The French Do It Better

Living in New York is almost like living in France in that I am constantly surrounded by people speaking French. I hear French more than any other language in New York. Apparently if you’re from Paris, New York is the place to relocate. I can’t walk anywhere without hearing la belle langue. About a week ago, there was a French lady on her cell phone behind me, chatting away. As I smiled to myself, I suddenly realized that the family walking in front of me was also French. I was surrounded. Don’t get me wrong; I love having the Frenchies around. Every once and a while, I get to attempt to say something in French, which is usually massively embarrassing, and ultimately it helps New York to feel more European, which, in my opinion, is always a good thing. But, really, as if it weren’t difficult enough to compete with the millions of gorgeous women that inhabit this city for the two straight, single guys on the island, now I have to deal with the French imports? I might as well shoot myself now. These women are fine, flawless, and foreign. And I’m fucked.

So, I salute you, French women, for being imperfectly perfect.

There's the first, and the last, that babe Joan.


The incomparable Fanny Ardant. Her performance as Mary de Guise in Elizabeth actually made me want gray hair.


And of course Catherine, who started it all.


One of my personal favorites, Isabelle Huppert, one of the best living actresses on the planet. I can only imagine what fucking brilliance 4.48 Psychose unleashed on New York. Also, any serious actress who can roll around in the mud with Jason Schwartzman in I Heart Huckabees is my hero.


And our Amelie.


Last, but certainly not least, the striking Ludivine Sagnier, star of Swimming Pool and the lust of teenage boys everywhere.


Bring on the men, as requested.

Olivier, you can throw me up against a wall and call me Diane Lane anytime you damn well please.


Still looking for my Nino Quincampoix.




And finally, one of my personal favorites, Gaspard Ulliel. Gaspard, I will forgive you for making the horrible Hannibal Rising movie, but only because your dimples could cut glass. God bless you.







Vive la France.