The effortless chic it took two hours to fake this morning. Suspension of disbelief on the Paris Plage. Slapping the word ‘brunch’ on croissants and orange juice to justify the €20 bill. The dogs that bear uncanny resemblance to their owners (tel chien, tel maître!) And let’s not forget the kissing. Always with the kissing. On the métro, consequentially missing the métro; in front of Diderot or in front of Molière; beneath the spangly tower ad nauseam, a sweet and sloppy national pastime.
Just a few of the charms, quirks and easily forgiven faux pas common to these creatures known as Parisians. And you can see them writ large in fifty whimsical illustrations along the walls of the Hôtel de Ville until October 8, or online.
Like so many Japanese visitors to the city, the artist Kanako went all weak at the knees for its je ne sais quoi, relocating in 2005 to capture the magic everyday moments in her vignettes of Petits Parisiens, while she herself, slowly but surely, turned into one of these lovable walking clichés.
This week you can see tourists and locals alike in throngs around the Hôtel de Ville, peering at one poster, chuckling, and shuffling along a metre or so to peer at the next. But there are definitely a handful I appreciate much more deeply now that I can call myself a local. And that’s the beauty of this city. As Sacha Guitry put it: ‘To be a Parisian is not to be born in Paris, it’s to be reborn there.’