July does Paris

Romantic dinners, strolling by the Seine, outdoor cinema, wine, strange foods that are supposedly aphrodisiacs but look and taste like snot.. (yes I'm talking about oysters... euww)

They say that Paris is the city of love. I must admit, I have seen my fair share of PDAs, a fact that shocked the prude American in me the first couple of months I spent here. A couple clinging to each other, by the mouth, outside of a metro or humping each other in plain view in a park is quite shocking for someone who was brought up to say things like, "get a room", or be generally embarrassed by even small acts of affection.


Here in Paris, men really do walk around at night with bunches of roses, couples get to "third base" in public and yes I have swapped spit in public (and with an accordion accompaniment). Paris is teeming with couples, whispering on the metro, cuddling (and sometimes more) in the parks, or gazing into each others eyes in the midst of a crowded terrace. 

I did not come to Paris with the intent to find a lover. I did drool over the amazingly well-dressed and adorable French boys that litter the streets. But really, I had no expectations. Coming here was more an act of spontaneity and, in the beginning, I was only supposed to stay for five months. But a combination of the French ideals of romance and my little sickness, I would eventually end up where I am now. That is, writing funny stories about My Encounters with the draguers. .

It shouldn't be too different than that in the States. Right?

wrong. The French do it way different. Most notably, the people of this city seem to be incredibly horny and downright cheeky about it. The men stare and drool and stop what they are doing to speak to women walking by. I can't count the times that I have had men ask me to sleep with them while walking up the stairs in the metro, walking home at 7pm, grocery shopping, in the morning, in the post office... 


It doesn't stop there. Right away I began to notice that the men were staring at me when I walked down the street. I noticed this strange feeling when a man looked at me when I was 13 years old at Busch Gardens in Tampa Bay, Florida. It was right around the time that I grew boobs (although I am still sure that they were looking at my charming smile). So yes, it does happen in the US but not even close to as often.

And as for me, I eat it up. I love it. I crave this sort of attention. Ephemeral enough to give you that warm fuzzy feeling without any strings attached. It's the cute boy who catches your eye from across the street. Or a smile from the waiter at a cafe. The boy on the metro who is squeezed up next to you, who will get off the next stop and disappear into the crowd of people, never to be seen again.

So, with the help of the stud in the picture above, and a few random others, I've been able to sketch out a basic skeleton for the unwritten rules of French dating. And through my stories of different encounters I will try to write down these rules, for your reading pleasure.


Let's admit at least that I've come along way since my first catastrophe, Bruno. 


I've even branched out a bit and tried a few new flavors. Scots, Brazilians, Italians, even an American. I'm here to rate men, to pick them apart, to make you laugh at their (and sometimes my) expense. 


My goal? To make a guide based on dates that have already happened. To experiment. To figure out why you can be in love with someone and then after a few dates never want to see them again. To compare French dating culture with my own. To find the perfect date.


Any stories or comments are warmly welcomed :)