Are You Prepared To Move To France?
Yes, a move will fix all your American problems... only to be replaced by other problems, naturally.
I’m very guilty of under-publishing so far in 2025, but the thing is, my brain was not really working for two weeks. There’s a next level flu (aka la grippe) circulating in France that is so intense it will have you weak and dizzy, it will have you sleeping 18 hours a day, it will have you scratching at the door frame telling your husband that the frame is wet and melting down the wall. I had that flu, then my husband did, so we’ve pretty much been in survival mode for the last 20 days. Apologies for the delay. Wash your hands.
Living in unprecedented times sure has Americans curious about moving to another country, specifically France. I’ve noticed the spike in interest, the social content, and even Substack posts about folks entertaining the idea that a move might be the answer to what my sister fondly refers to as “the horrors.” As the inauguration looms (oh, does it ever loom), I imagine curiosity might grow even more (though we’ll save the question of why France? for another time).
In response, there’s a trend in what-you-need-to-be-prepared-for posts detailing the trials and trials and trials you’ll face upon arriving in France. I thought it would be fun to throw my recommendations out there based on my own embarrassing-to-hilarious experiences (they’re usually not hilarious in the moment, but after some time, even a good pickpocketing can become funny).
As I compiled this, I realized that I received almost no guidance when I made the decision to leave all of my friends, family, and things behind to start a new life in a country where I didn’t know the language or customs. Or if I did receive any guidance, I just ignored it. I was in such a stress spiral professionally, I had decided France would be the panacea to all that ailed me. And in a way it was: I no longer had to maintain a stressful corporate job that was killing my mental and physical health, I no longer had to commute across Los Angeles every day, I no longer had to pay $16 for a glass of mediocre wine. But these problems were of course replaced by other problems, as is always what happens when you run from something vs. fix it; the existential wack-a-mole of being a grownup.
Well, these are those something elses that will become your new problems if you do (and I hope you do) pick up and leave your life for a new life in France. While I know the move was net positive for my quality of life, I wish I could go back in time to emotionally prepare 2019 me for the different ways my ass would be handed to me after my move. So please, heed my hindsight so that you’re prepared, but still definitely make the move.
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Are you prepared to feel insignificant?
This feeling arises from two sources. The first is that by not being able to communicate and relate like a local, you have no social currency, and therefor,e it’s like you don’t exist. In my early years, I sat shyly, quietly at dinner parties, not understanding what anyone was saying, and if I could, still not understanding the social cues, the pop culture references, or the French way of playfully arguing at dinner that would be considered rude in America. My husband didn’t set me up for success either; I had no idea that most of his friends spoke English, so I’d make a fool of myself in broken French or say nothing at all, which to a verbose person who makes their living in words, feels a lot like not existing.
The other source of your new insignificance is that you are an immigrant with fewer rights, and the systems here will not let you forget it. France cares not what you were in your old country, you are a visitor here and the system will help you not get too big for your britches. Trying to secure a bank account, work contract, renew a visa, rent an apartment, or get a mortgage: none of it is possible as a non-citizen. Okay, okay, it’s possible but it’s not easy. I went from being a completely independent human being to relying on my husband to secure an apartment lease, to arguing with HSBC to open a checking account—this made me feel like a child. Less than a child, to be honest, because it was super easy for me to open a savings account at Wells Fargo when I was five years old. I frequently wanted to show people my American savings account or impeccable credit score so that they would treat me as a responsible adult, but not only would that be useless in France, it would be tacky.
Are you prepared to constantly make new friends?
I have to correct myself: I did receive one piece of advice before moving to France. It was from a friend who had moved from San Francisco to Spain who told me to be ready for any friends I make in Paris to leave. For some reason I felt that I would be immune to this dynamic, and unsurprisingly, I was wrong. As much as you may try to make friends with locals, it is easier to become friends with other Americans in your new home. Why? Because you have a common enemy: loneliness. (You thought I was going to say French people didn’t you? That’s mean.) You are all lonely and grasping for any morsels of Friendship that might present themselves, whereas locals have tons of friends and don’t need your bad French, loud voice, too much makeup, doesn’t-hold-a-fork-right self in their friend group. So you make friends with a ton of Americans and you trauma bond and you have a lovely time eating and drinking and strolling around town until their visa expires and they go home, or they take a job in another country, or they miss the sun so they go back to California. And then you have to make a new friend, forever and ever until you’re the one who leaves or has a baby or both.
I’ve actually had lots of French friends leave too, often to THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA of all places, so making real life French friends won’t save your lonely, lonely heart from this dynamic.
Are you prepared to hear “no”?
Even if you know French very well, as some of my transplant friends do, you are still going to find it hard to accomplish anything here because everything starts with a “no.” For example, if you go to a place to pick up a package, the clerk might say they don’t have your package even though you posses an email that states that they do indeed have your package. Why? Because everything begins with a “no” in France, and then you have to work your way to a “yes.” From trying to make space at a table on a terrace to returning a sweater, everything is always a “no” with potential for a “yes” if you say the right things or ask the right follow-up questions. But you don’t know that yet, so you’re walking around France being told “no” and saying “okay, merci” and going on with your life feeling like you can’t get anything done.
I’ve found that smiling, then looking very lost and curious as I begin to explain (in poor French), that the website said X, Y, or Z usually then convinces whoever I’m speaking to to try a little harder to help me. I then thank them several ways and repeat until we find the package, get the table, and return the item. Being a polite regular also gets you to a “yes” faster.
Are you prepared to feel dumb
One of my group chats here in France frequently features the friend query: “okay please tell me if this is weird or if I’m being dumb.” This can include dating etiquette, in-law dynamics, communication with French men, and most critically, the direction to cut certain cheeses. Apparently, we’re either doing all of these wrong, OR, people are acting weird. Either way, we are left feeling dumb.
France has a very profound, well-guarded culture with many “givens” that are so well-engrained, many French folks can’t imagine them a different way, and we don’t know the givens. I always go to the example of the pace and order of dinner. Growing up, I felt every family ate dinner differently. Some had salad with dinner, some before dinner, some no salad. Some ate hearty mid-western dishes, others frozen food, others California rabbit food with grains I’ve never heard of. Some scarf before the television, some eat in silence, some don’t even eat together. And you just kind of accept that every family is different and that’s fine, the world keeps turning. But in France, I’ve found that every meal follows the same rules for what is served when, when the meal can begin, even the pace of chewing. I know this now, but five years ago I had no idea and I never knew wtf was going on. I felt like I was the only one who didn’t know what apero was, who didn’t know we’d be having cheese AFTER the meal, who didn’t know I had to save space for fruit between cheese and dessert. For years I didn’t know anything about anything, and it was often frustrating, always humbling. You have to prepare yourself to be outside the inside joke for a very, very long time, but I promise it won’t be forever.
Are you prepared to miss tacos?
Self explanatory. And actually, this situation is improving, something I’ll talk about soon.
Are you prepared to almost get hit by a car?
This is most specific to large cities, obviously. But if you are walking through one, it’s good to remember that you are invisible. You are invisible in intersections, especially to men who drive white work vans. They can’t see you, and because of that, they will drive right into you if given the option. Either get out of the way, or learn to argue with them in French after you smack their car, as is my strategy.
Actually, now that I think of it, I’ve almost been hit by some vans in the countryside too, so no matter where you live, don’t assume that car is going to stop for you.
Are you prepared to feel guilty?
The election, the recent devastating fires in Los Angeles, the holiday season: they all work together to make me feel extremely guilty for being far from home. Before I moved to France, I told myself it was no different than my friends who grew up all over the US and eventually moved to LA as adults. They had left their families and hometowns and no one thought that was weird or mean or awful. But I didn’t quite account for how freaking far Paris is from LA, how expensive the flight, how impossible the logistics now that I have a baby who for some reason doesn’t appreciate the Air France Lounge nor its in-flight entertainment. And so I feel guilty all of the time for being far from family and friends, especially during particularly good and bad times. A lot of my friends here in Paris feel the same. My therapist told me not to feel bad, or actually she told me it’s my responsibility to make the best choices for my family, and that includes where we live, which is an expensive way of saying not to feel bad.
Are you prepared to settle?
I’ve discussed before how the only way to get anything done in France is to compromise. But it took me years of frustration and disappointment to accept this reality. Frustration necessarily comes with the territory when you move from a place where everything is (allegedly) possible, to one where everything is closed on Sundays, all of August, evenings, and at lunch. The hack isn’t about learning how to make the impossible possible, it’s about learning how to adjust your expectations and perspective, which is a very mature way to say the trick is to settle. To appreciate that the butcher is closed on Sunday because he doesn’t want to work, or the countryside restaurant is open for like 45 minutes during lunch because they also have other stuff to do. So you can’t go to the hardware store on Sunday? You’ll live. You’ll live more slowly and intentionally, you’ll stop caring about immediacy, and maybe that’s why you left America in the first place.
Are you prepared to be obnoxious?
I had a good friend say to me once, in discussion about my imminent move to France: “That’s cool but don’t become one of those people who sprinkles in French words when they’re speaking English.” To which I replied “Oh god no, I’d never!” But five years later, I’m dropping French words like Miss Piggy though I’m actively trying not to. I can’t help it, I do in fact forget the English word for that. But sometimes I need to “faire the tour” or ask “tu as pris what for lunch” or refer to a dish towel as a “torchon.” It’s harder and harder to say “croissant” the wrong way just because I’m speaking English. I’m sorry, I know it’s annoying. I hate me, too.
Are you prepared for good stuff, too?
Okay, enough doom and gloom. Here’s some rapid-fire positivity so you don’t close this newsletter filled with a sense of dread.
Are you prepared to learn how to relax? Are you prepared to feel better all the time because the ingredient list on foods is so short? Are you prepared for free to sub-$50 doctor’s appointments? Are you prepared for weekends away by train to forests, mountains, rivers, and beaches? Are you prepared for evenings on terraces when the sun stays out until 10pm? Are you prepared to hang out in castles more than you ever expected you would?
Honnêtement, the access to good cornichons, pâté at Picard is enough to make all of the aforementioned difficulties/discomforts worth the effort. And with TikTok now banned in the US, you may as well make the move as soon as you can.
Introducing Contributor, Selby Chambers
Immerse yourself in all of Selby’s articles on his Contributor page.
I loved this piece, and I definitely felt all of those feels when I first moved here. In my current job, I still find a few people don't take me seriously because of my accent, but I have learned to quickly take them down.
💯% on all points, Shelby! Loved this!