Parisistible
CW: Brief mention of rape culture
Olivia Dean
Column IV
I’ve recently, like everybody else, become completely, doggedly entranced by the new series of The Crown. The obsession amongst our generation is curious. I for one was only born two years after Princess Diana died and yet, on social media and across dinner tables, my age group have become passionate advocates for the wronged princess’ cause.
Half of it is the sheer aesthetic pleasure of watching a girl my age (or, depressingly, two years younger than me when she gets engaged), dress in the luxury fashion of the ‘80s. I’m working on recreating a knitting pattern for her sheep jumper. It is the latent youth of the princess, however, which is perhaps what inspires righteous indignation at the mistreatment that the show portrays her as subject to from the royal family. In reviews, posts and tweets about the series, jokes are made about Camilla as the demonic other woman, with Diana as the sacrificial lamb. Little is made of Charles’ role in the drama, other than being an unlikely heart-throb.
Credit: (Tim Graham/ Getty Images), Vanity Fair, 8th October 2020, https://www.vanityfair.com/style/2020/10/princess-diana-sheep-sweater-rereleased-rowing-blazers
The representation of women in the media clearly has a long way to go. The portrayal of Diana and Camilla in The Crown (bear with me) draws a not-to-be-sniffed-at number of parallels with the treatment of French women, both on a local and international level. Diana has no existence of her own, outside of the way in which she appeals to and fits into the life of her husband. Camilla, on the other hand, is a somewhat brash homewrecker, entirely culpable for Charles’ infidelity.
Just as Diana was globally revered, the archetypal French woman is desired and admired, testified to by the blogs and books dedicated to ‘how to be Parisian’, ‘French girl style’ and more. Like Camilla, she is romantically forward and self-assured. Yet, like Diana, the identity is so blatantly moulded to fit that which men find attractive, leaving little-to-no breathing space for any individuality.
This is clear to see on street level. Paris is feted as the world’s fashion capital, and rightly so. It’s easy to indulge in some high-calibre people-watching here. Yet the style silhouette is understated, muted and undeniably uniform; although chic to the extreme, there is very little range in the French style gambit. Is it that women are simply less adventurous stylistically, or would it be going out on too lengthy a limb to suggest that it could be a result of wanting to play into the fetishized reputation of the French woman as sexy and glamourous, covered up and reserved in her beret and long coat, and a healthy dose of catcall-fear all at the same time?
Credit: Photo by Samantha Green on Unsplash
Parisians like to stare and make no secret of it. This is where the Camilla-esque racy confidence comes in, and where I shall leave the tenuous comparison behind. Not just from creepy men in the street, as would be the case in England, stares from anyone and everyone on the metro, in the supermarket, and in the office. These looks are initially disarming, but I rather optimistically choose to interpret them as a marker of noticing something I’m wearing. Perhaps it is the case. I get stared at noticeably more when I’m wearing a short skirt, or even something as innocent as a leather trench coat. My boss even commented that all of the English interns she’s had dress ‘more provocatively’ than their French counterparts. It’s just the same woman-blaming that plagues The Crown (I haven’t abandoned the comparison yet, apologies) and is microcosmic of a wider issue of French social attitudes. It seems to be a vicious cycle: if one dresses (I stress the inverted commas here) ‘provocatively’, they will be subject to stares and comments from passers-by, then naturally, on even a subconscious level, encouraging a more reserved way of dressing, and signalling to the harasser that it was their own fault for dressing ‘provocatively’ in the first place.
Credit: Photo by Ailbhe Flynn on Unsplash
A friend commented on social progression in France, saying that they, “did the whole Revolution thing, giving people some rights, then dropped the mic.” France has got by on its old reputation of being progressive for a long time, having supposedly given everyone human rights in 1789, and has avoided keeping its attitudes up to date ever since. The Minister for Education, Jean-Michel Blanquer, recently responded to complaints that female school students were being unfairly policed for their dress by saying that it is important to dress conservatively in ‘republican style’. He conveniently forgot that the very symbol of the French Republic, Marianne as painted by Delacroix, is a half-naked woman waving a tricolour flag.
Credit: Photo by Pierre Herman on Unsplash
One glimmer of hope was shown to me by a friend, through the ‘Collages Feminicides’ initiative. The necessity as much as the content of such a project is emblematic of the deeply entrenched issue that France’s women face. Publicised via an Instagram account, the group put up huge poster-style collages on walls on Paris streets, with messages such as “gouvernées par la culture du viol” (women, governed by rape culture), “si elle dort, c’est un viol” (if she’s asleep, it’s rape). They’re everywhere here, and act as some small encouragement when you’ve just been whistled at whilst walking by one.
It has become clear to me over the months that France works under a strange symbiosis of bodily autonomy. The body is in equal parts public property, subject to stares, comments and whistles, and intensely private, remaining covered if one is to be respectable. Although a laughable comparison, the similarities between the woman-blaming in The Crown and in French culture are symbolic of how deeply entrenched the hatred of female sexuality is globally: it cannot be ignored that we love innocent, virginal Diana, and condemn married, flirtatious Camilla. The press’s obsession with Diana brought her and the French capital to become inextricably linked: her death after being chased by paparazzi through the Pont de l’Alma tunnel caused one of the greatest revaluations of the media’s portrayal of women of all time.
