culture

France, language, and the problem with the French

another series of problems with the French language

Learning French feels a bit like being trapped in an escape room with no hints. Every time I think I’ve figured out a door, there’s another wall behind it. I love the language—it’s beautiful, rhythmic, endlessly expressive—but in daily life it can be a real pain in the ass. Nothing brings that out faster than trying to order aspirin at the pharmacy or ask for a baguette without sending someone into visible panic.

TL;DR: Learning French remains beautiful but brutal—pharmacy dread, bakery panic, neighbors with sitcom clichés. Awkwardness everywhere, but also a reminder that language learning is mostly walls, plateaus, and the occasional laugh.

Walls, Doors, and Plateaus

It’s occasionally a real pain in the ass to learn a language.

There is inevitably some kind of awkward social situation just waiting to happen. I’ve written about this before, but it really remains fresh.

While learning anything, you hit a series of walls, or plateaus.I still sound like a young child in French. And not a particularly smart young child.

It’s tough to speak to your friends like that.

There are plenty of French people I meet who don’t seem especially thrilled when I try speaking their language. I wish it weren’t the case, France, but you do keep reminding me.

There’s an almost British fear of social awkwardness here. Not to make too sweeping a comparison, but in the U.S. people are more likely to talk to strangers and shrug it off if it doesn’t land—whether or not those strangers wanted the conversation in the first place.

No one enjoys an awkward moment. But when I catch that flicker of consternation or panic on someone’s face, it only takes one or two of those reactions to discourage me. And so, if English is an option, we end up switching to that—lazy on my part, but easier for everyone else.

I have no idea what in New York these are meant to represent.

What’s the French word for awkward ?

gênant, mal à l’aise, gauche, lourde, malaisant

I need to pay attention to my accent as well – it’s terrible. There's a young woman at the pharmacy near our apartment who seems to be in real pain whenever I try to speak to her. She has a very expressive face.

I have to avoid looking at her direclty, maybe staring at her furrowed eyebrows instead. As pharmacies cover all kinds of things here, I am there every other week.

Now, we both seem to have that moment of dread when we realize that I am the next in line and out of the 3 people working there, she is up. She maintains a professional smile, but her eyes show mild panic, a look likely mirrored in my own.

I used to try to be polite about it, to talk to her like the woman ahead of me spoke to their pharmacist.

“Hello. How are you? Nice to see you again. Do you have aspirin…?” Or whatever.

I know they have asprin. So now it’s just”

“Hello? Hi. Aspirin? Thanks.”

Which appeals to the New Yorker in me, so that works out. She seems relived to be able to handle what I need quickly and then move on. It works.

The guy at my bakery seems totally disoriented, like a bird or a pigeon stuck in a small room whenever faced with having to talk to meI can see his eyes shift when he realizes I am up next.

When I went there yesterday, he smiled and seemed to try to step back, which was weird because the place is impossibly small.

Someone else helped me while he continued to smile and nod, as if I might attack him suddenly. Or worse, ask him a question.

A guy in my apartment building, well-meaning and with pretty solid English, seems eager to practice with me. He lived in the U.S. for a while, but still drops lines about how Americans are “like children.” I’ve heard this from a few Europeans now.

I smile and nod, though my eyes probably give me away.

Sometimes I chalk it up to a language gap. One problem with being American abroad is that people think they understand the culture because they’ve seen it on TV.

Yes, of course, I lived in an apartment just like on Friends. Exactly like that.

The French do it too—correcting each other, practicing with what they know.

Musical accompaniment

Les brunes comptent pas pour des prunes by Lio (1986)

Les brunes comptent pas pour des prunes (brunettes aren’t worth nothing, more or less) is Lio’s puff jab at the old cliché that blondes have all the fun. Insisting brunettes “aren’t worth nothing,” with a wink and standard pop bounce to it. The video is awkward, but the song is catchy, a bit silly — just like those moments when someone tells me Americans are “like children” or when the bakery guy looks panicked as I step up. It’s all just a but ridiculous.

It’s not a great song, but Lio wasn’t out there to start revolutions…