It's All French to Me. Love, Actually... in Paris: Part 1

Maiana Rose
Jul 17
3 min read

Updated: Aug 4

Rencontre I

I walked down a long corridor where he was giving studio tours. I was the last one that day.

I walked through the space, and we sat on the floor. He showed me a performance piece he had made, a study of narcissism and lack of empathy. He asked what I did. I read him selected pages from my parody dating book. He said it was honest.

We sat there on the floor, drinking the wine he had in the gallery, getting to know one another.

As the daylight faded, the dark, sculptural figures in his studio became more imposing. A rather obscure and potentially threatening setting for a first date. I could, perhaps, have been nervous.

I told him about dating in London, about men who did not approach. He said maybe I was not their type. I laughed, knowing he might interpret it that way. Then he said I was not his type. He prefers dark hair, light eyes, and darker Mediterranean skin. He called me sweet. I found it all rude, and at the same time, I did not care.

Shortly after, he pulled me in for what felt like a very “French” first kiss, which arrived quite early in the date. I questioned whether I was safe. It was also kind of hot. Le vertige, a slight dizziness of proximity and curiosity, but I chose to trust, thinking, “This must be French.”

We left his studio to grab a late dinner. He paid for everything without letting me see, just a simple “Let’s go” after we finished eating. He wanted to dance, so he took me to a nightclub. He drove me home too fast, and I couldn’t navigate in time.

On the drive back, he told me, “I don’t care what happens next.” He clarified it without emphasis. “There are no expectations here.” It sounded like a boundary, but not in the way I am used to with American men, where distance is often disguised as ambiguity. There was an enthusiasm and a commitment to showing me his city during my time in Paris.

Somehow, it felt more romantic. That, too, must be French.

Rencontre II

He invited me to dinner at a small, authentic Nepalese-Italian restaurant he had chosen. I had to see “the best” Paris had to offer.

The pasta and wine were un plaisir de la main.

I jokingly repeated his comment that I was not his type. He said I was his type, actually. I said I did not buy it, but perhaps now, it was because he wanted to sleep with me.

He spoke about his history with addiction, his beginnings as an artist, and his ambitions as we walked through Saint-Germain, so he could show me the house he would buy if he could.

He clarified, once again, that he values building relationships and honoring them.

He asked if I would sleep over and be his peluche, which he explained means a teddy bear, reiterating that he understood I did not want to sleep with him, but that he enjoyed my company.

He commented on my energy, my self-protection, not just physically but emotionally. Something I have heard before from American men who do not know how to name it, or instead read it as rejection, a blow to their ego, even if unspoken. But he seemed to have a name for it. Something more nuanced. A psychological, emotional form of self-protection. La retenue, a kind of emotional restraint, measured, composed, not overly exposed. Something that is read rather than declared.

I did not argue it. I think I felt seen.

We stayed up until 4 a.m. listening to his music, eventually falling asleep. He leaves this week, for who knows how long. I am here for who knows how long. I do not know if I will see him again, or if it matters.

He said he is happy to show me more of Paris and offer inspiration for my writing, but that I would need to become more French if I wanted to date him.

About the Series

It's All French to Me is an ongoing narrative series by Maiana Rose, an American author, illustrator, and cultural commentator. Through diary-style essays, she documents the realities of modern dating in the city from an American perspective, blending personal experience with cultural observation. As the series unfolds, Maiana explores how romance, identity, place, and emotional connection shift across cultures, one encounter at a time.