Illustration by Valfré
Once a week I take myself out on a broke girl's lunch date to my favorite Parisian dive in the Marais; Le Saint Gervais. I order my usual glass of Bordeaux, plain omelette with a green salad, and settle in a corner booth with a book. Besides La Panfoulia, this is one of my favorite spots in the Marais. It's not chic - certainly not by Marais standards - but it's old Paris. By 2 pm, the lunch crowd is gone, the dining room is quiet; only chatter from the front bar that caters to locals and their late afternoon wine and coffee cravings, and I can take up a back table as long as I'd like.
Sounds just perfect, right? Lately not so much. On my past few trips to what I now call "the other side of town", my tranquility has been greatly compromised. No longer can I sneak in, grab a back table and read many chapters of a book without massive interruptions. I now just end up reading the same sentence over and over and over, trying to filter out the cacophony that overpowers this small place.
What could be so intrusive that I can't even read? Any guesses? Could it be construction out on rue Vieille du Temple? No - although that would also be annoying. A late lunch rush? Nope - this is Paris, remember? Tourists? I think tourists would be a little turned off by the place. When I say "old Paris", I'm not taking Edith Piaf, I'm talking more Les Rita Mitsouko. So what has been breaking my attempts to a quiet afternoon? I'll tell you. Teenagers. French Teenagers - a special breed of teen.
I don't mind them so much but when they pile into the booth behind me so impetuously that I get jerked forward, or when they take their coats off without any regard that they have whipped me in the eye with their scarves, and when they talk practically in my ear where even I jump during the action portion of their conversation, then I mind. They also seem to be immune to the French huff and puff face because my futile attempts went disappointingly unnoticed. Because I'm forced to the listen to them, now as soon as I see them bombarding in to order their one espresso or Coke each, I close my book and take out a magazine, something that doesn't require much thought like Grazia or Be for example. Well last week, I couldn't tune them out because for once they were talking about something that actually interested me: dating. This is when I perked up. Getting whipped by their Kooples scarves would be worth getting a bird's eye view to the new wave of French dating. So as it turned out, one of the fellas, let's call him Matis was saying that he loved this girl Esmeralda. How sweet. Well his pote Steve (American names are actually à la mode right now) didn't believe him and corrected him. Matis didn't love Esmeralda because according to "Steve" he merely "kiffé" (pronounced keef-ay) her. Geez, I haven't heard kiffer in years. I thought it went out of fashion like the inversion trend, like saying "Z'y-va", but I guess not...I also don't hang out with teenagers.
Apparently this is how the younger generation is getting around the je t'aime (that means both I love and like you - confusing, right?) debacle that the French language has been blessed with. I couldn't help myself but jump in (of course I did) to investigate further. I figured after disrupting several of my afternoons, these fuckers owed me this much. I turned around and surely with a red wine smile said, "Bonjour, les teens". The six of them froze and with wide eyes direct towards me, stopped their banter, and acknowledged my presence with a bonjour...madame. Ouch.
I told them that I couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation (I really am turning into my mother: the ultimate yenta) and if they didn't mind, could they elaborate more of this "aimer/kiffer" business to a curious American. Relieved that this was my request, they all spoke over each other explaining the meaning and its uses. Their enthusiasm as they vied for my attention was both really cute and flattering. They explained that the word is of Arabic origins which has been filtered down to the French language to mean like, and this is how they differentiate between loving and liking. Kiffer is less powerful than aimer. Perhaps a direct translation would be how us Anglos "dig" something?
To test it out, I tried to smuggle it into conversation with Séb this past weekend. Over our Saturday night apéro of winter cocktails and light munchies, I told him that when I first met him, I really "kiffed" him. He shook his head as he is now hip to my shenanigans and asked me what playground I had been hanging out in lately. Given my current profession, this wasn't a bad question to ask. Apparently this is expression is for the younger more urban set but hey, they won't be teens forever. I don't think as a foreigner over the age of 21, I'll ever get a pass to say that I kiffe something but at least there's somewhat of an alternative to that confusing je t'aime bien/beaucoup/plus que tu sais/plus que la glace/plus plus plus! madness that with pleasure - as I relish over these cultural and language comparisons - I obsess over.
