I’m not sure why, but even after living in France for close to three years, I can’t help but lust after Paris: the word, the city and all encapsulated paraphernalia (I have actually stooped to Eiffel Tower pasta… yes, believe it). On one hand, it’s strange to see a proper noun so famous – so much so its perhaps even clichéd – bandied about like something as common as chewing gum; yet on another, it can’t help but seduce you, like a chocolate egg in an Easter window. Even the French, who are known for their ambivalence towards one of the most well known tourist attractions in the world, admit to feeling something about their capital city – hate or otherwise.
Hence the first time I stumbled upon website for The Paris Review , I was immediately intrigued, although dismissed it as pretentious way to get attention. Like any product that uses the name of a large, international city as a brand – just think Paris, New York or London – make no mistake, it’s the name and the name alone that is half the product. In using such an obvious marketing ploy, you can probably count on a certain level of quality (or at least one would hope) but, importantly for consumers, the guaranteed snob appeal. Comme on dit en français: Bon chic, bon genre – BGBC. TPR simply reeked of that kind of bourgeois upperclass nonsense I wasn’t sure I wanted to endorse, much less support.
Luckily, I have since revised my opinion. After spending a very agreeable half an hour browsing the stacks of articles in The London Review online, I’ve become more open to it’s sister concept, Paris. So when I got a phone call recommending their latest output, turn up my nose I did not, but instead immediately rushed to my computer to order a copy.
Hence the waiting period begins for The Paris Review Interviews III from Amazon UK.
In the meantime, I’ll just have to make-do with a a coffee from my compulsory Paris souvenir mug, that actually did come from the top of the Eiffel Tower. And you can’t get any more BCBG than that…