Paris has lengthy been the go-to vacation spot for single ladies to “discover themselves”—town the place heartbreak is soothed by flaky croissants, quiet museums, and ethereal buildings that make you’re feeling such as you’ve wandered right into a storybook. There’s a peculiar form of appeal to it: the type that may in some way rework any American newcomer right into a extra assured, impartial, and naturally, higher dressed model of themselves.
However what’s it precisely that pulls lonely singles—usually with no French vocabulary, no itinerary, and undoubtedly no actual plan—to Paris, of all locations? Is it the cinematic fantasy we’ve all been fed? The concept being alone right here is in some way extra elegant and significant than it might be anyplace else? Or is it simply the hope {that a} change in surroundings is likely to be what it takes to alter the lonely, dissatisfied model of your self you’ve been attempting to outrun?
These had been the questions swirling in my head as I used to be watching one more fictional iteration of this trope within the Amazon Prime Video sequence The Summer time I Turned Fairly. Stomach, the protagonist whose complete identification revolves round whichever man she’s at present courting, abruptly flees to France for a shot at independence. She doesn’t know the language, not to mention a single particular person. However by the top of her almost yearlong keep, she emerges steadier and extra confident, all whereas sporting that quintessential je ne sais quoi: the crimson lip, French woman bob, minimalist wardrobe, and mysteriously demure power.
Watching her escapades, I felt a wierd mixture of envy and curiosity. I’d gotten out of a five-year relationship earlier this 12 months and walked straight into an identification disaster. (Regardless of how impartial you assume you might be, breakups have a humorous means of constructing you query every little thing.) The fantasy of packing a bag and disappearing someplace unfamiliar sounded medicinal, which is why, when a piece journey to Paris landed in my inbox, it felt like destiny—my likelihood to see whether or not this endlessly romanticized metropolis, which I had by no means been to, truly held the life-changing potential everybody insisted it did.
Admittedly, Paris didn’t greet me with any movie-montage moments upon my arrival. It felt like simply one other metropolis at first—grey, somewhat damp, and underwhelmingly abnormal.
Then, I obtained an surprising textual content.
It was from an outdated good friend—somebody who, in some ways, jogged my memory of myself: a 20-something journalist, as soon as in a long-term relationship, firmly rooted in New York Metropolis—which is why I used to be stunned to study she’d performed what I’d solely seen in motion pictures: purchased a one-way ticket to France.