A French Woman’s Impressions of Dating in San Francisco
“Ghosting” and “having the talk” are very much American concepts
On the last date I had in Paris, we spent the day strolling along the Seine on a sunny summer day. The man I was seeing, a 26-year-old business student, was a typical caricature of a French man: elegant and a bit shy, but constantly smiling. We began the morning with a visit to the Louvre before stopping for ice cream and continuing to wander the city for hours, talking without interruption.
Cliché, yes, but that’s how it goes a lot of the time in my home country — the country of passion and romance, where “La Vie en Rose” basically replaced the national anthem a few decades ago, and where pursuing love still means something to most people. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that hooking up isn’t a thing in France, but in general, once we find ourselves seeing someone multiple times, we’re both giving it our best shot to be in a relationship with commitments and sacrifices from the beginning.
It’s within this quite conservative yet forever romantic vision of love that I moved to the US in 2017 at the age of 23, leaving behind my Camembert diet and safe place to pursue my own version of the American dream. Once settled in my single room in Silicon Valley, I decided that I was ready to meet some American men. To my own surprise, I downloaded Tinder, after getting the sense that this was how it’s done around here.
In France, if you do try out a dating website or app, it’s not something you brag about to friends or share with your relatives.
Meeting people in France generally goes by the old-school method: dating friends of your friends, my dear! Most of the guys I’ve dated have already been part of my circle somehow — former classmates, roommates of a coworker, soccer teammates of a cousin, etc. That being said, if you’re in a big city, people aren’t afraid to stop somebody on the street or in a bar to get a number.
And yes, for those not comfortable enough to make the first move in public, dating apps are an option, but definitely not our favorite. In France, if you do try out a dating website or app, it’s not something you brag about to friends or share with your relatives. It’s definitely not the accepted norm in the way that it is here — just one of the many differences I’ve noticed between French and American people’s dating lives.
Almost instantly after hitting Create, I was thrown into the Bay Area dating jungle. Dickxhibitionists and lame pickup lines were coming at me fast. “You’re a hot baguette,” one dude said.
So creating a profile on Tinder was a first for me. I quickly decided that I wouldn’t include pictures of myself pointing at the Eiffel Tower, no marinière and beret, only a faithful caption in my bio that said a lot about me—“Best French-accent imitator.” Not too revealing, and mysterious enough to hide any evidence of being French, which I had a feeling would be bait for some guys trying to tick a box. And believe it or not, I’m more than my nationality.
Almost instantly after hitting Create, I was thrown into the Bay Area dating jungle. Dickxhibitionists and lame pickup lines were coming at me fast. “You’re a hot baguette,” one dude said. “Can I be your marmalade?” another messaged. “You’re hot enough to melt fire and burn Satan,” some man wrote, leaving me genuinely confused. These interactions were completely new to me. I’ve been exposed to the same type of gross comments in person in France when taking the subway or walking on the street, but they never popped up on my phone during the middle of day.
Once my identity as a French woman revealed itself in conversation, I experienced the most stereotypical exchanges of my life. “Yes, we love crêpes.” “No, we don’t eat bread every morning.” “Nope, you won’t die if you eat some snails.” No matter whom I was matching with, the conversation became pretty identical, and I had to field questions like I was a second-grade teacher. It was like having the same nightmare over and over again, and turns out, it was just the petits fours.
Then, “cultured” men started to appear, eager to share all their knowledge about France with me. “I know a few words of French: ‘bonjour,’ ‘madame,’ ‘oui.’” Congratulations, you have Google. Another enlightened me on his intentions in my own language: “Oh…I never thought that I would use this, but ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’”—which is actually the sentence I’ve heard the most since I moved to the US. It’s amazing how the moment a man finds out I’m French, he becomes so eager to relay what he learned from that fateful 2001 song. Somehow, 18 years later, it’s still not a turn-on.
For a (long) minute, I regretted downloading Tinder. This unashamed sexual pressure was completely new and weird. In France, sex and intimacy aren’t so easily insinuated or discussed so early on.
After swiping left and right for about two months, I had my first date with Andre, a 27-year-old engineer who “has 22 country stamps on his passport.” I thought that my English would be the toughest part of the rendezvous, but I was wrong — that fell to agreeing on the spot at which to meet. He suggested we go to his place. I was unclear if this was normal for a first date in America, but in my gut, I knew it was purely an invitation to have sex. To avoid an awkward situation, I simply told him that I wasn’t feeling it. In response, I got the reassuring “No worries—I’m not a rapist” and a sarcastic “You’re such a nun.”
For a (long) minute, I regretted downloading Tinder. This unashamed sexual pressure was completely new and weird. In France, sex and intimacy aren’t so easily insinuated or discussed so early on—and a woman holds a lot of the power in deciding if she’s interested in the man pursuing her. In general, once you kiss someone, that generally is the first true sign you’re actually interested in them and marks the start of an exclusive relationship.
For whatever reason, I went forward with the date with Andre. We decided to meet at a bar in Mountain View. Once I got there, I started to feel really nervous, and when I’m nervous, my accent becomes even stronger. I had to repeat what I was saying a couple of times, every time I spoke. If it was torture for me, but my date seemed to enjoy it. “Mmmmh, this accent…,” he said in a voice that can only be described as pervy.
While we were talking, we ran into a few misunderstandings. As I went to order a beer, he stopped me and said, “Wait, shorty.” To me, this sounded like the worst insult. I looked at him and yelled, “I’m not that short. I’m 5'6”. That’s taller than most of the women in France.” Imagine my surprise when I found out that it meant “baby” and not “You’re a dwarf.”
Obviously, the date wasn’t a huge success. Thank you—next.
I’ve never felt as much emotionally insecure as I have since I moved here.
After trying on a couple of shoes, as we say, a couple of men fit better, but things didn’t necessarily become less challenging. I couldn’t help myself from overthinking and panicking a bit after a few months of dating someone here—something I never did in France. At home, I always knew where I stood with someone. Here I’m afraid of discovering that after six months of seeing someone, we aren’t actually dating but just messing around.
This is a reputation American men hold overseas that turns out to often be true—that they ghost, date many women at the same time and have commitment issues. I experienced it first hand with someone who kept telling me every day how much he loved me and cherished me until I found out on somebody’s else Twitter that he was a cheater.
I’ve never felt as much emotionally insecure as I have since I moved here. In France, you don’t ask someone to be your girlfriend or boyfriend unless you’re in kindergarten. We generally don’t have “the conversation” to make things official — instead, we’ll talk casually about our expectations during the flirt game so we always know what we’re signing up for to in order avoid a surprise later on.
During the two years I’ve been here, I’m learning to adjust to the dating norms and expectations in America. And I still believe that I can find the right person in this chaos — the same hope I’m sure American women try to maintain. But a piece of advice for American men: be honest with what you want, and stop wasting our time.
