"Paris isn’t just a city of classiness and elegance but also a city full of stories of different communities and cultures, all coming together to create something magical."
As I stepped off of the RER B train, I instinctively drew a deep breath in, bracing for the rotten stench typical of New York subways. But it doesn’t come– instead, I am greeted by the scent of a passerby’s perfume, the scent floating through the underground passageway. This is the air of Paris, I realized as I emerged from the station into the city.
The air of Paris doesn’t only encompass fresh scents and cleanliness– it also upholds a certain level of etiquette and class. It’s omnipresent in every corner of the city, from how Parisians recline outside to enjoy their teensy cups of overpriced espresso to how even the dogs have hairstyles better than mine, with their flawlessly groomed fur. My first impression of Paris was, in summary, exceedingly elegant.
However, this was a level of elegance that I wasn’t accustomed to and, oftentimes, felt excluded from. I vividly recall walking into a French restaurant with a white friend, saying “Bonjour,” and the first thing the waiter responded with was, “Ni Hao.” I could tell he meant no harm; perhaps he was even trying to make a connection with me, yet nevertheless, his greeting felt disturbing. Even more jarring was the humorous look he gave me; clearly, he was attempting to get a reaction out of me. Throughout the rest of the meal, the waiter would drop poorly spoken Chinese phrases to me despite my insistence on using English to communicate.
It was during this very memorable meal that I realized I would always be seen as an outsider in Paris. There was no denying that I, and other people of color, are often perceived as aliens amidst the elegant bustle of Paris. As I came to this realization, I struggled to reconcile my infatuation with the city with the xenophobia of many of its people. I still loved Paris– its beautiful architecture, the stinky yet sightly Seine, and the dazzling sparkle of the Eiffel Tower at night– yet how was I supposed to love a place that didn’t love me back?
My internal conflict came to an end the day I stepped foot into a poke restaurant. Poke is one of my favorite quick-to-go foods to get in New York, and on one particularly grueling school day, I decided to grab a bowl in Paris as well. What I didn’t realize was that nearly every poke shop in Paris is owned by a Chinese-speaking family. As I walked in, I instantly heard the familiar tones of home, the workers’ Chinese washing away all the weeks of stress. The cashier, a teenage girl around the same age as me, smiled brightly at me, and in that moment I knew I would be coming back.
This discovery– and many others like it– illuminated a new side of Paris that I fell in love with. Paris isn’t just a city of classiness and elegance but also a city full of stories of different communities and cultures, all coming together to create something magical.
