28 Jan 2014 00:38:58
Having lived far too long in North America, Guiliano has lost all sense of irony. She actually means what she says; it's scary, or simply tedious. In a rather irritating franglais volapük, she delivers her pearls of wisdom, brushing on all topics from "the magic of grooming" to "living to 100?!", peppering her views with recipes such as "emulsion of oysters on a fondue of spinach". Didn't you know that "oysters help with dark circles"? And don't forget "alternate nostril breathing" – it will apparently help you age with style and attitude. I'll try next time I'm cycling up Montmartre.
We are also often treated with little vignettes of Guiliano's lifestyle: "Alas, my wizard Parisian hairstylist of the past 25 years, Peter, just retired. He was one of my secret weapons in my attack on ageing. Peter was the world's slowest haircutter. Before he did anything, he concentrated… on one's hair… He observed how you spoke, dressed, moved… any detail that would help him emphasise your style. This is called the art of consultation." I don't know any such hairdresser, even in Paris, do you?
The timing of this book, released the week after the world learned of the French president's gallivanting on wheels, couldn't have been more awkward. Media all over the world, including the supposedly serious Financial Times, couldn't help publishing on their front pages pictures of France's first girlfriend, Julie Gayet, next to France's first partner, Valérie Trierweiler, and even France's first ex, Ségolène Royal. Three attractive French ladies, aged 41 to 60, who, it is true, haven't had facelifts. Well, not yet.
Parisian women (when the world speaks of French women, they mean Parisians), from Marie-Antoinette to Juliette Binoche, have always fascinated the outside world. It's one of those things that, at times, can be difficult to understand even for insiders.
In the wake of the presidential affair, I was not only asked to comment on the news but also to take part in discussions about, as put to me by a BBC producer, "stereotypes and expectations relating to French women in popular culture and how true, helpful and realistic these stereotypes are". Or as Gillian Orr in the Independent asked: "Do we really want to be Madame Parfaite?"
The assumption, wrong in my view, is that Parisian women manage to impeccably juggle career, husband, lovers and children, and always look immaculate. I'm sorry to say but Madame Parfaite only exists in foreigners' imagination. French female sophistication is, apart from rare exceptions, a fantasy. French women never talk about how sophisticated they are; only foreigners do. This stereotype is based on history, on 18th-century Parisian salons, on ancien régime mistresses such as Madame de Pompadour, but also on Parisian street style, from Juliette Gréco to Juliette Binoche: a carefree and natural elegance. Nothing more, nothing less.
Parisian women may seem less fat because they walk more than Londoners or New Yorkers, not because they starve themselves. They may seem more elegant simply because they're, on the whole, dressing more conservatively: nobody can go wrong with black polo neck on top of black jeans worn with black ankle boots. I should know: this is my uniform. Parisian women don't age more gracefully than the rest of the world – they probably delude themselves better. Parisians also know that, more often than not, less is more, and that too much makeup will make you look like a Barbie doll. Hardly rocket science, even though it hasn't yet reached Essex.
