Parisian pavement protocol
Or, why the hell are they pretending I don't exist?
In London, we Brits are courteous. We’re spatially nosey. We move far out of the way if someone is approaching, we veer to let people with suitcases pass, we’re hyper-aware of what’s going on around us. We’re too fucking courteous really, always apologising and holding doors and letting ourselves be walked over in the name of British politeness. And we’re still terrible pavement users.
Parisians are the opposite. They will not cede an inch of space. They will not thank you for holding a door open. They will not let you pass before them. They have a way of seeing through you, and choosing not to move, or even acknowledge your existence. It’s as if, to a Parisian, it’s not that is everyone else an obstacle, but that everyone else is in fact invisible.*
When I first arrived, I thought perhaps Parisians were raised without peripheral vision.
There’s a sense of entitlement. Zis pavement, eet ees mine, they seem to say, Gollum-like. They won’t budge for anyone, even if you’re running *at pace* (I speak from much experience here). It’s not just with me, I come across this all the time; an attitude and body language that says “this is my space and I will not deviate for anyone”. It could be mistaken for arrogance, but that’s too simplistic. There’s a pride to it. A “this is my town” vibe. A sense of ownership and belonging and feeling right at home. The streets aren’t really a democracy.
Parisians live on their streets. It’s not that everyone inside the peripherique is a flaneur, but Paris one of the most densely populated cities in the world, so you’re much more likely to find Parisians dans la rue than in their tiny apartments.
The streets of the city have long been a place of protest, a place of rebellion, a place to stand up for your rights and stop things from happening. From the gilets jaunes to the 1789 Revolution to back into ancient history, France has said ‘non’ to something every weekend around Place de la République. And often succeeded!
Without diving too deeply into history, psychology or who-did-what-to-who-when, maybe pavement etiquette is getting worse now that everyone is constantly glued to their “smart”phones? Maybe since Covid and in the face of what seems to be collapsing society and climate, one of the few freedoms that we have is the street?
Maybe it’s me. My approach as a gay man who ruthlessly plots his pavement routes like a racing driver, as a British man who apologises for his existence, maybe it’s incompatible with France? Certainly, the idea of apologising here is seen as a weakness, something that I’m sorry to say (ahem) I’ve struggled with, especially in an office setting. But after 5 1/2 years here, I find myself becoming more Parisian in my pavement etiquette, which become startlingly obvious whenever I visit the UK.
I guess it’s just “one of those things” about moving to a new place. Even if the people look the same and you speak the language and know the cultural references, sometimes the smallest gestures can be enormously revealing. And with no shade to Parisians, it’s just an observation. #notallparisians.
Anyway, some other fun stuff from the week:
Finally finishing reading 2 doorstops of books: Oliver Soden’s wonderfully inventive biography of Noel Coward and Iain Sinclair’s London Orbital (shame: my copy was given to me in Xmas 2012 by my parents. Sigh.)
Charli XCX’s brilliant Substack
Bumping into a Parisian friend randomly on the metro at 1am. (This never happens in London btw…)
Shamefully blowing money on things I want but do not in fact need, and swore last week that I wasn't going to buy.
The staggeringly awful but also endearing ‘Champagne Problems’ on Netflix.
*There are also exceptions of course: it’s said that the only time you’ll see a Parisian run is when you hold the exit door of the metro open. Try it next time…