Why are the French so rude?

As a French woman living abroad, there is one question you cannot ever avoid: Why are the French so rude? I mean, who qualifies better than a French national who has spent half of her life abroad to deliver a reliable, scientifically sound analysis of “the French” paradox: inventor of the cancan, macarons, and the infamous French attitude, a mix of arrogance, an unapologetic “could not care less” attitude, and an undeniably French accent, butchering anything that is not French; this je ne sais quoi that makes people cringe and yet want more.

The French in the common mindset: can we get any more cliché?

Spending the last 20+ years abroad, I was baffled by the clichés my country carries: Paris, the city of love… Have you ever been to Paris, navigated the Parisian metro, and attempted to get somewhat agreeable service in a café?

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Parisian architecture and the variety of the cultural offerings, but I must say I would not really call it romantic. As a provincial, of course, I must acknowledge I may carry some prejudice, but I am digressing.

Another cliché: French women walk around in Louboutin heels, wearing the latest Chanel collection and a garter belt, in pure French fashion, as if life were a catwalk at French Fashion Week, and we spend our days sipping champagne with Karl at Fouquet’s. This is the one that makes me crack up the most. I must say I love the creativity of the human mind.

The unglamorous, unapologetic truth

But this is just one side of the coin. The other side is, I must say, way less glamorous: the French, recognisable by their thick accent, make sure everyone around knows they are by nature superior, arrive late to work (and are not even sorry), spend hours at the lunch table, criticise the poor quality of the food, leave early, and, in the few hours they spend in the office, traumatise half of their team with their scathing comments.

This is what my dear friends around the world refer to, and at this scale, it cannot be a coincidence, can it? When I met my future husband, a hombre ibérico, of Sevillian manufacture, who had spent a few years in Ireland, land of Guinness, friendly people, and pubs (it cannot be a coincidence!), I was somewhat taken aback by one of his comments:

“I usually don’t like the French, but weirdly enough, I kind of like the fact you don’t take sh…”.

I must say, my French brain had to process this information. Should I be flattered? Should I feel special? And more importantly, why on earth should I, or anyone else, take sh…?

The impartial feedback from the other side of the Rhine River

That was a case to investigate, and this is the reason why I naturally turned to my German friend, as, for the record, Germans do not have the best track record when it comes to interpersonal skills. On that note, I must say I have had nothing but great experiences with German folks; could it be that the bearers of a cliché on either side of the Rhine find common ground?

Anyway, my attempt to get to the bottom of things did not have the expected outcome.

Well, you are known as ‘Madame Explosive,’ and you’re not even sorry about it, which is what we like about you! — was her answer.

How now, explosive? You mean like TNT, dangerous, destructive? A French version of Shiva? According to my friend, one of my main, equally loved and despised character traits was the fact that one would always know what I think, no matter whether they liked it or not, no matter if they were ready to hear it or not: blunt, unapologetic, brutally honest, and hyper-reactive.

In other words, provoke and question at your own risk. And I thought that over a decade living in Switzerland had taught me everything you need to know about Toblerone diplomacy: the art of never agreeing, never disagreeing, never taking sides, embarrassing them all (you never know who may win), also called neutrality.

This, coming from the native of a nation that is not exactly known for its diplomatic excellence, sounded quite ironic to me, as I put it bluntly, in pure French fashion.

Germans, as she said, may not be known for whispering sweet nothings, but they know when to obey and respect the natural hierarchy. They follow when told to (which, last time I checked, has not always played in any nation’s favour, but who am I to judge?). Another aspect she went on detailing enthusiastically (I asked for it, after all) was the fact that I could never let it rest, always having to point out any flaw and issue with surgical accuracy and embarrassing rigour.

If you followed so far, this is what it comes to…

There we go: the French, also known as the grand masters of revolution, never agree, always strike, are never happy but always grumpy, don’t follow suit, don’t bother following the orders they were given, yet live by the unspoken rule that the grass must be greener somewhere else, and that it is their right to pasture that grass.

In other words, what people find so disturbing about my folks (and me), so I was told, is the fact that we feel entitled to state the good, the bad, and the ugly to anyone, anytime, without any sense of innate social order or hierarchical status. A massive pain in the bum, if you ask me!

And, as if this were not enough, we’re never satisfied, relentlessly striving for something better. How do you explain the attraction to France and all French things in fashion, cuisine, and arts, then? Well, isn’t that obvious? They are among the best, my friends would tell me; barely any other nation manages to reach and keep that level of excellence.

So if I summarise, Frenchies do not only strive for the best, relentlessly picking on anything less than perfect, they sometimes achieve some form of excellence, and this does not stop them from trying to get better, all the while gloating about it. That would put anyone in a bit of a pickle, to be fair.

I get the mix of love and aversion, and to be completely honest, pardon my French (pun intended!), I totally share the “mixed” feeling! “Traitor!” my fellow snail-eaters might think, “sold out to the expat-titude, citizen of elsewhere, lost cause.”

Is it all that bad?

Well, maybe, but not only: I must say that growing up in France gave me a love for culture, arts, and humanities, alongside an innate sense of rebellion and a refusal of the status quo. But expatriation taught me how to calibrate my vision of the world, sharpen my cognitive empathy, leave my ego at the door, fail majestically, get up with grace, and forever reinvent myself.

There is beauty in everything if you’re willing to look carefully, and each country I have lived in, every culture I have indulged in, has taught me some valuable lessons.

I am yet to fully understand the no pasa nada Spanish view of the world, deeply appreciate punctuality, and love direct, unsweetened communication, but I use languages as a canvas. One thing the French language taught me is linguistic stretching: this very special spot where words have a strict definition but may have a totally different meaning in a specific context. We may not have as many words for the same things as German, but we have plenty of idiomatic expressions to say a lot.

So here are my two cents as a French citizen of the world: no nation is perfect in essence, and mine is particularly savoury, but we could all use some Frenchness in life: in a small dose, a pinch or two, whenever you feel like life lacks some spice, or when you simply feel like you should not take sh…, because frankly, why should you?

I’m Marie-Aude (or simply Marie, because yeah, French is a tongue-breaker). I’m a perfectly imperfect human, with all the good, the bad, and the ugly. I share spicy, unapologetic thoughts about my life as a freelancer in UX and tech, teaching, parenthood, and navigating cultural differences, basically not taking shit (or so I was told), and trying to figure out what that means.