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Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

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Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

As someone who has spent a considerable amount of time both in New York and Paris, I find myself deeply enthralled by the whimsical world of “Emily in Paris.” While it may not always accurately reflect the daily lives of Parisians or the intricacies of French culture, it undeniably captures a certain romanticized essence that resonates with many.

If you were asked to discuss the charm of the television series Emily in Paris, now in its fourth season, at a gathering filled with nuclear physicists, foreign-policy experts, and career military personnel, I’d wish you good luck and excuse myself from the conversation. Many have criticized the show for its lack of depth and other imperfections: It oversimplifies French culture, the characters wear impractical outfits, Emily, portrayed by Lily Collins, is visually appealing but not complex, and she doesn’t speak fluent French. One might wonder if she’s simply unintelligent. Yet, the appeal of Emily in Paris—particularly for women—resonates with outdated notions that have long been used to dismiss our interests as trivial: Women have been associated with frivolity and decorative items for centuries, while men engage in serious discussions. In essence, the show’s allure is a relic of old ideas that linger, much like colored ribbons or silk gowns at the millinery counter—women stick to their fluff, while men retreat to the study with their cigars to discuss weighty matters.

In my perspective, “Emily in Paris” echoes the whimsical charm of 1930s comedies, particularly in its portrayal of hats. Just as Katharine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, or Rosalind Russell donned those saucer-shaped oddities and frosted caps brimming with saucy netting, Emily adorns herself with fashion statements reminiscent of a stylized hamhock – absurd yet captivating. In Ernst Lubitsch’s “Ninotchka,” Greta Garbo sported such a hat, symbolizing an escape from the harsh realities of the Depression era. Similarly, “Emily in Paris,” as light-hearted as a puff of tulle, emerged during a time when many of us grappled with anxiety, isolation, and loss, offering a momentary respite.

As a movie enthusiast, I found myself immersed in Darren Star’s latest creation, “Emily in Paris,” which premiered in October 2020, just before the world began to slowly return to normalcy with the advent of Covid vaccines. In the first episode, we meet Emily, a spirited and intelligent marketing executive in her late twenties, who is unexpectedly assigned to Paris by her Chicago-based company. They’ve recently acquired a French luxury marketing firm named Savoir, and Emily’s task is to teach the French Americans’ marketing ways. She’s quick to boast about her master’s degree in communications whenever she gets the chance, often to those who don’t seem to care much.

Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

1. However, she excels at transforming blunders into victories, a strategy reminiscent of classic Hollywood tales. Sylvie believes she can push Emily out by making her work life unbearable, giving her an undesirable task – marketing a feminine hygiene product aimed at older women. Taking advantage of her basic knowledge of French grammar and gender of nouns, Emily comes up with a witty slogan on Instagram that gains popularity when it’s shared by Brigitte Macron. Despite openly mocking Emily as inexperienced and shallow, Sylvie can’t deny her young American employee is quite skilled. In fact, people, particularly Parisian men who are crucial to Sylvie’s business, seem to appreciate her. Emily’s over-the-top enthusiasm is both her biggest flaw and her greatest strength.

How should we perceive her? Her charismatic behavior is quite excessive, yet she seems genuinely innocent, which is surprising for someone in marketing. Sylvie, as portrayed by Collins, radiates a lively brightness, much like an animated squirrel. The script of the show suits her well; when Emily enthusiastically shares with her new French colleagues about their scooter ride on Michigan’s Mackinac Island—for a fudge tour, no less—Sylvie responds with a dramatic eye roll that even we can hear from across the Atlantic. (It’s important to note that scooters aren’t actually allowed on Mackinac Island, but the impression matters.) But who is this young woman, and does she truly belong in Paris? In one of the early episodes, Emily’s main coworkers, Julien (Samuel Arnold) and Luc (Bruno Gouery), along with Sylvie, welcome her with feigned affection, calling her “le plouc” directly. Emily is unaware that this term means “hick.” And as any American tourist in Paris knows, it’s not difficult to feel out of place amidst the city’s countless unspoken rules and its intimidating elegance.

Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

Yet liking or not liking Emily is almost beside the point. She’s just the centerpiece for a show full of great second bananas. Gouery’s Luc is possibly my favorite, a Gallic string-bean goofball who skadoodles everywhere on his bicycle and invites Emily to lunch in his favorite spot, which just happens to be Père Lachaise Cemetery. (He likes to keep Balzac company.) Of all the show’s characters, Leroy-Beaulieu’s Sylvie is the most mysterious and complex. Is she fiftyish, sixtyish? We don’t really know, but she’s a woman of secrets whose sexual allure is off the charts. Her walk, a kind of hip-swiveling saunter, is an art unto itself. And if she’s frosty, she’s not closed off: occasionally she betrays a glimmer of amusement over Emily’s haplessness. She also gives her an elegant cigarette case as a birthday gift, knowing Emily doesn’t smoke, but reassuring her in a deadpan singsong, “Well, it’s never too late to start.” Naughty! But great.

Emily encounters an abundance of interesting characters during her initial days in the city: she makes a lively, charming friend named Mindy (Ashley Park), who is the estranged daughter of a wealthy Chinese entrepreneur known as the “zipper king.” She also shares a building with a captivating chef named Gabriel (Lucas Bravo) and discovers that they share an interest in culinary arts. However, Gabriel has a romantic involvement with another acquaintance, Camille (Camille Razat), who is a cheerful art gallerist from a family that owns a prestigious Champagne company. In the second season, Emily becomes smitten with Alfie (Lucien Laviscount), an intriguing English banker with a mysterious charm, although he seems reluctant to reciprocate her affections at first.

Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

As a lover of office comedies, Emily in Paris stirs something within me that resonates deeply. This series isn’t just about Emily’s romantic entanglements; it’s also a reflection of the imperfect, nuanced relationships we forge in our workplaces.

As a fashion enthusiast who has spent years studying and admiring the style evolution of Parisian women, I find Emily in Paris’ wardrobe to be a delightful blend of fantasy and reality that beautifully captures the essence of French fashion drama. Having lived in Paris for some time and observed the city’s unique sartorial sensibilities, I can attest that while understated colors and classic shapes dominate the streets today, there was once a time when bold, vibrant outfits like Emily’s were not uncommon.

Emily in Paris Is Ridiculous, But It’s Not Stupid

Just as every vehicle designed for joy has underlying truths, “Emily in Paris” is no exception. You might think, “The French aren’t like that,” but if you’ve ever been to Paris as a non-French-speaking American, you’ll spot glimmers of their impatience and kindness. For instance, early in the series, the owner of a bakery corrects Emily, fresh from Chicago, during her croissant order. She’s firm but not harsh; she’s teaching this newcomer how to navigate the city. Later, we see them posing together in one of Emily’s countless selfies. This woman isn’t an adversary, but rather a supporter, reflecting Paris’s appreciation for everyday interactions.

The series, “Emily in Paris,” has drawn criticism from both Parisians and Americans for several reasons. For one, it presents a skewed representation of Parisian street culture, primarily featuring affluent-looking white individuals. Emily, despite living in Paris for multiple years, struggles excessively to learn the language. The show is reminiscent of “Sex and the City” in terms of its impact on tourism, as it has led to an influx of tourists flocking to Paris, donning berets and eagerly visiting locations from the series. As a former resident of New York during the early 2000s, I can relate to the frustration of Parisians, who were swarmed by tourists emulating characters like Carrie Bradshaw. One wonders if these visitors were not more interested in experiencing the genuine essence of the city, rather than living out a fantasy they’ve seen on screen.

Reflecting on those days, I often find myself caught up in my thoughts. New York, despite being gritty and pricey, is a place that I adore deeply. I yearn for people to visit, to marvel at the gleaming, futuristic charm of the Chrysler Building or grab a bite at the Donut Pub on 14th Street. Similarly, Paris exudes an undeniable beauty and resilience, capable of withstanding even the most clueless tourists. Yes, it’s a city where everyday life unfolds, but part of its purpose is to bring joy. Have you ever sparked a conversation about Paris among Parisians? Their eyes light up, they’ll tell you without hesitation that it’s the most beautiful and romantic city on earth. They’ve imbibed the cool, refreshing essence of the place, and they wear their affection openly. In ‘Emily in Paris’, Emily frequently expresses what seems like a cliché – “It’s so beautiful!” – but she’s both absurd and correct in her exclamations.

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2024-08-16 16:21

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