December 12, 2009

Makeup
Makeup is a serious topic in Paris. Traditionally, women wear very little. When they do, they follow certain rules. First, if you wear lots of eye makeup, you are not permitted to wear anything but neutral, matte lipstick. In general, if you wear anything remotely shiny or glossy on your lips you are probably either a hooker or an American. Incidentally, this rule also applies to showing cleavage. Cleavage has replaced running shoes as the international symbol for the American Woman. American Man is still recognizable by his running shoes and his stubborn refusal to wear a winter coat in subzero temperatures.

French women rarely wear foundation. They think you should take really good care of your real skin (lots of facials, lots of moisturizer, etc.) and then let it show. Of course while they are telling you this, they are systematically working their way through a pack of cigarettes a day, wondering why they are singing alto instead of soprano and where the heck that nagging cough came from. The fascinating part is that French women seem completely amenable to aging. They don't try to freeze themselves in time and they look down on women who do.

My own theory about why French women don't wear makeup is that they always wear 6-inch heels and consequently are in horrible pain. Any makeup would be ruined by their tears of agony.

In the States, we take a slightly different approach. As we approach middle age we look at ourselves in the mirror one morning and say something like: "Whoa! What the heck happened???" We then execute a series of extreme measures.

1. We exfoliate like crazy.

2. We buy wrinkle filler. This stuff works very well (I know people who use it). You slap it on to the cracks in your face and in a few minutes, those little lines disappear! Fabulous stuff.

3. We apply primer. This stuff also works well (I'm told), because it smooths out unevenness in the skin.

4. Now we're finally ready to put on makeup! There is new foundation that actually comes with a little tray and a sponge roller so you don't put on too much at once.


Let's face it, we're not applying makeup, we're putting up drywall! First we sand, then we spackle, then we prime and, finally, we paint. Our morning routine is like an accelerated episode of Bob Vila's This Old House. And that's just to pick up the kids at carpool.

French women wash their faces, put on moisturizer with sunscreen, and go out to face the world. When I walk around Paris I see plenty of women under 35 and lots of women over 50 but, it seems, no one in between.

In the US, we have perfected the look of being in our early 40's, because what happens between 40 and 50 is truly horrifying. Laugh lines become wrinkles, chins double, and our necks develop more rings than a hundred year old redwood. We hover around 40 (we hope) for about 10 years. Then we give up and get a blue rinse and a perm (at least I plan to) and hope for cataracts so we can't see our faces crack like a Florentine fresco.

French women don't fight the aging process and they view women who do as pathetically insecure (and, most likely, Americans or hookers). Between 40 and 50 they go downhill fast. This isn't genetic, it's due to their odd habit of taking incredibly good care of their skin except for smoking a pack a day and spending the month of August each year oiled up on the Riviera.


I don't know which approach is better, although I wonder what people have against pathetic insecurity. It's worked pretty darn well for me, I can tell you. But I'm definitely packing away my shiny lipgloss and keeping my blouse buttoned until I get back to the US.

December 6, 2009

I went to the Christmas markets this week. During the month of December, shopping stalls are set up all over town. The biggest is on the lower part of the Champs Elysees. Very festive. Lots of exotic stuff that you don't need but really want to buy anyway because you can say "Oh this little trinket? I got this in Paris," and really annoy your friends. It really it is a fun atmosphere. Throngs of people from everywhere and, in addition to stuff, there are plenty of food stalls. Roasted chestnuts (on an open fire!), mulled wine, German beer, sausage, crepes, chocolates, cotton candy (or, as they say in France, "Daddy's beard"), and plenty of Christmas music piped through loudspeakers, including that old holiday classic, Night Fever, by the BeeGees.

The American Embassy is right at the base of the Champs Elysees. It's very heavily guarded, but it's a beautiful building and I asked one of gendarmes if I could take a picture.

"Absolutely not," he said. No smile.

"Okay then, can I take a picture of you?"

"Definitely not," he said. No smile.

"That's too bad," I said. "You could of been famous in America."

"Madame," he said, "I already am." Hint of a smile.




Apropos of nothing, I have been struck by the difference between US and French policies towards the prevention of unwanted pregnancies. In the US, we have spent hundreds of millions of dollars on this issue. We have a National Campaign! We have task forces, initiatives (I love initiatives, don't you?), TV ads, pamphlets, etc. There's even that fun high school program, where at-risk teenagers get to keep a baby (usually fake) for the weekend, so they can get a taste for how drastically their lives will change. And, that old American favorite, abstinence. Some serious intellectual firepower behind that one.


What did the French do? Well, they convened a task force, but they did it over a really nice dinner and disbanded it by the time the cheese course arrived. And while they did put "abstinence" on the menu, er, agenda, this was in deference to the US government, which at that time required all US allies to put abstinence on every agenda, even if the meeting was about global warming (and you thought climate change was caused by carbon dioxide!!).

Throughout the evening, whenever the conversation stalled, someone would say...

"Maybe we should try promoting abstinence."

Everyone else at the table would laugh heartily and then refocus on the problem at hand.

Finally, just as they were finishing their third bottle of Nouveau Beaujolais, one guy at the table said,

"I don't know about the rest of you, but this Beaujolais is really bringing out the Beau Geste in me. I'm going to call my twenty-two year old 'friend' and see if I can't visit her a little later. Are we about done here?"

Two other under-deputy-secretaries looked at each other and broke into toothy French smiles. And the official French policy on unwanted pregnancy prevention was, uh, born.


Today, thanks to this group of brave men, you can find an automatic condom dispenser within spitting distance of most liquor stores in France.


Who says socialism is inefficient???