I haven’t been much of a believer in gut instincts until now. I’m one of those neurotic, analytical, thinks-too-much girls who tends to question her reasoning and feelings. But in the past few months, I’ve let go and gone solely on the gut. It’s what made me leave my job in New York and what brought me to Paris (so, thanks, Gut). And last Tuesday night, as I was rushing to my date with TDH (the tall, dark, and handsome Frenchman whom I met through friends), my gut was telling me, “This is not a good idea. This isn’t going to go well.”

I barely felt anything about breaking up with Mr. Cupid until a few days ago. Being back to my old life was great. No more obligations in the evening. Nights slept in my own (much prettier) bed. No more stressing about whatever next “surprise” Cupid would do, that would scare me into thinking his next one would be proposing marriage.

Yet, while I am totally glad we’re over, I did feel a momentary pang of sadness a few days ago, not so much about him, but about the disappointment in not having something be what you want it to be. Why couldn’t he just be a bit more driven and mature? All the things I want in a Frenchman I think I now see in all the couples who get in my way by making out in the middle of the sidewalk while accordions play and kids in berets skip around with ice cream cones.

I’ve completely abandoned online dating. If anyone asked me two months ago about what the difference between online dating in NYC and in France is, I would have said, “Well, in New York, a lot of people do it. And the stigma has really loosened up. France is where NYC was five years ago, so I’m positive that things will turn around with the handful of dating sites here.” Now if you asked me this question, I’d say, “If a guy in Paris is doing online dating, something is wrong with him.” Sorry. But the selection is weak.

The fashion industry has been hard hit by the recession, and it looks like it may take some strategic political partnerships to find the path of recovery. After the collaborative efforts of Fashion’s Night Out, New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg is helping to launch another initiative to help stimulate the fashion economy. This time, it’s a designer contest which will begin next month, reports the Post: “The mayor will stage a competition to pick 12 up-and-coming designers for a new city-sponsored fashion ‘incubator’ facility. The project is aimed at helping New York attract young talent by providing cheap design space.” [NY Post]

My only other relationship with a French guy was a short-lived fling towards the end of my junior year abroad in Paris. Knowing I was leaving soon, we started off light and casual, but a month into things he broke it off. We met up late (as usual) for a drink when he told me, “I’m not in love with you; therefore, I can’t make love to you anymore.” It seemed like the most absurd excuse—since when did hooking up with a girl who was leaving the country in two months necessitate love? Offended, I downed the rest of my gin and tonic, stood up and said, “I’m going.” It was perhaps my most “Sex and the City” moment. God, I was angry.

Up until now, I’d always looked at that experience as the most ridiculous way to break up with someone. Now, in a completely ironic twist, I decided to use the same strategy to break up with Mr. Cupid.

A few days ago, I became convinced that Mr. C had gone on a date with another woman and lied to cover it up. The evidence:

1. The morning of the incident, he had logged in to OK Cupid. It had previously been almost two weeks since he had.
2. He kept changing our plans, sort of suspiciously. At first, we were to get a drink post-work, around 7:30. Then, he emailed to say that he was suddenly going to have dinner at his friend’s house, which is pretty much in the suburbs. He’d call me between 7 and 8 to set up something for later, around 9:30. Hmm ... seemed unlikely to me that he’d make a 9:30 p.m. date back in the center of Paris.
3. He didn’t call until 11 p.m. And he always, always calls when he says he will. And, he left his message in English. He always leaves voicemails in French. This one felt off and his excuses seemed rushed and disconnected.
4. The next morning, he sent me an email apologizing, explaining what happened. He got very caught up in a game of Scrabble and had lost track of the time. His description of the Scrabble game just seemed a bit too detailed and contrived.

Watch out Internets! The First Lady of France, Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, has just arrived at the party, and man, has she got a few things to say! Just yesterday, Bruni-Sarkozy made her first foray into the online world—and promptly crashed her own site with all the juicy nuggets of inner thoughts and general self-promotion. (Could you image MObama pulling this sort of thing? Barry and the White House press crew would not be happy.) Anyway, as the Daily Mail reports, the French First Lady mostly focuses on what she calls a “beauty contest” between Michelle, Princess Letizia of Spain, and herself—with each woman vying for sartorial and hair/makeup supremacy. Yes, she actually came out with it. And in those terms. What else did she blab about? A few inside-voice observations unleashed, after the jump.

I can’t believe I have somehow gotten a guy to cook me dinner in my own home, I thought, smiling at Mr. C as he dodged about awkwardly in my petite cuisine looking for knives, having insisted on coming to chez moi to let me relax while he made a meal.

When we sat down to eat, I started to giggle. This had to be not only the most clichéd moment I’ve experienced in Paris, but also the most clichéd moment you’d find in most movies. There I was, sitting down to my table with a view of the Seine, having a handsome French man politely correct my français as he served me a meal, accompanied by an expensive bottle of St. Emillion, and Frank Sinatra crooning in the background.

“What’s so funny?” Mr. C asked, topping off my glass.

A public restroom in Paris so pretty that maybe even the snootiest editors in town for Fashion Week might use it. [IPreferParis.net]

Third date with Mr. Cupid. We were sitting in a bar in Belleville, where I had dragged him to my friend’s spoken word song night. (Yeah. I know. Long story.) But it was there, scrunched in between boho expatriates and enduring the sounds of bad slam poetry, that we kissed. A quick peck initiated by him that turned into a full-out make-out session when we left and had a drink at an outdoor cafe. Coming up for air, I looked at our nearly-drained glasses and back into his eyes.

“So ... did you want to get something to eat (we both hadn’t eaten yet), or get another drink?”

You believed French women looked gorgeous naturally, didn’t you? Quel suprise! Airbrushing is causing unrealistic body images and encouraging eating disorders, said a French politician on Monday as she proposed warning labels on digitally enhanced images.  Parlimentarian Valerie Boyer and 50 other French politicians want a “health warning” on airbrushed pics. All enhanced photos would be accompanied by this line: “Photograph retouched to modify the physical appearance of a person.” Under the proposal in France, a company that didn’t include the warning on their retouched ads would be slapped with a trés mal fine of a $54,930, or up to 50 percent the cost of the advertisement. The French proposal comes on the heels of a suggestion by British pols for warning labels of their own. But what we want to know is how long until such a proposal comes to the States, where we just love our Photoshop? (And can you imagine what Anna Wintour would have to say about it?) [Yahoo]

Yesterday, I met a man in the street and let him touch me. I let him take his hands to my body and caress and rub me all over.

Not like that, you perverts.

Thanks to motion picture hit “Julie & Julia,” Julia Child’s image has been experiencing a feminist revival, as reflections on the movie have meditated largely on what the “French Chef” did not only for American cuisine, but also for the women who cooked it. True, there’s no denying Child was a woman who made a huge impact on domestic society. Yet, I’ve had to take issue with the quick compulsion by reviewers and blogs to laud her as a “feminist icon,” where the term refers to her as someone active in the women’s movement. To be sure, Child can now be classified as such for the overarching effects of her career, but promoting women wasn’t her original goal. It was to cook, write her book, pay homage to her beloved France, and find success. (If you read her autobiography, My Life in France, you know that after the publication of her cookbook she was actually quite conniving by choosing not to disclose much of her subsequent work to her female colleague, Simone Beck.)*

This week “Julie & Julia” came out in France, and The New York Times highlights an illuminating (and perhaps not greatly considered in this feminist dialogue) point—the French are excited about this film, but the draw has nothing to do with their own country and its cuisine. It’s all about Meryl Streep. Julia Child could not be farther from a feminist icon there.

“I can’t believe it ... you’re in Paris for two weeks and you already have a boyfriend,” my sister said on the phone to me last night. She was exaggerating, for sure.

“Oh Jesus, hardly. We haven’t even kissed.”

It’s true, Mr. Cupid and I had our second date this week, and there was no kiss on the lips, despite the many obvious ins I gave him. And while this lack of progress would normally drive me insane in the U.S., it’s just how things are here, I guess.

While I had so many thoughts about French dating customs, and how I should act, I could hardly parse out my ideas before my date with Mr. Cupid once I realized that the real dilemma was what to wear. I tore apart my closet, feeling every outfit was too cliché. Jeans made me look too American; all black was like I was trying too hard to be French. A dress said I was trying to look older, but a pink top screamed young and girly (it must be said the Mr. Cupid is in his early 30s, which he clearly sees as a big age difference; I don’t). I settled on a stretchy but not too-tight plain navy dress with 3/4 sleeves, oxford heels, a black blazer, and a few gold necklaces.

France is so paranoid about swine flu that French health officials have been asking citizens to forgo “la bise,” the country’s traditional double-cheeked kiss greeting. Especially in schools, children have been forbidden to use the kissing salutation to their friends, which is a common courtesy even among youngsters. Instead, schools have come up with what seems more like a ridiculous American solution: “In schools, teachers are telling their young charges to forgo the bise, and instead capture their displays of affection in heart-shaped greetings to slip into ‘bise boxes.’” (This is almost reminiscent of the teenage hugging epidemic.)

How do the French feel about these measures? “La bise” is such a cultural standard that they’d sooner kiss off the prohibition. Bring on the swine flu! [CNN]

I have one dating rule: if you don’t kiss by the second date, you’re just friends.

Problem is, this will not be applicable in Paris because the French have no dating rules. And not “no rules” in that oh come on, everyone knows you can’t call him way. We’re talking “no rules” in that no one in Paris dates; therefore, no one knows how to date. It’s true—there is no word for “dating” in French. They don’t even employ the English word with an accent like they do for “business” or “cool.”

I’m feeling a bit disappointed at the moment. OKCupid guy just canceled. Normally, I’d shrug this kind of thing off; it happened all the time to me in New York. But a few days ago I realized how great it would be to have a French boyfriend. (I actually have this reverse fantasy of being in a relationship with one and getting into fights, him yelling in French and me in English. Followed by post-argument sex, bien sûr.) That night I had met up with a girlfriend from college who has been living here with a Parisian boy for the past few years. Her French is now impeccable. Becoming fluent is one of my top goals for the year, and hearing her talk made me face the unfortunate reality that my French is good, but, um, not that good.

These government-sponsored condom ads have been causing a bang in Paris (heh, heh). Translation of the dog-themed slogans: “Man’s best friend.” And because France is so egalitarian: “Woman’s best friend” too. OK, boy, now lie down!

My first week in Paris is coming to a close, and, generally, I’m feeling super positive about things. My apartment could not be more perfect. It’s incredible teeny, but has two windows overlooking the Seine (eeee!), and at night the tourist boats pass by, illuminating the entire room for a few seconds with their lights. (See some pics here!) I spent the first two days alone, running all over town to take care of paperwork and get things for the house. I had been feeling pretty lonely up until last night when I went out with a mutual friend, whom I’d never met before, to have Vietnamese food and see some French pop bands at a grungy-yet-hip underground club in Belleville. There were many, many cute boys there who definitely have improved style since the last time I was here four years ago. Now, instead of wide-leg jeans and ribbed turtlenecks, they’re sporting leather jackets, thick-rimmed glasses, and the type of sweaters you know you’d steal if you were dating. It goes without saying that I will be frequenting this place a lot.

Most summer vacations for teenage girls involve getting a job at the local Dairy Queen or tempting skin cancer at the beach. But in France, hundreds of girls disappear each summer when they are sent abroad and forced into marriages with men they’ve never met. Most of the victims are Muslim and of Asian, African, or Middle Eastern descent, so the government has generally considered it a cultural or religious issue. But since other European countries like England have governmental units that track down women who are forced into marriages in their countries of origin, we’re happy that France is just starting to keep up with the times. The French school system is working to set up an alert system for these girls who never return to school in the fall and last year they published a guide to help officials suss out forced marriages. The government is even making efforts to protect girls who want to annul their marriages. [Reuters]