Boshemia in Paris : What Emily in Paris Gets Wrong (and Right)
Disclaimer: This review includes personal opinions and anecdotes which, much like the show, do not represent an absolute truth to the Parisian expat experience, for no such thing exists.
If you’ve logged onto Netflix at any point over the past week, you’ve probably come across the series Emily in Paris, or at least heard everyone talking about it. Here at Boshemia, we all stan France, but as our resident Parisienne-by-adoption (okay… former resident, rub it in more, why don’t you?), I felt the most qualified to unpack this oeuvre. Fair warning: there are spoilers ahead, so if you haven’t watched it, either do so before reading, or just let me do the honor.
I’m not sure whether or not the show’s initial release strategy was adjusted in light of the COVID pandemic, but my theory is that Emily in Paris came at a time when the Gods of Netflix knew we needed a tranquilizing dose of escapism. Much like Tiger King helped to soften the blow of the early days of the Apocalypse™, Emily in Paris provides a brief antidote to our pandemic fatigue. Since international travel is still off the table and nothing fun is happening, Emily’s life is as adventurous as ours is not. In this sense, the creators got lucky; part of the show’s appeal is purely circumstantial. Whereas the cringe-factor might have been unbearable in “precedented” times, it becomes a selling point right now. I mean, I would literally wear any one of these heinous outfits every day for a year if it meant I could take a time machine back to 2019.
At the same time, for personal reasons, watching the show was painful, not just for the excessively rose-colored portrayal of expatriate life through the lens of extreme white privilege, but also because Emily has what I wanted and what I lost. In the wake of personal tragedy and global calamity, I had to leave Paris without saying goodbye… or rather, it feels like Paris left me. So throughout the show’s ten episodes, I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching an ex-lover in a porno with their new flame and, even worse, it appears to be a better match. So if I sound bitter, it’s because I am.
In recent days, French expat online communities have been abuzz with commentary and memes about the show. (Some of my favorites can be found here.) The show’s glaring lack of realism lies not only in what the writers included, but also in what they chose to omit. First of all, why does Emily not once take the Metro? Nor does she take an Uber… nor a Vélib… nor a scooter? Scenes shift nonstop between the Left and Right Banks, yet you’re telling me she’s crossing the city on foot in those shoes? When she visits the Eiffel Tower, where are the vendors peddling 5 plastic keychains for 1€? Isn’t she an easy target? How is she never catcalled, or asked for a lighter by a stranger? Also, why is her neighbor Gabriel talking to his girlfriend’s parents in English rather than French, their native language? Clearly, it took me a few episodes to accept that I would have to suspend disbelief.
Unsurprisingly, the show’s reception from French viewers has been lukewarm at best. The writing indulges in the most predictable of stereotypes. Emily’s character is a walking cliché: the overeager, live-to-work young American professional who is obsessed with metrics and self-branding. Her garish outfits provide a clear contrast with the elegance of her French colleagues. She sports a new beret in each episode, and her Eiffel Tower bag charm is so offensive to a French fashion designer that it nearly ruins a business partnership. On the first day at her new office, Emily is the first to arrive and wastes no time telling her boss (in English, of course, because she doesn’t speak French) why and how they should rework their business practices. Despite being at a French company based in France, Emily is truly convinced that her “American perspective” is essential for their success.
On the other hand, we have Emily’s French colleagues and neighbors, who all sleep together (or at least seem to want to), arrive at work late, and smoke excessively. They’re put off by her unfettered enthusiasm, yet do little to make her feel welcome and for the first few weeks are downright cruel. They insult her to her face (not that she can understand) and intentionally exclude her from important meetings. The creators got one thing right: no culture is without its flaws, and both Emily and her colleagues have many. By starting these relationships off on the wrong foot, the writers allowed room for them to—surprise, surprise—warm up to each other as the season unfolds. After all, as the character Julien says, “Happy endings are very American.”
Lauren vs. Emily in Paris
As an American who spent close to seven years in France, I’ll say that although these stereotypes are milked to their fullest, I found that they also, like most stereotypes, hold some degree of truth. When Emily is seduced by Camille’s attractive brother, she wakes up in his bed the next day only to discover that he is seventeen. I remember the awkwardness of how much older my high school students looked and acted than their American counterparts. My teacher friends and I always had to keep a careful eye out at local bars or clubs, lest we mistake one of them for a potential suitor with whom to strike up a conversation or, you know, go further. (Although part of me wonders, would that have even been frowned upon, given that the French First Lady was once their President’s high school teacher? Ooh la la.)
While perhaps this dynamic isn’t exclusive to France, Emily clearly blurred the boundaries between her professional and romantic life. In French office culture, I’d generalize that some women do harness their sex appeal or even indulge in it in order to move up the corporate ladder or get things done. However, it would be false to suggest that this is uniquely French. But while Emily doesn’t mind—and even relishes in—the attention from her male colleagues, I can recall the distinct disappointment after professional lunches with men I looked to as mentors who ultimately wanted me only as a date, not a business partner. This may have boosted Emily’s self-esteem, but it certainly tanked mine. Would I have advanced more in my career if I had leaned into this dynamic rather than rejecting it? In some ways, I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.
I also recall the unique rapport I had with my kinesthesiologist, who was around my age and quite resembled Gabriel. It was a weekly highlight to see him for a tailored workout and a (really awesome) back massage. Sometimes he would help unhook my bra while I was face-down on the massage table, telling me about his fiancée in the same sentence as he asked very specific details about my romantic life. I always had this feeling of: this is kind of hot, but is it not also weird? Is this only okay because we are both presumably attracted to each other and agreeing to the game? Does your fiancé know you are like this? Or rather, does she know (as appears to be the case with Emily’s boss’s wife) and simply not care? It never crossed a physical line, but was still undeniably flirtatious. So, back to the question suggested by the series: is everything really more overtly sexual, romantic, or adulterous in France than in America? Maybe. I don’t have a definitive answer, because until now (which hardly counts), I’ve never lived as a young adult in America for any extended period of time.
One of the show’s most insufferable characters is Thomas, the snobbish professor who Emily sees for a couple dates. He scrutinizes her reading material, underestimates her intelligence and rejects anything he deems too “mainstream.” (Even the ballet Swan Lake didn’t pass his test.) I’ve definitely known a few of his type. Yikes. At the same time, is he really that much worse than America’s softboi who won’t shut up about David Lynch or Bukowski and only listens to music on vinyl? The takeaway I got from Emily’s multiple love interests is this: often, those who initially seem the most attractive ultimately reveal themselves to be the most repulsive. Perhaps this is just the modern millennial flaw of poor taste, which transcends nationality and culture.
As easy as it was to judge Emily’s character, she did occasionally earn my sympathy. In fact, at some points, I have been her. For example, I quickly learned that it’s not necessarily appreciated if you go above and beyond at work or overstep your job description. Once when I worked briefly as a designer at a French hospital, a doctor requested that I modify the formatting of a Word document for print. The document, to be widely distributed to the public, was in Comic Sans and full of blurry clip art. It took me ten minutes to recreate the same content in line with the hospital’s style guide to reflect 2018 rather than 1995. After all, I was a designer, and they were a doctor. I sent both versions back to the doctor, assuming that they would appreciate that I’d gone the extra mile to give them a version that looked more official. But the doctor was incensed and my boss, although conceding that my modifications were a huge improvement from the initial “horreur”, had to relay the message that my gesture wasn’t well-received. Another time, when I was studying for my Master’s in Design, I half-seriously proposed an idea for a marketing campaign to my French teammates. “We could create custom condom packages that say ‘J’haBITE à Troyes!*’ or ‘Fais-Troyes plaisir’,” I remember exclaiming but then, upon seeing their reactions, brushed it off as a joke. I guess that’s the American in me: a willingness to be ridiculous, or even too much, even if my ideas are shot down. As Emily eventually proves, “ridiculous” big ideas can add something new and valuable to the table. *(“J’habite” means “I live” and bite” is slang for penis. “Fais-Troyes plaisir” is a pun with the city’s name like “Fais-toi plaisir”, or “Enjoy yourself.” To this day, I still think that these were some of my better ideas.)
So, would I recommend the series? Again, my response is linked to our current context. You have nothing better to do, and the episodes are short. After all, in a year that is defined by time wasted, we can no longer feel guilty for wasting time. The characters are attractive, and the city is beautiful. If you know that Sex and the City (which was written by the creators of Emily…) is in no way an accurate reality for most young New Yorkers yet some of its themes are timeless and on-point, you’ll understand the approach and even the appeal of Emily in Paris. But take it from me, don’t move to France and act like Emily and expect the same results. Hollywood is a smoke screen for the expat’s daily reality.
