Emily In France Exclusive 🇫🇷 5 Five Ways You Can Be More French (Really)

From the desk of an expat.

I’ve been living in France for 18 years, which is nearly half my life – and pretty much all of my adulthood. As a result, it’s unsurprising that some of the local cultural quirks have worn off on me.

Look, I don't put much stock in the literature urging others (mostly Anglos) to parent, dress, wear makeup, and have sex like the French. And I’m certainly not going to soapbox about one-off changes that don't work without a holistic life overhaul (see: having a glass of wine every evening if you're not going to sit down and have dinner with it) or habits rendered more complex when you don't have a robust social structure to support it (like going to inexpensive museums and expos whenever you like). That said, I will admit that there are some changes I’ve truly embraced. They're not necessarily the most obvious – or the sexiest – but adopting them has made me feel a bit more, how you say… French.

Get dressed.

If you believe American magazines, French women are always dressed impeccably. The reality isn't quite so simple. There are just as many blousy tops and unflattering jeans on this side of the Atlantic as there are Stateside. But chances are, if you see a French person in the wild, they will at least be wearing what my mother would call “a pant.”

You won't come across much athleisure, in France, and you certainly won't see people running to the bakery in their pajamas (despite the fact that they usually go there pre-coffee). But they will be wearing actual clothes, and I’ve found – especially as someone who’s been working from home for over a decade – that this simple step can change my entire mood.

The secret to making this tip yours is not to overcomplicate things. You don't need to put on a whole outfit (or even a whole face of makeup – Americans and Brits are easily recognizable in France thanks to our addiction to contouring and pancake; the French typically get away with a bit of mascara or maybe a bold lip). I find that just throwing on jeans, a top, and a pair of actual shoes – even when I’m doing nothing more than taking out the trash or taking my wet laundry to the laundromat for a spin through the dryer – makes me feel more a part of society (and less like someone trying not to be seen in my sweats).

Say bonjour.

This is perhaps the most essential cultural norm you’ll learn, when you come to France (and the subject of the pilot episode of my podcast, Navigating the French). In France, bonjour should be the first thing you say to everyone, from the bus driver to the cashier at the bakery to your colleagues. It’s become so ingrained I tend to carry the habit with me back to New York, where I often bemuse or frankly embarrass people by saying “Goodbye! Have a nice day!” to everyone working at the supermarket till.

While learning to say bonjour will certainly open some doors for you, it’s way more than that, something encapsulated in the fact that culturally, bonjour isn't just a word – it’s an exchange. You say bonjour, you wait for a bonjour back, and then – and only then – can you make a request. When I was researching an article about this for the Wall Street Journal, years ago, a French colleague of mine shared his intuitive reasoning behind why bonjour is so important: He said it’s all about recognizing the humanity of the other person in the room. And in a world where things are more and more digital, I think this is a phenomenal habit to get into.

Exercise moderation in everything (even moderation).

One of the questions I get most frequently on my food tours is: How can the French eat so much (pastry, cheese, rich food…) and stay so thin? My answer is always that it’s a combination of things, including the fact that they eat smaller portions, take the time to enjoy their meals, avoid snacks (except for the 4pm goûter), and, perhaps most importantly: They don't have an all-or-nothing relationship with treats.

The French include the sorts of things Americans connote with guilt or sin in their day-to-day: A cheese course here, a viennoiserie there. They have an afternoon ice cream just because. They meet up with friends for a glass of wine on a random sunny Tuesday. But also, they stop when they're sated. They don't feel the need to have dessert every day. And that makes sense, given the wide availability of such delicacies.

When I first moved to Paris, it seemed unfathomable to me that the best croissant of my life was forever within just five minutes’ walk and sold for under 2 euros. But after a few months of them, I stopped feeling the need to indulge every day. They're always there; why not wait until I really wanted one?

Of course, I’m not trying to paint the French as perfect in their moderation. Sometimes, they do go all out, indulging in a multi-course, six-hour lunch, drinking more than they wanted to at a friend’s birthday, or giving into gourmandise and having a second piece of cake they didn't necessarily want or need. And here, too, they exercise moderation, with an attitude I saw perfectly encapsulated in a women's magazine I was reading in a doctor’s office over a decade ago.