It always starts in summer. Skin warm from the sun, evenings that stretch until midnight, drinks that drip condensation onto your wrist. That’s when the flirting begins — or doesn’t. Because sometimes the best kind of flirtation has nothing to do with intention. It’s just how you move, how you look, how you live.
And in places like France — or Italy, or much of Latin Europe — flirting isn’t always about seduction. It can be a kind of politeness. A gesture. A flicker of interest with no follow-up required.
If French romance has a reputation, it’s for effortlessness — for not trying too hard. That’s what makes their flirting feel different. Intellectual, slow-burning, and never too interested.
I first learned to flirt in California. In high school. There, it was easy: if you liked someone, you smiled. You texted (yes, we had just started to get cell phones). Maybe you kissed at a party. If things worked out, you were “together.” Simple, sweet, and very American.
But when I moved back to France, I realized none of that worked here. Smiling too much made you look eager. Saying what you wanted made you look desperate. I had to unlearn it all — and replace it with the French rhythm: don’t initiate, don’t explain, and above all, don’t care (or at least don’t look like you do).
Now, when my girlfriends ask for seduction advice, I tell them this: Smile if you must, but not at him. If he texts, wait. If he ghosts, let him. Then ghost harder. And if he reappears three weeks later with a "Hey :)," ignore it. Unless you're bored. In which case, text back — but wait as long as you possibly can.
Does it sound like a game? Maybe. But men have been playing it for years: ghosting, withholding, disappearing then reappearing. We’re just reclaiming the strategy, stripping it of its arrogance, and elevating it.
In France, there’s even a name for this kind of light, shimmering connection in the summertime: l’amour de vacances. A summer flirtation that lives in the heat of the moment — a sideways glance, a brush of the arm, a drink shared at dusk. It’s never serious, but it’s never silly either. It’s designed to dissolve at the end of the season. And that’s why it works.
If you want to flirt like the French — and like someone who has other plans (and better options), start here:
1. Look once. Never twice.
A single glance across the beach bar is intriguing. A second one? Try-hard. Make eye contact, then turn away — preferably toward your book, your drink, or your more interesting friend. The best way to be noticed is to act like you haven’t noticed them at all.
2. Be unavailable, even if you're not
No need to lie. Just stay busy. Don’t respond immediately. Don’t rearrange your evening. You’re already full — with life, with plans, with other men, or women. (Especially maybe.) You are not an empty calendar waiting to be filled.
3. Say less
A French boyfriend once told me I drove him crazy because I never spoke. (Not entirely true — though I’ll admit I’ve always been more comfortable in writing than IRL.) That’s the thing: silence can be maddening. Especially when it’s deliberate. Flirting in French isn’t verbal. It’s tonal. It’s the maybe behind the “mmm.” The lift of an eyebrow. The pause before you answer. American-style affirmation feels clunky here. Mystery isn’t coy — it’s currency.
4. Stretch the moment
The French understand what Americans often forget: the before is better than the after — so enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t rush toward the kiss, or the nightcap, or the What Are We. The build-up is the point. Let the tension do the heavy lifting.
5. Don’t be afraid to let it go
If you’re afraid he won’t call or text if you ignore him — he probably wasn’t that interested to begin with. And that’s OK too. Not every glance turns into a story.
Flirting isn’t a contract. It’s a cameo.
Here’s the thing: this isn’t about being French.
Yes, I’ve learned plenty from French women — especially Parisians — and no, they’re not the only ones who know how to flirt with a glance and disappear without apology. But they do it with a particular kind of poise. There’s something cultural in the way they carry themselves: cool, contained, uninterested in chasing. No rush to be liked. No eagerness to please.
In the U.S., we’re often taught to be nice. To smile. To soften. The French? They let their edges gleam.
So yes, this is for the singles out there. The ones who still wonder if they should text back. The real answer is: if you have to ask, you already know.
And no, you don’t need to smile.
Maybe that’s what the French get right. Flirting isn’t a performance. It’s a posture. A way of moving through the world like you belong — to yourself, first and foremost.
Because when you love yourself first, you’ll be selective about who you share yourself with.
In France, flirting isn’t always about seduction. It’s often just a way of speaking, a way of moving — sometimes even a form of politeness. You can be married, committed, entirely uninterested — and still flirt a little over coffee. It’s not always about sex or a romantic relationship. Sometimes it’s just a flicker of charm, a reminder that connection still exists in the margins of the day. Of course, it has its limits — don’t go draguer around just because I said so — but in France, flirting is a way of life. In the U.S., it’s often treated like a contract. Here, it’s more like an art form.
Flirting, then, isn’t just a path to something else. Sometimes, it’s the whole point.
That, kissed by salt and sunset — and maybe the faint scent of last night’s cologne — is l’amour de vacances.
I’d love to know, do you believe in harmless flirting, or is it always loaded?
Thank you for reading.
À très vite,
Pamela
Introducing Contributor, Pamela Clapp
Immerse yourself in all of Pamela’s articles on her Contributor page.