ME?! Flirting in france?!...

"Oo la la" Paris is sparkling, and the only thing more glittery are the butterflies in my stomach. Just me, solo, in a dream city.

Stepping off the aeroplane and landing in the city of love, I quickly discovered the Frenchman stereotype is true. The first French man I met was both sassy and sexy. He called me “les incompétente.” I mean, I did hand him my hand to stamp instead of my passport. But still, my first insult from a sexy French man. I had officially arrived in Paris.

We all watch romcoms, wishing to be the nervous girl who takes off her glasses, realises she’s hot, overcomes her fears, gets the guy, wears the outfit, and lands the dream job. Unfortunately, I don’t wear prescription glasses, so this is about as good as it gets.

“If I can be brave enough to manage my six-inch heels on the cobblestone streets of the city of love, then I can be brave enough to flirt with hot French men,” I told my reflection.

I haven’t attempted to find my husband in a while. In fact, dating mostly makes me nervous and awkward (understatement). But where better to attempt a movie-worthy meet-cute than Paris… right?

MY HERO

(A Parisian hunk called Simon…)

Did I mention my arrival in Paris was nothing short of a terrifying disaster?

From almost potentially being targeted for trafficking at the airport, to arriving at my destination with no phone service and no internet. No way to tell my family I was safe. No way to open maps and find the apartment.

Instead, I lugged a heavy suitcase through torrential rain, asking strangers to guide me to the address I’d luckily screenshotted- all while battling a huge language barrier.

Eventually, I arrived at the apartment completely soaked… only to realise I had no instructions on how to get inside. It wasn’t like a hotel where I could ask the lobby staff for help.

So I did the only rational thing.

I had a minor meltdown.

I started pressing random buzzers for people in the building until a kind Parisian man came downstairs to help me. He could see I was distressed and confused. I couldn’t think straight, let alone figure out how to log into the internet.

He helped me connect to his Wi-Fi, access my emails, and find the instructions for the key. Then he walked twenty minutes with me to collect it, and twenty minutes back again to the apartment - just to make sure I got inside safely.

A sweetheart.

I even gave him a little tour of the boujee, mysterious apartment he’d lived below for years but had never seen inside. He tried to distract me from my nerves and carried my heavy suitcase up many narrow flights of stairs.

He truly was a superhero to me.

But let’s be honest…I probably came across completely useless. Like a lost puppy. I doubt I made the most impressive first impression.

I didn’t see him again for the rest of the trip. I wanted to buy him some wine and say merci, but I felt slightly embarrassed.

True romance, it turns out, was being able to cry, run a bubble bath, and watch Gossip Girl in the most stunning Parisian apartment - all thanks to Simon.

ZOOLANDER

(The Male Model)

The next day, the sun was shining through the clouds -a perfect metaphor for a better first full day in Paris.

It was THE day.

The day I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time.

I grabbed my orange platforms, ready to head to the Instagram staple of Paris: Rue de l’Université.

Getting nice photos while solo travelling isn’t actually too difficult. Tourist locations are the grown-up equivalent of wearing glitter on your face at a school disco -eventually, you’ll end up on the dance floor. People offer to take photos for each other and return the favour.

Which is exactly how I ended up meeting a polished male model -an Instagram blogger.

During these photo exchanges, it became much easier to compliment each other. It felt natural when we both had the same goal. Although I couldn’t help noticing that his photos on his phone were much better quality.

So I did what any determined Pinterest lover would do…

I asked if he could take photos of me on his phone and send them to me.

We were locked in.

We both spent a while making sure the other got the photos we wanted. I took amazing ones of him - being rather posey, may I add. Pop off, king.

Then he took some of me on his phone.

A perfect excuse to exchange numbers.

(Wait… am I a rizzard?) I thought.

Did I just successfully compliment a man, get great photos for my Instagram, and find a nonchalant way to exchange numbers?

And I’m alive to tell the tale?!

Unfortunately, my anxious avoidance kicked in when he suggested meeting up later. He was leaving the next day anyway, and the Saint Laurent fashion show was that evening - which obviously took priority.

But STILL.

Guys.

I tried.

And I have cute photos to prove it.

Silver Fox

(and his bushy tail?)

My favourite way to explore a city is on foot- heels and all. Or even in one of those obnoxious light-up bike taxis. But I do have one fantasy: to meet a handsome, kind man and be bold enough to wrap my arms around his waist while he drives me through a big city on his motorbike or Vespa.

Very Lizzie McGuire.

So when a gorgeous man (older than my usual type, but gorgeous nonetheless) pushed his motorbike over to introduce himself and offer to take me to dinner, I definitely considered it.

We exchanged numbers, and I told him I’d love to see the city at night on his bike as part of our date. I returned to my Paris apartment, opened my messages, and was greeted with unsolicited, unwelcome photos of his ‘baguette’.

Let’s just say… it was definitely no petit pois. Congratulations to him, I guess.

“This didn’t happen in the Lizzie McGuire Movie,” I thought.

Safe to say, I didn’t go on the date.

It wasn’t exactly the romantic meet-cute I had in mind. I wanted to feel like a princess in Paris.

In my daydreams he was a humble Christian man who just so happens to love Harley-Davidsons. This is why we don’t daydream about men we meet.

All the love for a Mumma's Boy!

After spending the most romantic solo evening on a boat along the River Seine (thanks to some sweet Italian girls I’d made friends with who gave me their spare tickets), I was determined to eat an insane amount of bread with a view of the Eiffel Tower sparkling.

On my way, I wandered down that famous Instagram-worthy Parisian street again.

And that’s when I met him. I call him "Mummas boy" because he had brought his mum to Paris for her birthday - a lifelong dream of hers. How kind is that!?

He stopped and offered to take photos and videos for me. He was kind, patient and helpful. Gentle and shy, slightly blushing- and I do love a nerdy, nice man.

I wanted to ask for his number.

His mum looked like she was trying to encourage him to ask for mine.

Which somehow made the whole situation even more awkward.

Two grown adults, blushing with social anxiety, essentially being set up by someone’s mother(who I seemed to get on great with).

Cute? Absolutely.

But our nerves won.

Mid-conversation, I panicked, giggled… and literally ran off.

I couldn’t have made it more obvious. Mid conversation…

They must have been so confused.

My fight-or-flight response clearly chose: speed walk away and go find bread. Which is extra funny because the conversation had actually been going well.

I eventually found the cutest little spot for my wine and bread, with a tiny peek of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance. Sitting there, I realised how romantic it can be to be your own soulmate.

So there you have it. A socially awkward girl’s guide to how not to flirt in Paris. Or maybe there are a few lessons here.

If someone helps you, buy them wine. If you exchange numbers with a male model… maybe reply to the texts. Don’t mistake a motorbike for a horse and carriage. And when you meet the kind man who takes his mum to Paris, stick around long enough for him to build the courage to ask for your number.

At this rate, I think I have more chance of giving my parents a panic attack than grandchildren. I may not have found my husband on this trip (and honestly, I’m not sure I was ready to), but I do know a few things about the man I’d like to marry one day.

Hopefully will be someone patient and helpful when anxious. Able to take decent Instagram photos like the model. Handsome like petit pois man (but perhaps a little more gentlemanly).

And someone who loves and appreciates his mum - and the women in his life -enough to take them to Paris.

All the love,

Elsie- the girl who will forever turn her life into a rom-com movie.

Even if she’s still a little terrified of love.

xoxo