First Impressions
“How can I make a good first impression?”
This was my main focus on my flight to Paris. I put a lot of stock into first impressions so I tried to be well-rested, smiley and positive when I first met my host mom at the airport. I tend to be an introvert so it didn’t come easily to me, but she was very kind and encouraging and we chatted seamlessly for the hour train ride from CDG to my new home. I started to relax, feeling that my good first impression had been successfully accomplished, and began sneaking a few glances out the window.
Whizzing past me was my long awaited destination. My dream city, the city of light and love, the ever-romanticized, the one and only Paris. But what I saw before me didn’t quite match the picture that I had in my head. The ride on the RER from the airport into the city is about as underwhelming as any big city - power lines, graffiti, and run down, forgotten neighborhoods. Everything seemed to sag under my expectations. For five days, I woke up early every morning to watch the sunrise. And for five days, I was greeted by a dreary grey sky, low hanging clouds and raucous noise from the street below. For five days, I waited for a good first impression, and for five days, Paris didn’t deliver.
Paris isn’t an easy city to settle into: it demands that you be well-dressed, attentive, and on your game 24/7. Parisian perfectionism is no joke. Every morning I start the arduous process of selecting pants that are well-fitted but simple, a top that is chic but modest, a coat that is stylish but warm, shoes that are special but practical. I agonize over the perfect amount of eyeliner, arched eyebrows, light mascara and carefully placed hair. And by the time I finally open the door of my apartment building, feeling cautiously confident about my carefully curated look, I am immediately reminded by the swirling sounds of French babbling that surrounds me that I still don’t quite fit in. A quick trip to the grocery store brought me crazy anxiety as people rushed from aisle to aisle, jumped ahead of the checkout line, and impatiently waited for me to swipe my credit card (everyone here uses contactless - set up your Apple pay fast!). A light drizzle normally comes in the afternoon, and by the time I go to pick up the kids from school, what little sun there is has disappeared behind the encroaching beige buildings.
I honestly thought, perhaps naively, that taking care of the kids would be the easy part because I’ve worked as a nanny in the US for the past two years. But that poses its own challenges. The parents told me the kids speak some English, and I figured my French was at least good enough for a three year old, right? Well, the kids do understand English - I can see it in their eyes. They just pretend they don’t. The little girl cried for forty-five minutes straight because her mom and dad weren’t home yet, and my ability to comfort her was severely hampered by my limited French vocabulary. So, my French has had to improve RAPIDLY.
My French classes haven’t exactly helped with that; I’m more confused in my French class than I have ever been in any class before (barring maybe ECON 101 so that’s saying a lot). My professor only speaks in French, whether it be asking questions, explaining grammar, or giving an assignment. I’m one of three new students while everyone else in the class studied with this professor last semester and it shows.
For me, the first few weeks in Paris haven’t been about firsts. They’ve been about seconds - little moments, precious moments, moments you might miss if you hadn’t been waiting for them your whole life. The first day that I saw the gold light of sunshine creep into my bedroom window was intoxicating. I followed blue skies above a cobblestone path to run along the Seine (and I still get giddy saying that). I bought great wine for €4 and the best chocolate croissant I’ve had in my life for €1.50. I met a new friend for hot chocolates and felt like we’d known each other for months. I watched the moon light up a rosy sky and then stayed out until 2 in the morning singing karaoke with an old friend. The kids started asking for hugs and kisses from me before bed. I answered a question correctly in my French class. The quaint streets are starting to feel like home - I can even navigate my neighborhood without my phone. Just yesterday, I spent an entire day exploring the city, including ordering brunch, and spoke only in French.
So, no, Paris isn’t about first impressions. Paris is about everything after.