Can.I.Rock.it?

Paris, Blogging and Dating

In I am... on November 3, 2010 at 6:14 am

The Paris Experiment: Chapter 3

Paris, blogging and dating. The three don’t mix.

Meet boy.

“What is it that do you do?” he asks.

“I blog.”

Game over.

I won’t even have to give him the domain name. As soon as that inevitable Facebook friend request comes through, he’s onto me. The curse that us bloggers struggle with everyday is the need to put our own lives on a plate, along with those of the people we encounter in it, and serve it up as material for our best blogs. As if dating isn’t already complicated, I’m apparently self-destructive enough to regularly publish the MessyNessy single diaries for all to read, assigning painfully transparent ‘code names’ to protect the privacy of the unsuspecting individuals involved (perhaps why I’m resigned to being a bit of a loner– and that’s okay with me).

Until now, I admit I’ve had it quite easy as a single girl. London ‘substitute-for-a-real-boyfriend’, JimMorrison would read the blog regularly and never seem to be too bothered by me dating casually in the name of research. The occasional disgruntled text, laced with a tiny dose of jealousy would come through on a Monday morning after posting my latest escapade. “Who’s the banker?” I brush it off– he’s just bored at work.

Arrive in Paris. Three weeks later and I’m on the Place de la Bastille abandoning one male companion mid-‘date’ (if you want to call it that; I would call it more of a juxtaposition) to leave with another on the back of his moped into the Paris night. Both know exactly what’s happening, because I tell them. Of course the only one that’s bothered by the situation is the one left scratching his head as he walks home alone. The next morning, he sends a text having somehow worked out that he needs to apologise for the way he reacted upon my sudden exit to run off with boy number two. Bizarre. Because I thought he took it quite well.

Anyhoo, I expect within in a few hours of posting this article that a far less tolerant text will be coming my way from the abandoned one. I’d like to take the opportunity to sheepishly apologise in advance. Dear Zeppelin, I didn’t give you a chance and then sold you out on my blog. I’m sorry, I really am. There it is. And I’m done.

It would appear as if Paris has turned me into some kind of immoral man-eater. This is not how it was supposed to be. I’m responsible at being single. That’s what it says somewhere here on my blog anyway. So how is it that I find myself making public apologies for shameful bouts of double-booking after only a few short weeks in Paris?


My fellow London Girl in Paris and I have been trying to make sense of the dating scene here over several late morning coffees after French class. We’ve noted that Parisian men are astonishingly quick off the mark in asking girls out and even quicker at voicing their intentions. Before you know it, in a bid to make as many friends as you can in a new city, male or female, you suddenly find yourself with a few more friends than you can handle. Naturally, a lady will eventually find her feet and adapt to the beat of a new city, but you can see where she might have had some trouble adjusting to such a pace of dating.

Don’t forget, I’m coming from a city of pragmatic Englishmen who tend to drag out the whole process for as long as the French like to go on strike. The window of time that a girl will have to ponder whether she really wants to go a second date with a London boy is long drawn out (whether she likes it or not), making casual dating a much more plausible  practice. For example, JimMorrison took well over a year to show any kind of fighting spirit for his Paris bound substitute-for-a-girlfriend. However, by the time he actually got around to realising he had any feelings, I was already gone.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Parisian men are everything you’ve been warned about. Be prepared. They’re better looking, they’re as charming as their style indicates and not afraid to chase you as if you were the last woman on earth. Victoriously living up to it’s infamous byline, the French capital is indeed the city of romance.

Stereotypes really do have an awful habit of being right.

 

Follow the MessyNessy Paris Experiment

Chapter 1. Saying Goodbye to London

Chapter 2. I’m a bit of a Loner and That’s Okay With Me

 

 

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