Could you be thinking at this point that Frenchmen are also looking for a mother when they wed? Well . . .

  It’s interesting to consider what the Frenchman looks for in a woman. Basically, he wants a sexy supermom. In one poll, Frenchmen said they preferred women in silk underwear to women in cotton underwear (no surprise there); a shy demeanor, as opposed to a bold one; a chic suit rather than shorts; and an accomplished housewife rather than a social butterfly or perfect hostess. Sixty-nine percent said they preferred an intelligent woman; 72 percent said a housewife; and 68 percent chose a good cook. In other words, they want it all: a perfectly groomed, intelligent, unassuming creature who manages to run a perfect home and cook terrific food.

  Now, about the “shy demeanor” bit. In the United States, women are encouraged to speak up. Not so in France. Even if the men aren’t talking just to one another, it is clear that the women are consciously or unconsciously taking second place, harmonizing with the men but not daring to go out on a limb or take the lead. I mention this because as a forthright lively American female, I have to make a mammoth effort to zip up my mouth at formal French dinner parties so as not to come on as being too aggressive. A definite cultural gap.

  A terrible thing did happen one night, though. At a dinner party given by a Frenchman and his American wife, I found myself with several very entertaining American women who were there with their French husbands. Even before, and certainly after, several drinks, we American women got together and started loudly laughing and having a good time. The Frenchmen were excluded. We were having such a fun, boisterous time that we had forgotten them. And they, totally unused to such behavior, didn’t really know what to do. It was very impolite.

  There are a lot of generalizations you can make about the French and most of them probably would not stand up half the time, but I can safely say that never would you see that kind of conduct from a group of Frenchwomen, especially Parisian women. First of all, they don’t enjoy one another’s company that much. That sounds nasty, but what I mean is that since the French are not only not taught to smile but think that the generalized smile is something reserved for dolts, you can’t really tell whether they are having the time of their lives or are bored out of their minds. Second, French women bond in a quieter, more personal way. Third, they never drink too much and hence don’t let go. To their everlasting credit, one might be tempted to say.

  So we American women present that night were very ashamed and vowed to toe the line at future social occasions.

  Male-female relationships in France seem to be decidedly different from the way they are in the States. If, by some quirk of fate, you find yourself in a Franco-American marriage, you get the fun of observing all of these considerable cultural gaps firsthand—and don’t let anyone tell you there aren’t any (or many).

  All of these cultural gaps are exacerbated in an inter-cultural marriage. Marriage is hard enough as it is, and intercultural marriages can be even harder because of incomprehension due to cultural differences. “I think that all the differences in traditional marriages are even harder in intercultural marriages,” family counselor Jill Bourdais, an American who has lived in Paris with her French husband for over twenty years, told me. She offered in-laws as an example of cultural differences. When Americans marry, she says, there is the shared assumption that the in-laws might be difficult, and that you don’t necessarily have to see them. “The expectation here is that you have to go to your mother-in-law’s house once a week rain or shine, and this comes as a shock to the American partner. And once you get there, you often find that you are the child and that the mother-in-law runs the show for everyone.”

  One American who goes to the south of France regularly to visit her in-laws complained that the mother-in-law wouldn’t let anyone, not her or her children, out of the house when it was too hot. “So there we are, prisoners inside the house, because she has proclaimed that that’s the way it’s going to be.” I must admit that the first time I heard my late father-in-law calling for the children (les enfants), I thought he was addressing my two young sons. Mais non! He was addressing me and my husband. We were the children.

  Child raising can be another major area of conflict for Franco-American couples. Confides one friend who is still happily married: “I think our biggest conflict was over bringing up children. The French have this Catholic attitude of original sin in which they see the child as being born bad and needing to be straightened up. My husband—but this is his character and perhaps not because he is French—is quick to criticize and slow to praise.” She laughs: “It’s not th
at he’s mean, but he was brought up that way himself.” And she continues: “I was afraid the kids would grow up hating their father. A lot of French fathers don’t horse around with their kids, take them camping, or be a pal. They retain more of a distant relationship.”

  I, too, was surprised by the distance my husband adopted toward our children when they were very young. Having been brought up in a household where the children didn’t even dare open their mouths at the dinner table, his only wish was that his own children would do the same. Boy, was he disappointed. The happy postscript to this is that in spite of not being the television image of the father out camping with his sons or playing touch football, my French husband has been a remarkable father to his children. (I am the supersoft touch, whereas he, fortunately, won’t, as we say in the Midwest, take any guff from them.) The funniest part of it is that somehow subliminally the “Don’t open your mouth at the table” message did eventually get through—and now we have a hard time getting them to talk when there’s company. Figure that one out. It must be their French genes surfacing.

  Another American woman attributes most of the problems in her marriage to the difference in the way she and her husband see their only child. The French father is stern, often reprimanding his son for not working hard enough at school. The American mother’s main concern is that the child is having fun and enjoying himself.

  Another difference some American women married to Frenchmen point out is that, in their French families, it is up to the children to call their grandparents. In France, it seems that it is up to the younger people to initiate contacts with the elders, including children to parents, rather than vice versa.

  “I realized that cultural differences were vital in our misunderstanding,” Julie told me over a cup of coffee in a café. In the late-morning quiet of the café in the sixteenth arrondissement, while waiters made ready for the noon crush of eaters, this attractive American divorcée in her mid-forties told me about her own experience in France. Married to a Frenchman for twenty years, separated for eight years, and just recently divorced, she said that she spent an inordinate amount of time and energy maintaining her Americanness, in spite of having mastered the language. “This translated into an enormous amount of aggressivity. I was fighting for my Americanness even though my ex-husband spoke perfect English, went to New York more than I did, and saw my friends. I tried very hard to be French, learned the rules, spoke the language, got along well with my in-laws.” She came to realize that cultural differences figured prominently in their misunderstandings.