I'm no stranger to nicknames. My dad began calling me Noodle Tzar before I was even sentient. He's explained the genesis of the nickname (it has something to do with a mentally handicapped man selling peanuts at a zoo in New Jersey) but I still don't quite get it. Since then I've been called a number of things - Jenn, Jenny, Fer, Princess, Fugee-La in my dorm after Hurricane Katrina, Jenn Jenn, one acquaintance just straight up started calling me Rachel because he found it fitting. Some of the names I've had in Paris have been a bit harder to swallow.
One flirtatious acquaintance took to calling me "jolie Jennifer," which I enjoyed for a moment, before my refusals lead him to call me an enfant gâtée (spoiled child) and bouffonne. About a month into my stay I was called connasse (if you're really curious, look it up) by a would-be rapist who was scared away by a scream and a sharp elbow. My host mom occasionally calls me "cocotte" or "ma belle," which warm my little heart every time, but recently two new words have invaded my homestay: creuche, or "jughead," and gourdasse, which seems to designate someone who is dumb and/or socially inept. Since these words seem to have been used in reference to me, and because I've always been oversensitive, I've been giving their usage some (read: waaaaaay too much) thought.
Now, every exchange student has to face a few identity issues after arriving in their host country, and personally I think if you don't, you're not doing it right. You get to see yourself in a whole new light, being observed from an entirely fresh perspective. This is especially pertinent in Paris where, franchement, people like to pick fights. For example, both anarcho-boys and a well-heeled historian have said things to the effect of: "Oh, the Communist Manifesto, bet you didn't learn about that in American school." The assumption made me realize that well, yeah, in the US we do tend to disregard this enormously influential system of beliefs, but also I did have to read that in school, please stop thinking of us as a country of ignorant warmongers. If you care what the locals think, the constant discovery of gaps between your perspectives can be frustrating, embarrassing, and just tiresome.
One way to cope is to throw yourself into francophilia with the gusto of an American mouse who has just discovered brie. The other night I passed two girls who were Parisian-beyond-Parisian: topknots on the tippity-tops of their heads, red lipstick, black shorts and tights, ruffled blouses, ballet flats à la Audrey Hepburn. Of course they were American. This is one way to deal with the disconnect, I suppose, if you have enough money to redo your wardrobe over here. For me, I'm not someone who "reinvents" herself; I always wind up back in jeans and v-necks. By contrast, there are plenty of exchange students who eat le Macdo all the time and get uppity when they can't find fish tacos like they used to get back home in California. I am not militantly American, either. I can adjust to eating yogurt as a dessert, to wearing far too many layers for the heat in June, and to sitting down in the curtain-less shower. What I can't adjust to is sounding like an idiot all the time.
And that is not a problem that all exchange students have. Yes, cultural differences and language barriers are present, but they are not insurmountable. My friend Sarah, who was only here for a semester I might add, joined a philosophy discussion group where the members (mostly young, attractive French men, I might also add) were so taken with her they threw a birthday/farewell party in her honor right before she left. Three asked her out on dates. My friend Linda's host mom loved her, I know because Madame told me herself. Le Chef is known by every purveyor of fine foods between Montparnasse and Porte de Clignacourt. And me? Well, I'm awkward in any language.
(Bradley Cooper is fine in any language)
Does that make me a failure as an exchange student? Well, a little bit, yes. I haven't made any close French friends and my French is about as good as Bradley Cooper's. I'm scared to talk to people, same as in English, especially people who seem cool. I stutter and my nose sweats and I try to disengage as quickly as possible. So yes, I see how my cripplingly low self-esteem can make me gourdasse. And that makes me hate myself just a little bit more. Vicious cycle.
So where do I go from here? As much as I want to run away back to America where I can go be awkward in my own language and the people I live with aren't too polite to tell me if they take issue with my comportment, I will continue to try to stay in Paris for the summer. Because Paris is stunningly, heart-wrenchingly beautiful and there is always something fascinating going on. Whether I'm exploring it alone or with a few wonderful, compassionate friends, the city continues to inspire me, to shame me into wanting to be more literary, more open-minded, to have a greater appreciation for history and high quality. If I leave now, feeling gourdasse, I will carry that self-loathing around like I carry so many other regrets. If I stay, find work, maybe I can still leave here with a real sense of accomplishment. So here's to sticking it out, and here's to holding it together. I might be my own worst enemy, but I refuse to give up on myself.
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