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Ever wonder what gives French women that je ne sais quoi?

At first you might think it’s the elegant figure, matchless style, and mysterious allure. Then you realize those qualities don’t come from just anywhere. They come from generations of women raised to cultivate an extraordinary sense of self. French women know who they are, like who they are, and excel at presenting who they are.

The rest of us are often susceptible to the next fad, the new thing, the ultimate diet. We’re always seeking, instead of realizing that what we already are may be just right. Rarely does an American woman feel as comfortable in her own skin as her French counterpart. And rarely does an American woman have that essentially French ability to say no---to refuse anything that doesn’t suit her, whether that thing is a job, a man, or the season’s latest styles.

Provocative and practical, lively and intelligent, Entre Nous unlocks the mystery of the French girl and the secrets of her self-possession. Why do French women always look inimitably stylish? How do they manage to sit in a café for a three-course lunch and a glass of wine...by themselves? How do they decide when they’re ready to let someone become a part of their very private lives?

Laced with practical tips, engaging sidebars, and essential observations about French women and their ways, Entre Nous is a delightful book that will help you take the best of all pages from the French girl’s book---the page that reveals how to really enjoy life.

Debra Ollivier has written for Salon, Harpers, Playboy, Le Monde, and a variety of other publications. She’s a California girl who married a Frenchman and lived in France, where her children were born, for a decade. She now lives in Los Angeles.

One

La Tete


As it happened, the first true French girl I ever met was Natalie. She was living in an old renovated farmhouse at the time, just south of Paris, where her husband and a group of aspiring Truffauts were shooting a film on unrequited love and existentialism. (Only in France, no?) Natalie was wearing a close-fitting black skirt over a voluptuously pregnant belly, a camisole under a sheer blouse, and suede ankle boots. Her long hair was pulled back with a tortoiseshell barrette, though several fugitive strands tumbled onto her shoulders in unruly wisps, and she wore not one bit of makeup.

She was perfectly content and undeniably sensual, and when she spoke, which she did sparingly, you could tell she had a superbly intelligent mind. It was just all there, that incredible mix of beauty and brains that seems to imbue French girls with such interesting faces, such refined strength. It would have been easy to suggest that Natalie's allure was a function of something physical (her hair, her clothes, her overall look). Too easy. Like so many French girls Natalie's je ne sais quoi was less about her look and much more about her history: She had been shaped by generations of independent feminine spirits (countless queens, courtesans, and traditional French mothers); by unspoken codes of social grace and courtly love; by a legacy of feminine guile and intellectual brawn--and at that moment, walking down a country lane in a land where the layers of civilization were so thick you could almost cut them with a knife, all I wanted to do was leave the planet and be reborn French.

That, alas, was not to be.

I did, however, have the opportunity to live long enough in France to ponder, with a certain privileged proximity, those essential qualities that make the French girl so French. And in coming to understand the core principles that shape her perception of the world, I began to wonder how we, with our own cultural baggage and American juju, could integrate some of these qualities into our own lives and get in touch with our own inner French girls. Clearly we had to look past the fabled French style--"the look," if you will, that it is so easy to mistake for the defining feature of the French girl--and consider the expression of something much deeper, some basic truths about how she sees herself and carries herself in the world.

If you peel back the surface details, these essential qualities emanate like spokes into every aspect of the French girl's life: They influence how she carries herself, the clothes she wears, the men she brings into her life (or doesn't). They shape her self-image, what she reads, how and what she eats. They temper her experience of sensuality, her notion of time, and the tenor of her family life.

Like the smooth surface of a river stone, many of these qualities have been honed by centuries of culture and civilization. Still, many of them can be cultivated (to each woman, her own private garden), and in the following chapters we'll explore how. For now, just what exactly are these essential qualities, and how do they shape the French girl's perception of herself and the world at large?

She Is Self-Possessed

If you strip away the stereotypes and contradictions about her, one of the fundamental qualities associated with the French girl is her sense of self-possession. She is entirely, unequivocally self-contained. She is focused on living her own full life, following her own agenda and cultivating her actual self, rather than reinventing herself or pining away to be someone she's not. Throughout her life, she invests herself in learning and experiencing, not to change who she is, but to become more fundamentally and more fully who she truly is. Taking her cues predominantly from within--from the life of her mind and the exercise of her critical intelligence--she is imbued with a strength of character and a certain sensitivity. Because she is sure of who she is on the inside, she naturally, inevitably, appears sure of herself on the outside.

There is also a lovely, dreamy paradox about the French girl, and it's this: in having a strong sense of self, she's able to let go of herself; that in being self-contained, she's able to be vulnerable--all without unraveling at the seams. It's that melange of sensitivity and sang froid that so delicately lingers around her, like a subtle aura.

Every choice she makes underscores this basic relationship to herself: The French girl tends to her personal, private garden with dedication. By taking care of herself in ways both large and small, she is free to take care of others, free to focus on real living rather than rushing through the essentials. She understands that being of service to others is contingent on being of service to oneself. There is nothing accidental here, nothing random in her composure: It is the result of an awareness of--and commitment to--herself.

She Seeks Sensuality

There is also something more corporeal at play here--an inspired sensuality, an exalted simplicity that intoxicates us Anglo-Saxons when we visit France--and that is the premium the French girl puts on experiencing pleasure: Pleasure in ordinary moments. Pleasure in extraordinary moments. She does not confuse commerce with culture and the narrative in her life does not come from what she buys or sees on TV; rather, it comes from getting sensual satisfaction in the moment, from feeling an almost tactile pleasure and evocative power in the seemingly mundane. Remember Audrey Tautou in Amelie? She dips her hands into sacks of grain just for the pleasure of how it feels. She relishes the crackle of a teaspoon breaking the crust of a creme brulee. And she soothes herself skipping stones at Canal St. Martin.


Sensuality is so pervasive in her life that it is almost transparent. It is in the general texture of life, the patina of age that comes with time. It is in the baking of bread by hand, the aging of wine. It is in the color of inkwells or damask drapes, in the uproarious flamboyance of architecture. And it is fundamentally in the perfection of imperfections--the complexity and realness that create character, depth, and charm.


Being anchored in these priorities gives the French girl the sophisticated and sexy self-confidence that has put her in the Feminine Hall of Fame and made her an icon worldwide. She so fully and unequivocally inhabits her own space, and with such individualistic flair, that it seems as if even from the earliest age she has always been sure of who she is and where she's going. And perhaps she has. As Edith Wharton saw her, "...she is, in nearly all respects, as different as possible from the average American woman. The French woman is grown-up."

She Practices Discretion

From her sense of self-possession flows another essential quality that shapes her world definitively: discretion. The French girl wears her discretion like a filter or a screen, and every decision in her life passes through it: what she wears, how she spends her time, who she lets into her life, what she says (and does not say). Discretion is an ongoing act of self-editing.

The French girl understands that even the smallest gesture is a choice, a purposeful selection of one path over another, one outcome over another, one impression over another. There is nothing random or haphazard about her. Everything is about personal choice and behind every decision is a deliberate, thoughtful reflex: Is this really me? Should I speak my mind or hold back? How should I approach this particular person? How much of myself do I reveal? What is the true value of this friendship, this experience, this thing? Does this make me feel good, sexy, alive?

The French girl's discretion is often most apparent in what she chooses not to say. Like her culture she's private and nonconfessional. (We, on the other hand, are public and confessional. Sit two Americans on a park bench and you'll get at least one life story in five minutes flat.) By not revealing herself easily--her secrets, her inclinations, her inner life--she can sometimes appear self-centered. But in fact, what is often perceived as self-centered chez la femme francaise is actually the state of being centered on herself. And her distant allure is frequently the subtle glimmer of the exclusive world she keeps to herself.

History, with all its twisted tales, has taught the French girl that the intimate details in her world are a form of currency that she shouldn't just throw around. Being nonconfessional by nature, the French girl largely avoids the full wrath of the gossip trap: The chitting. The chatting. The feasting on morsels of other people's pathos. She also understands that when you give away pieces of your own life, they go back into the oven half-baked, only to get re-
consumed by other thrill-seekers of gab in an all-you-can-eat buffet. On a small scale it wreaks havoc in lives. On a big scale, it turns personal tragedy into tabloid entertainment and trivializes powerful moments.

The French girl does gossip (she's human, after all) but her culture respects privacy in ways that stupefy Americans and she, too, takes on this guard. Her tendency is to mind her own business. To be discreet. To think before she speaks. And because she doesn't need vicarious pleasures or the approval of others to exist, she often appears as if she could not care less what you think of her. And in fact, she doesn't.

The French girl is brought up to be polite, but she is not necessarily brought up to be a good girl. Lucky her--that Anglo-Saxon imperative to be liked (and be like everyone else) is not high on her list. Her culture exalts the iconoclast, the nonconformist, the artist and original thinker--all of which makes it more natural for her to say No to prevailing pressures. She is able to draw the line between who she is and who she is not on every level, so she is able to refuse without ambivalence--whether it's a skirt or a ...