Follow the adventures of Liesha Stone –a sister trying to make a new life in the city of love, Paris. This week Liesha discovers that when it comes to men, the grass might not be greener in gay Paree…
Four months on in the city of love, and to be frank, I am not getting any. Let me give you my observations of finding romance in this city.
Originally, when I left England in September, my then-boyfriend yummy city lawyer Dominic and I had decided that we would stay together since Paris is only 400 miles away. In fact, the idea of having a succession of romantic weekend breaks in Paris sounded like it could energize our somewhat lacklustre relationship.
But after a disastrous weekend that ended up with a screaming match on the steps of the Eiffel Tower, I had not seen or heard from him for over two months. So, of course, like any independent sassy woman, I decided to start surveying the local talent.
Now listen up, this is what I have discovered about men and love in Paris.
There are four distinct groups of men. Firstly, the white French men. They were quite a surprise. In London I’ve never been hit on by a white English guy in a bar or club, but here, within a few days, I was being hit on left, right and centre, and I did not need to go to a bar. Just standing in line at the patisserie or slowly strolling through a shop was an opportunity for a witty refrain for some French guy angling for my number and a rendezvous. But shockingly, most of those taking an interest in me are married and not at all shy about chatting me up with a shiny gold band on the ring finger. I understand affairs over here are almost an accepted practice. My assistant Christelle is seeing a guy from Accounts whose wedding she attended only last year; and my new best friend Monique, a mad girl from Martinique, is seeing a married man who has children her age, but for her it’s not even an issue that is worthy of discussion.
However, although there is something quite sexy about the white boys’ confidence, I can only see myself with a brother. Sorry.
The second group is the Arabs, which I guess is the equivalent of the Asian community in the UK. But in England, Asians make up just over 2.5% of the population, while the Arabs in France make up over 10%. Still, just like the Asians in the UK, unless you are looking for serious problems, they are a no-go zone for any black girl.
Next up, the African men. In England, the African community is relatively well off, successful and well educated. In Paris it is very different. Quite clearly, today in the UK only wealthy Africans get in, while France seems to be the refuge for the lucky few who escaped some of the worst parts of their continent. Unfortunately they seem to be the poorest community in Paris, and while I have been out with a couple of Africans in London – in fact, one had been the love of my life not ten years ago – I find that I have little in common with the ones in Paris. Shame.
The final group is that of the West Indians, who all come from either Martinique or Guadeloupe, because these islands are actually considered part of France and they are full French citizens. These are the ones that I have found myself gravitating towards. They are good-looking people who love to party and enjoy life to the full. But the problem is that I am struggling to find a man among this group who is intellectually and professionally my equal. I am not boasting here. Many women in the UK will know that if you have graduated from a red-brick university and command a salary of over £50,000 a year, you are going to struggle to find a man who can match you on those terms. And while I know some women convince themselves it’s not important, to me it is. My man needs to be my equal in every way. If it’s difficult in London, just multiply that by a hundred, and you have the situation in Paris. If I was in my 20s, I would not mind, but now in my mid-30s I want a brother of substance who is as ambitious as me. In this way Paris is not New York or even London for that matter. Shit. Maybe I should give Dominic a call.
