We’ll always have Paris
Guest essay from photographer Pauline Chatelan, an ex-Parisienne
As I’m slowly making my way back to France after a much-needed break across the world, I asked
to comment on the experience of returning to Paris as a visitor after many years as a local. So often we glorify what Paris offers us, but what gifts might exist elsewhere for someone who spent their formative years in the city?Three years ago, I packed up my life in Paris and flew to the other side of the world to start anew, trading the Eiffel Tower for the Golden Gate Bridge.
The early months were difficult. I had spent the first chapter of my adulthood indulging in the best Paris had to offer – for a living, mind you. A deep knowledge of the city’s secrets and a hunger to keep up with its ever-shifting food and cultural scenes were, after all, requirements to work at both Le Fooding and My Little Paris, the two media companies where I began my career. Suddenly finding myself so far removed from that world, with nothing but a virtual window of a phone to peer through, nine hours behind, at what everyone else was doing (and eating) only increased my homesickness and isolation.
It’s worth mentioning that I loved my life in Paris. In fact, many friends and colleagues were surprised when I broke the news that I was moving abroad. And yet, no one forced me to leave. My departure, it turned out, wasn’t driven by anything other than the curiosity to pursue some new beginning in California.
Fast forward to today: I am happy to report that I have found my new home in San Francisco. For all of the flaws you can read about in the news, it is an incredible place to live. But despite its reputation as the more European of American cities (it was once called the Paris of the West), the last three years here have shown me that there’s much more than an ocean and a continent separating the City by the Bay and the City of Light.
Because Paris and I never had a resentful breakup, but parted ways with a friendly “au revoir”, I love coming back. At the same time, every visit feels like holding up a mirror of my old life to a new version of me, and so I now find myself wearing bifocal glasses as I navigate through Paris: seeing it both through the eyes of an ex-Parisienne who knows the city by heart, and those of an outsider who can contrast and compare. As this new kind of observer, I’ve come to notice that the many things I love and miss about Paris coincidentally have an underside that reminds me why I am happier where I am now.
Here are some of the tensions I personally experience when visiting:
The concentration: it’s all there, everything and everyone
On the one hand, I love how dense Paris is. Just a 15-minute walk, 20-minute cycle, or 30-minute metro ride away, everything feels within reach. And you’ll probably even bump into someone you know on your way there. The ease of getting from point A to point B within the city allows you to pack the most hectic schedule in one day, as well as the flexibility to make spontaneous plans. It’s an underrated freedom that few other major cities can provide.
On the other hand, you have to share this tight city with everyone else. From narrow pavements to full train carriages or cramped cafés, every day in Paris feels like training for some elbowing sport competition. Not to mention the daily swarms of tourists, the long TikTok lines, or God forbid, the first weekend of warm weather in March when we’re all fighting for an open patch of grass at the park. I have unfortunately become too used to the quiet luxury that is access to Redwood forests, endless beaches, and expansive parks, where simple walks among nature remind me every day of how small I am.
The charm: lasting heritage vs. opportunistic artifice
On the one hand, so much of Paris looks and feels precious. From the historic architecture to long-standing storefronts, there is visual delight all around. But beyond its Instagram potential, I believe the real charm of the city lies in its enduring reverence for specialty: paper, music, fabric, books, chocolate, pastry, cheese, and much more. The reason so many Parisian businesses remain today is their commitment to a niche or a craft. Every day they prove that, instead of chasing trends or cutting quality in the name of profit, you can choose to pursue one thing, and be excellent at it.
However, this sadly does not apply to all of Paris. In fact, it is often this very inspiring feature that is exploited for marketing by new entrepreneurs (San Francisco may have its tech bros but Paris has its own ambitious école de commerce graduates). They’re the ones who, under the pretext of opening local businesses, will replicate the codes of authenticity, often by plastering the word authentic everywhere, in order to build covert chains that capture market share. And it’s all in the hope of one day selling to the highest bidder. It is a creeping phenomenon I can’t help but notice every time I return and it makes me wonder how it impacts the more sincere establishments.
The nightlife: perks of the self-imposed curfew
At times, I miss the exciting energy of Paris at night, where you know that a casual drink at 6 p.m. on a Friday can quickly turn into a marathon of terraces, bars and restaurants, very late into the night. Imagine: it’s 10 p.m. and you just stepped out of the theater. An infectious symphony of conversations surrounds you—and a cloud of chain-smoking— that echoes down the streets. How could you possibly head home?
On the other hand, the 5 p.m. dinner booking in San Francisco does not exist in Paris. As I get older, I have discovered the pleasures of the early night: the conversations at a normal volume, the moderate amount of drinking (zero proof sometimes) and feeling fresh the next morning because you didn’t go to bed at an ungodly hour. Oh, and your hair and clothes don’t smell of cigarette smoke. Is it sleepy and boring? Yes. Is it enjoyable and soothing? Also yes.
The dining culture: redefining hospitality
Of course, I miss Paris’s vibrant dining scene. When I was working at Le Fooding, I would eat out all the time. That’s a habit I had to dial back upon moving to California due to the expensive bills at the end of my meals (before tax and tip). Now, visits are torn between choosing to dine at old favourites and trying out the newest spots everyone is talking about. Regardless, I know that I’ll get to do one or the other if I hope to hang out with anyone I know, because what other options are there than eating out?
But there’s another way to bond with people over food that I hadn’t quite tasted when I lived in Paris. It took moving across the world to discover the art of having people over and being hosted in return. There’s an instant intimacy in being invited to step into someone’s home; to gaze at the books they’ve collected, the artwork they’ve chosen to display, the dishware they’ve picked up along their travels. I always struggled to feel close to my Parisian friends, never feeling like I truly knew them or that they truly knew me. And then I arrived in the land of farmers’ markets, where most people I’ve encountered are excited to make you try their homemade sourdough bread or the ice cream they just churned, and always want you to feel welcome. My adopted home has given me a richer understanding of hospitality, not just as an industry of professionals, but as an art de vivre essential to building community.
Three years into this new life in California, I can say that although I still love Paris, I can’t see myself moving back. When I first arrived in San Francisco and told people I had just moved from Paris, I would often be met with the same stunned reaction: “But why?” What was unimaginable to them then makes more and more sense to me each time I visit. Leaving gave me the chance to miss all of the wonderful things I loved about my old life. It also allowed me to fall in love with a new place and discover a quality of life that I couldn’t live without now. I’m incredibly lucky that Paris was the enchanting backdrop to my mid-twenties, and I’m even luckier that it’s always there for me to visit. Unlike Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, I’ll really always have Paris.
Pauline Chatelan is a photographer, filmmaker and writer living in San Francisco. With a background as a content strategist and producer from her previous life in Paris, she now applies her lens—working strictly with analogue mediums—to tell stories about slow living. Hire her! Follow her on Instagram!