Embrace The Hotness

       Admittedly, dating has never been my forte. I've mentioned previously the emotional baggage I've carried around with me for a while, and for a long time I used every excuse I had in the book--particularly my perfectionism and pursuit of academic excellence--to stay cooped up in my Ivory Tower of Literature and out of the real world. After an existential quarter life crisis in June, I've since realized that is no way to live, and I climbed down from the tower inch by scary inch. It's been liberating to say the least. 

       One thing I continue to struggle with, however, has been my conception of self. This isn't to say I do not like who I am or that I'm uncomfortable or unconfident in my indentity. Quite the contrary. Certain particular life circumstances have fortified my independent nature and willingness to say ¨well, if you don't like me, that's your problem.¨ But in the dating arena all of this goes to shit. As my mother has always said, it is my achilles' heel. What woman hasn't had a moment or two on her dating quest to find The One where she's crumbled a bit? 

        I have two particular conceptions that I'd lugged around with me for a while. The first is what I call ¨Ugly Duckling Syndrome.¨ I am sacrificing myself on the altar of dignity here by posting ¨duckling¨ photo evidence. See to the left. Yes, I know the girl in that photo is a kid. Yes, I know I am no longer her. Yes, I made it through junior high and high school relatively unscathed. But in a society that places so much importance on a woman's external rather than internal beauty, strength of heart, and intellectual force, it is straight up BRUTUAL for a young gifted woman to make it through that passage without difficulty and emotional scaring. I have admittedly since blossomed into a swan, but I have hard a hard time embracing the fact I have become one. Dating did not do anything to bolster my sense of self when I was younger, so I avoided it. 

Lindsay is my name and complete singleness was my game. So much, in fact, we made a joke about it and at the dinner table my family and I would laugh about how I was ¨single and sadulous¨ instead of ¨single and fabulous¨, only in jest though.

The second conception I have is entirely out of my control, and it's what I'd like to call the ¨Cosmic Haha.¨ All you ladies have experienced this. You think something is going splendidly and well and you get your hopes up but then HAHA the universe decides to laugh in your face for whatever which reason and Mr. Wonderful ain't so wonderful anymore. What you thought could've been something good has done to shit. ¨HAHA!¨ the sky above seems to cackle. You have been victim to the "Cosmic HAHA".

It's been twelve years since that photo was taken and I've  come a long way and experienced my share of ¨Cosmic Hahas,¨ but I still have a hard time doing what I call ¨embracing the hotness.¨

*  *  * 

    I'm no means a player, but to have multiple guys chasing me is odd. I don't conceive of myself as a swan and was explaining this to the Diplomat one evening this summer via text message. 

    ¨I don't know what I've done!,¨  I laughed out loud. ¨This is ridiculous!¨ I quipped when I explained I was somehow juggling a Wine Baron, E the Original,  a hot Toulousain, and several Americans. 

     ¨Get used to it,¨ he responded. ¨ETH!¨

     ¨ ?,¨ I sent back. 

     ¨Embrace the hotness. Work it, use it baby. You got it, flaunt it.¨

     I sighed and said I'd try. I have to admit that France is a place where I have become a full on woman. Paris has made me the best possible version of me to date and I think this is part of the reason I am scared to leave: I'm afraid I will lose this Lindsay if I go anywhere else. Contrary to the ¨culture of spectacle¨ that seems to have developed in America, France is also a place where it is culturally acceptable, damn, ENCOURAGED EVEN, to be cultivated, smart as hell, artsy and intellectual. Even for women! Case in point, my current girl crush Gabrielle Émilie Le Tonnelier de Breteuil, marquise du Châtelet, a.k.a.Emilie du Châtelet. Married at a young age to the Marquis  du Châtelet, one of the most prominent Parisian aristocratic families of the 18th century, Emilie and her husband were good friends who decided they'd both take lovers and remain amicable, a common practice of the time for marriages of social convenience.

Emilie looking like a BAMF at her desk.

     Émilie's lover was none other than François-Marie Arouet, better known as Voltaire. Voltaire is a pen name formed by rearranging certain letters of his name, as in the 18th century people still wrote the letter ¨u¨ using the latinate ¨v¨. Nonetheless, the two were a bad-ass intellectual power couple and she was, dare I say it, the more gifted of the two. A beast of a woman who, while translating Newton's Principa Mathematica from English to French in her study, stopped momentarily to give birth to one of her children, handed it off to the wet nurse, and continued working. She was a truly avant-garde female scientist fascinated by physics. She was not the most physically attractive woman ever, and did not have a reputation for being so, but man did she work what she had! She embraced her own hotness for what it was and went with it.

       Of her, Voltaire says:  « Jamais une femme ne fut si savante qu’elle, et jamais personne ne mérita moins qu’on dît d’elle : c’est une femme savante. [...] Elle ne parlait jamais de science qu’à ceux avec qui elle croyait pouvoir s’instruire, et jamais n’en parla pour se faire remarquer. »

       " There was never a woman so scholarly as her, and there was never anyone who merited less than what one says of her: she is an erudite woman [...] She only spoke of science with those whom she believed she could teach, and never to make herself stand out."

      Embracing the hotness in this sort of way seems to be a French woman thing. Take again for instance Simone de Beauvoir, another truly gifted woman who used what she had to contribute to the world in a unique and beautiful way. Then we can't forget the iconic Coco Chanel, who literally pulled herself up out of rags to riches with her sewing needle. This sort of ETH attitude isn't unique to the ¨great¨ women of France, but it seems to be built in culturally to the way women care for and carry themselves. 

        A French woman never deprives herself of any pleasure, but learns to take it all in moderation. This certainly applies to food: French women don't get fat and they don't diet, they simply eat more fruit and veggies one day if they had more fattening foods or heavy dessert the day before. Nothing is ever forbidden, just taken in small quantities. The body is a beautiful thing, not to be modified by plastic surgery and artificial diets. French women, on that note, are very comfortable with their bodies! From topless tanning to sleeping in the nude, they love their corps for what it is.

        A French woman never wears much makeup; she saves things like foundation and heavy eyeliner for a special night out on the town. On the other hand, she takes miraculous care of her skin--from head to toe. Body lotion and face cream bought specially from the pharmacy--La Roche-Posay, Avène, Vichy, Bioderma--are applied right after showering to keep her skin baby soft and glowing. At first I thought this was a ridiculous habit and didn't understand it. In May, my mom and I joked about ¨all the CREAMS!¨ they have in France and how you can find a cream for just about anything (which is true, even paradoxically for weight loss). She jokingly suggested I invent a cream called ¨Le Fat-Blaster¨ and market it here...we'll save that project for another rainy day!  Now, however, I have embraced the cream and HOLY COW DOES IT WORK. This, in tandem with the very French habit of drinking lots and lots of water, keeps my skin crystal clear and glowing.

         A French woman uses her best features and plays to her strengths. Always. She knows that physical beauty is only one part of the equation and she uses all her other snares to snag the man she's going after.

         I have certainly become the best version of myself following these principals, and I'd like to keep it that way. I've Embraced the Hotness. However, it was still quite startling to have Mr. Lyon say to me over drinks:

         ¨You must have a million guys chasing you.¨

        I didn't know how to respond except to smile politely and say ¨No, not really.¨

*  *  *

        I don't have a million men chasing me, but I heard earlier in the day from Monsieur Lawyer, last evening's Monsieur Engineer, and (OMG!) tonight from French Wine Baron. In France a single person is a célibataire, so I suppose I am a pluribataire: not quite single, but not quite pinned down either, playing with plurality. This is a strange, foreign place to be in. Quite honestly, it makes me feel like a dirty ass player, though I know men play this game and feel no qualms about it, it's merely considered playing the field. I guess I've requisitioned some of that game for Team Women. 

             FWB is so adorable though. Was happy to report he'd found a temporary internship in Avignon working for the Interrhône organization while he waited to find something in the states. I told him I couldn't be happier for him, and then after he asked, I updated him on my projects and my worries about finding a job here.

              ¨Given your competencies and your degrees, it's only a matter of time,¨ he assuaged me after I mentioned I was worried about finding a job with a CDI and a visa. ¨And you have another year.¨

            He then filled me in on the cocktails he invited me to Monday night for the incoming promotion (read, new class) of brave souls undertaking his Masters program. Asked when I'd be back on Sunday night. Six in the evening...did he want to do dinner in the neighborhood or did he prefer that I make something at my place? 

              ¨ It would be stupid to refuse your cooking, you're an excellent cuisinière,¨ he said coyly. It was settled then. 

                 ¨Curried chicken pasta or something else?¨ I asked. 

                 ¨It doesn't matter, as long as it's made with love about all else...and good wine!¨

                 ¨ Alright, I suppose I'll have to put a lot of love in there for you then...¨ I flirted back. 

                 ¨ You know, it's going to make me very happy to see you again after all this time.¨ He said. 

                ¨ It's you that's best at picking the wine! Tell me what to pick up,¨ was my riposte. 

                ¨No, don't worry, I have three hundred bottles in my cave, don't worry about the wine.¨ 

                Three hundred bottles. Am I dreaming this? 

               ¨ Go off to your wine tasting, hurry! Don't let me keep you!¨ He was on his way out to a friend's to taste since right now it's vendage season. 

                   ¨ Have a good night...see you sunday...bisous.¨ He signed off. 

                   GAH. Embracing the hotness for Sunday, I am so excited, I cannot wait! 

              Tell me like it is ladies, are you Team E: The Original, Team FWB, or Team Monsieur Engineer so far? If so, why? I'd love to hear your take on things...guess we'll see who comes out the winner in the end...maybe one of them, maybe none of them. At least it's fun for now :) 

                    Love,

                    The Sexpat.