The truth about dating in Paris: the men don’t smile back — or they’re married

Usually when your phone buzzes two hours before a date, it’s a message from a friend asking about your outfit, or a sweet “see you soon” text from the man you’re meeting. On one particular occasion, a few months after I’d fulfilled my lifelong dream of moving to Paris to work as a singer, the message was somewhat different.
“Looking forward to seeing you later,” typed the suavely suited handsome Frenchman I’d met in a bar a few nights before. “Just to let you know, I have a wife and kids. Let me know if you’re OK with that.”
Needless to say I wasn’t OK with it and the date never happened.
It’s an extreme example, but gives a glimpse into my life as a 32-year-old woman attempting to navigate the Paris dating scene after moving there from London. I expected to be swooning on evening strolls along the Seine, or to lock eyes with a man over the last croissant at the local boulangerie, but the reality has been somewhat different.
Perhaps my expectations were too big. Everyone from Walt Disney to Ernest Hemingway has a role to play in my big dreams of Paris and the romantic encounters I’d have there and on Thursday, the fourth season of Emily In Paris begins on Netflix.
The comedy starring Lily Collins as Emily Cooper, a fictitious peppy, loud American marketing executive who moves to the French capital, fulfils almost every stereotype going. There are 10.30am office starts, long liquid lunches of chenin blanc and multiple moments of passion with a hunky French chef among a backdrop of berets, bistros and slim cigarettes.
While many Parisians have dismissed the show as a caricature, viewers across the globe have delighted in its fizzy homage. The first series of Emily In Paris in 2020 was watched by 58 million people in less than a month and the show has been nominated for awards including Emmys and Golden Globes and inspired an influx of tourists.
• Want to live like Emily in Paris? Netflix has a guide for you
Parisians have a point about the show, but it doesn’t get everything wrong. As someone who grew up in Romania and lived in London for 11 years, I’ve moved around and don’t like to stereotype people. That said, many of the men I’ve dated in Paris have lived up to their reputation, especially when it comes to lust and infidelity.
I’ve learnt the hard way. A few months ago I finally had a chance encounter with a stranger as I sipped my espresso in a café near Montmartre. We hit it off so I asked if he was single, to which he said yes. What followed was an intense whirlwind romance before he casually mentioned that actually, he was seeing someone else. He thought it would be OK to see both of us.
These chance encounters are scarce. In the show, Parisian men happily strike up conversations with Emily in the street or approach her in Café de Flore. I’ve found the opposite. My attempts at eye contact, friendly smiles and polite hellos with handsome men have generally met stony indifference.
A friend once told me that if you’re too smiley in Paris, people think you’re either stupid or mad and I think that might be right. London has a reputation for men failing to approach women in real life, but it’s even rarer here and something my girlfriends and I often complain about. A male friend said it’s a fear of being perceived as lecherous. I think it’s a shame — and appears to be a problem with dating in 2024 that stretches beyond Paris.
Parisians seem to use dating apps less than Londoners. I’ve tried using Bumble, Tinder and Happn but found them just as bad here as everywhere else. I went on two uneventful dates and on my third I got stood up. I don’t want to be on apps though; I want to meet someone in real life. Parisians love to take the time to sit and people-watch and let the world go by. It’s easier to interact with people when the infrastructure of a city is a bit more outdoorsy, so I’m hoping that will happen in the summer.
There have been good dates, like the man who picked me up from my apartment with a motorcycle, taking me for a ride around the streets of Paris, mostly around the moonlit Seine. It was the type of date I’d dreamt of before moving here.
It didn’t last, though. Like Emily, I can only speak a small amount of French and I don’t speak it very well. The language barrier can make conversation feel forced and it’s difficult to be funny and flirty when you don’t understand each other’s cultural references. I don’t try to speak French to men any more because I don’t want them to know just how bad I am at it. In the past, they’ve judged me on the way I pronounce things: men correcting the way I conjugate a verb is a serious turn-off.
I work as a jazz singer in high-end bars, restaurants and clubs, which people think would make it easy to meet potential dates, but it doesn’t. In Paris, I feel like there’s a much greater division when it comes to class and society so when I perform somewhere very exclusive, men don’t approach me. I think they see me as the staff, not an equal that they want to take out for dinner.
French men are known for being romantic, but don’t expect the handwritten love letters and red roses depicted in films. In my experience it’s long, romantic text messages that can feel quite intense. And tread carefully: there have been times that I’ve reciprocated with the same energy and all of a sudden they lose interest.
I’ve dreamt of living in Paris since I was 11 years old. Now I’m 32 and I still romanticise everything about living here. Unlike Emily, I am yet to be whisked to the Trocadéro to see the Eiffel Tower twinkle by night, nor have I fallen in love at my French class, but I remain optimistic.
The biggest lesson I’ve learnt is that romance is just how French men express themselves. An encounter may seem magical at the time, but that doesn’t mean it’s deep or going to turn into anything — just like dating anywhere else in the world.
As told to Roisin Kelly