Emily in Paris Season 1

Yesterday, I received a message from my Parisian friend A, saying she had been watching Emily in Paris recently and that many of the plot points felt like a thing of the past. I was a bit confused about what she meant by "a thing of the past." Was she referring to the events in the show as being outdated, or was she implying that the events in the show, which happened to us, have already been a long time ago? Maybe she was being ambiguous, too?

Actually, I was thinking of sending her a message as well because this show has brought up so many memories!

Then, A mentioned that Paris doesn't feel like Paris anymore due to the severe COVID situation, with the second wave already hitting.

A is a friend I met a few years ago in Paris. She’s a born-and-raised Parisian, although she spent several years of her childhood living abroad, including two years in Hong Kong. She is the most unpretentious Parisian I know—truly like Camille. Being around her feels like a breath of fresh air. A knows so many cool, secret venues in Paris, and her job is to find suitable locations for events and organize PR activities. Her father is a banker, so A, like Camille, is kind of a “rich kid,” though I’ve never heard her gossip about anyone.

Many people say the show is unrealistic, particularly because Emily seems to have everything fall into place, and Mindy, the Chinese character, doesn’t exactly represent the real image of a rich Chinese second-generation. But after all, it's a comedy, and the exaggerated plot points are necessary for humor. It's clear that some of the scenes are over the top, but they don't stray far from reality, and they are truly hilarious—especially for those of us who have lived in Paris. I laughed so much throughout.

Here are a few memorable points from the show:

Parisians vs. French people

If you ask a French person where they’re from, a Parisian will definitely say they are from Paris, while people from outside Paris will say they’re from France. Only those born in Paris are considered "true Parisians"—people born elsewhere and then moved to Paris don’t count as real Parisians (according to some French people). In the show, Emily's nerdy romance reflects this; the guy emphasizes being from Paris and looks down on the handsome guy from Normandy. Parisians really do consider people from outside Paris to be "country folk." I guess this happens in many big cities around the world.

Then, there’s Paris proper and Île-de-France. People from the suburbs of Paris might say they’re from Paris, but when asked which arrondissement (Paris district) they live in, they’ll clarify they’re from the outskirts. When I met new people in Paris, they would always first ask which arrondissement I lived in, and that would determine how they judged me.

So, which arrondissement is the best?

There’s no "best," only different. People say that the 8th and 16th arrondissements are rich areas, but in my view, those are more for the nouveau riche—many foreign billionaires and newly-wealthy French prefer to buy properties near the Champs-Élysées or the Arc de Triomphe.

The old-money folks tend to live in the 5th, 6th, and 7th arrondissements. I’ve been to a mansion in the 6th arrondissement that felt like a small castle with complex basements and wine cellars, located in a very quiet alley. When you walk out of the alley, the main street is filled with designer boutiques.

Another friend of mine grew up in the 7th arrondissement, and he often says he used to live next to YSL when he was a child. The 7th is a somewhat pretentious area.

The 13th has a lot of Chinese people, as well as many young professionals who’ve just moved to Paris. The 1st and 4th are touristy, with hotels and shops, while the 2nd and 3rd have many young artists and designers. The 17th and 18th have a lot of immigrants from the Middle East and Africa, and the area feels a bit chaotic. The 10th and 11th are full of young people and students. The 19th and 20th have many startups and affordable rent.

I’ve lived in the 18th and 11th. My first apartment was a tiny place in the 18th, where the rent was twice as high as an equivalent in the 5th, 6th, or 7th arrondissements. Later, I moved to the 11th, which was just across the street from the 3rd, and the rent was much cheaper—what a great deal!

Paris is small, you can cross it in two hours on foot. I basically walked everywhere, and it's always lively; the cafés stay open until 2 or 3 a.m.

"Tre"

I don't know why Americans tend to pronounce "trè" as "chrey." In French, it’s supposed to be pronounced t-r-e. It’s not that hard! Even I, coming from China, can pronounce it correctly, so why can't Americans?

I realized that Americans simply don’t care to pronounce French in the French way—they even want to emphasize their American accent. Lily Collins probably doesn’t pronounce "trè" as t-r-e because the director told her to say "chrey." The director is clever because, in the global context, Americans are extremely confident, feeling that their American accent and American passport give them the privilege to do whatever they want worldwide. French-accented English is the way to show their superiority.

The "rich girl" trope

This show could actually be called Three Rich Girls in Paris .

Camille is a perfect example of old money. These people grow up in fixed circles, and their parents and even grandparents have been part of that social scene. They tend to look down on outsiders because their behaviors and lifestyles are different. Old money people live comfortably but not excessively rich. Their ancestors were probably important figures in history, and they inherited land and titles. They look down on the nouveau riche—people like Bernard Arnault, the head of LVMH, would be seen as nouveau riche in their eyes.

Camille’s family still has a château, which is unusual. Typically, nobles either marry other nobles or are with second-generation wealthy people. It’s rare for them to cross social classes, let alone invest in a restaurant like Gabriel's.

Chinese second-generation rich kids

Mindy’s character feels a bit unrealistic. A real Shanghai person, unless they’re extremely poor, would never work as a nanny in someone else’s home, let alone a rich second-generation. Even people from ordinary families wouldn’t work as nannies in Paris, let alone the second-generation wealthy. The show has created this "crazy rich Asian" character just to boost the drama.

In LA, there are many Asian second-generation rich girls like Mindy, with their flashy outfits and makeup, club-hopping and popping champagne. These are mostly second-generation wealthy from Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore, and Korea. But it’s rare to find such characters born in mainland China.

The American Top 2%

While Emily’s background isn’t explicitly mentioned much in the show, it’s clear she’s not from a typical American middle-class family. Emily wears designer clothes from Chanel and Dior every day and exudes extreme confidence, suggesting she didn’t come from an average middle-class family.

Middle-class kids simply don’t wear designer clothes at 20-something and are not that confident. Even though Emily seems modest, her low-key attitude hides her luxury lifestyle.

Think about why Camille and Mindy, two rich second-generation girls, would approach Emily on the street. It’s because like attracts like—subconsciously, they feel they can connect because they are similar people.

Flirting in Europe

Europeans really know how to flirt, and the French are incredibly romantic. In Paris, couples are everywhere, and you’re constantly fed "dog food" on the streets (that is, constant public displays of affection). Being single in Paris might be the best or worst thing.

When I first visited Paris, I met a handsome guy who showed me around the city, and many of the scenes in the show I’ve actually experienced, such as riding a scooter around Paris, seeing the night views, and picnicking along the Seine. I hope the second season explores more of these romantic experiences.

In Europe, people flirt all the time, but most of them are just average-looking. Occasionally, a good-looking guy might flirt with you, but it’s unrealistic for Emily to only attract good-looking guys—after all, her middle name is "Mary Sue." Sometimes, when eating out, people sitting a few tables away will pass you a note with their phone number, often with a little sketch.

French men are sweet-talkers. It’s common to be complimented on the street, in museums, or restaurants. They flatter you so much you could be eating honey every day.

Once, a guy I was on a date with told me that my compliments felt too stiff, and I didn’t sound sweet enough. He taught me that French people always need to give specific examples when complimenting others, otherwise, it feels hollow.

French vs. American Marketing

This show is about an American marketing manager going to Paris to teach the French how to do social marketing. As we all know, France and the U.S. are two of the biggest marketing countries in the world.

The American approach to marketing is practical and universal, focusing on things everyone can use, like Starbucks and McDonald’s—cheap and accessible. Meanwhile, French marketing is all about high-end and exclusive, targeting the rich who can afford luxury brands, while

ordinary people just dream about them.

Europe generally favors exclusivity and high-end, while Americans tend to go for mass appeal and populism. This creates an interesting contrast that can generate a lot of comedic moments in the show.

Other observations:

• Paris is full of dog poop.
• The bread in Paris is absolutely delicious.
• Emily inviting colleagues to lunch? It’s more common for the French to have lunch together than for Americans to do so.
• French people really love movies and comics.
• French people will give tourists confusing directions.

In summary, I think the show is actually quite realistic. The unrealistic parts are mostly exaggerated for comedic effect. After all, it’s a comedy, and as long as it makes us laugh, it’s done its job. It's definitely one of the funniest comedies I’ve seen this year.

PS: Is Pierre Cadault supposed to reference Pierre Cardin? And is Grey Space meant to refer to Off White?

An American "Pretty in Pink" Goes to Paris' Fashion Circle, Teaching Luxury Brands How to Do Viral Marketing. What Exactly Did LVMH Do to Deserve Netflix's "Revenge"? The Show's Cringe-Worthy Stereotypes About France Are Painfully Clichéd.

Moulin Rouge, gourmet food, perfume, champagne, Simone de Beauvoir, La Vie en Rose, French men's sexual prowess—name any French cliché the average person can think of, and the screenwriter didn't miss a single one. If you didn't look at the lead actress's face, you might, like me, think she was a 60-year-old Carrie Bradshaw. For god's sake! Did Darren Star even do field research in Paris while producing this? Was it delayed by the pandemic?

Netflix's other Gen Z youth drama, How to Sell Drugs Online (fast), is clearly light-years more up-to-date, serving wave after wave of timely, locally relevant gags—after all, it's written by local screenwriters.

No matter what PR crisis arises, the universally loved American marketing genius always saves the day at the last minute, spouting gems like, "To build a brand, you must create meaningful social-media engagement"—all while maintaining an air of supreme earnestness and rigor. Privately, she's no different from those Xiaohongshu influencers who claim to get rich or go viral overnight: prancing around tourist spots in neon outfits, holding a croissant, taking selfies, posting vacuous captions, and fabricating a pretend life.

Not only that, but every supporting character—from the rich Chinese heiress to the flirty perfumer boss, sassy neighbor, winery owner, 富二代 haute couture designer, and even the French first lady—eventually falls at her feet like satellites orbiting a star. In relationships, just like at work, she sleeps around without an ounce of moral qualm, maintaining high-intensity "game" at all times. Is this the so-called "American Perspective" on feminism? It looks more like a narcissistic American's Parisian tour—a typical Hollywood export of "toxic milk," reheating the same old fashion-drama formulas from Sex and the City, The Devil Wears Prada, and Crazy Rich Asians, with zero connection to real-life conflicts.

Thankfully, the show throws in some self-deprecating humor—like when Emily tells a colleague she's "the Arrogance of Ignorance" (trying to make it in Paris without learning French). Thankfully, Lily Collins still has that enviable beauty (though her acting is still stuck in ditzy-sweet mode). And thankfully, France never lacks dreamy men—the French neighbor who made me willing to swallow this American toxic milk gets both of my two stars. With stars in his eyes, a rainbow on his lips, a tall, toned physique, and a lazy, magnetic voice saying "Enchanté"—god, who could resist? Who?

On the night before her departure, as he watched the clueless heroine flirt with a rich kid, tears shimmering in his eyes, I bet every girl in the world wanted to pull him into a hug and comfort him. Don't believe me? Google "Who is the Hot French neighbor!" or check his Instagram #lucasnbravo—his follower count exploded overnight (in a 10/2 interview, he had 11,600 followers). How many does he have now?

1. Putting aside Lily Collins’ main job as an actress, her beauty almost reaches perfection—delicately sculpted with high recognizability. However, when this flawless face starts delivering awkward performances, the halo of beauty fades instantly. After playing the innocent and naive role for over a decade, she still remains a Mary Sue. A super starlet who is famous not for her acting or works but for dominating fashion blogs for years—there’s certainly a reason for this. (However, her fashion sense isn’t exactly groundbreaking; it’s just that she looks good in anything—she’d even look good in a sack.) Emily Cooper’s every gesture seems to echo Carrie Bradshaw, yet there’s probably a 20-generation gap in the evolution of actresses between Lily and Sarah Jessica Parker.

2. The director’s interpretation of stereotypes is too much of a stereotype itself. Perhaps in an attempt to repeatedly cater to social media with an American style, Paris is presented as a tourist's view that’s the opposite of the city’s essence—a Paris formed by countless Instagram spots, resembling the Little Red Book-style Paris. After watching the first episode, the term that flooded my mind was:

PARIS SYNDROME

The show directly showcases various European lifestyles of the French—is it trying to satirize the casualness of the French? However, the proud and sarcastic elegant mistress Sylvie is by far the most captivating character in the entire series. Mindy, on the other hand, represents one of the two perennial Asian stereotypes in American TV: after the doctors and manual laborers, what other roles can Asians take on? Exactly, the crazy rich Asians. And Mindy herself embodies the typical ABC (American-born Chinese) style from within.

Whether it's Paris or Shanghai, the director’s American stereotype vision is evident.

3. As someone with a linguistic background, I can’t understand why the main character speaks "bonjour" and "merci" without the slightest trace of a French accent. From episode one to episode ten, she learns fewer than five French words, and they are basically pronounced in an American accent. OMG, it’s undoubtedly a torture to the ears.

Apart from a few pretty faces, this series offers no snapshot of today’s Paris in terms of culture. It can’t even be used as a model for language learning. She doesn’t speak a word of French, yet with a teenage body and a few pouty selfies, she transforms into an IG influencer and reaches the peak of her career. This plot is an insult to logic at its lowest.

4. The term “RINGARD” that the designer frequently mentions probably best encapsulates the main character’s fashion style.

???

Please, just blind me.

She somehow managed to make Chanel look like Kate Spade—such a tacky look...

Camille’s portrayal is clearly far more chic.

Finally, let’s finish with a few old photos of Jane Birkin to cleanse our eyes.

What’s most ridiculous about this show is the scene where the American protagonist teaches the French people what the male gaze is and what feminism means. (Simone de Beauvoir must be turning in her grave—when will Hollywood make a Portrait of a Lady on Fire before coming to talk to me about feminism and the male gaze?) At best, this moment only comes across as arrogant, but the bigger issue is that the moments where the protagonist displays her “feminism” are even worse. One is when she protests that le vagin isn’t a feminine word while marketing a vaginal lubricant, and the other is when she objects to the lack of political correctness when posing as a nude model for a perfume ad, saying they need to consider the feelings of American female viewers. Both of these instances reduce feminism to a marketing tool for commercial interests. And yet, the countless times male characters flirt with her are outright sexual harassment—dick drawings in the office, clients sending lingerie, various inappropriate comments from men—but the protagonist never considers protesting, and in fact, often caters to and even submits to it. The writers also seem to try to downplay these offensive actions as a result of cultural differences, calling them "sexy" or “French,” thus further trivializing them. This is a double insult to both feminism and the French. This kind of slogan-based feminism is so shallow, it actually fits the superficial influencer character of the protagonist perfectly.

Emily in Paris is filled from head to toe with blatant falsities—it's a fantasy of Americans projecting their spiritual ideals onto France, and even Europe as a whole.

The core selling point of the show, the cultural clash, is highly questionable. This isn’t to say that America doesn’t have its own share of lazy, unmotivated people or that France doesn’t have its workaholics, so we can’t generalize. Rather, the problem is that showing and discussing cultural clashes should be a means of elevation.

When we use one culture to reflect on another, we hope to deepen our understanding of both ourselves and others. If we can clarify misunderstandings and biases in the process, all the better. Anthropology teaches us that we may never fully rid ourselves of viewing others through the lens of “us” vs. “them,” but observing and thinking with self-reflection still holds value.

However, Emily in Paris lacks this self-reflection and respect. Instead, it indulges the protagonist by allowing her to wield American culture and values to overpower everything around her. Not only do French men, young and old, fall for her left and right, but her clients also quickly fall under her spell. When she causes trouble with a client, she manages to turn things around simply by charging into the client’s private suite with “good intentions” (not real change, and not to mention, invading someone’s private space is highly rude). It's like a U.S. version of a Mary Sue.

The protagonist often repeats the phrase, “I bring an American perspective.” The so-called American perspective, when spoken positively, sounds like “relatable” or “down-to-earth,” but in truth, it's just about selling a quick hit of G-spot stimulation. From episode one, every time she posts an Instagram (although viewers might easily wonder why these tacky selfies gain followers so quickly), the screen displays a constant real-time increase in followers. This reflects the social media-driven logic—if I bring in more traffic, I’m right, and my colleagues all agree with me.

In this regard, both the French and the Americans seem to reach a consensus. Even the slightest opposition is quickly dismissed by the protagonist's silver tongue.

For example, the marketing strategy she designs for her friend’s family vineyard is to create champagne specifically for spraying on people (not for drinking or tasting). To me, this strategy exemplifies the dual triumph of consumerism and utilitarianism—if both the wealthy woman spritzing champagne and the wine enthusiast drinking it make money, then what's the harm in this “waste”? Her friend’s mother, who is committed to preserving the family vineyard, barely protests and even finds the issue insignificant. The battle between consumerism and tradition ends with the former’s victory.

In this sense, the problem with the show isn’t just its emptiness (after all, most chick comedies follow this path), but its disrespect toward the audience—using the cultural clash gimmick to deceive viewers. If the plot were rephrased as "The handsome, tragic guy next door with a rich girlfriend falls for me," it would be more accurate.

The scene that made me most uncomfortable is toward the end of the series, when Pierre Cadault, the older designer, faces an attack from an emerging American streetwear brand at a charity auction. The latter declares war on old-school high fashion by splashing paint on haute couture garments, as if making a rebellious subcultural self-declaration. However, when I saw that the streetwear brand's logo consisted entirely of oversized white hoodies resembling silkworm cocoons, I couldn't help but wonder, is the writer bashing France, or is it bashing America? We won’t even mention that the streetwear squad doesn't look anything like stormtroopers; even a random pick from fast fashion would have been more convincing.

It seems the writers or costume designers were desperately emphasizing the contrast between "elegant" and "tacky." Let’s put aside whether the distinction between elegance and tackiness is as clear-cut today, but the result of the streetwear attack was that Pierre, after feeling defeated, admits that now only “older women” wear his clothes. A few days later, he faces off against the streetwear brand, changing his style completely by wrapping his models in huge red and green bags, emblazoned with slogans like “I am tacky” and “I am basic bitch.” Pierre himself wears a custom piece from the streetwear brand, proudly flexing his muscles, shaking his legs, and swaying his hips.

“I’m tacky, but because I exist, elegance is defined as elegance. You need me,” Pierre says when persuading him to make a comeback. But doesn’t this reflect exactly what Alain de Botton criticized in The Closed Mind of American Spirit —cultural relativism? And by the end, when Pierre, by lowering his "status," manages to turn the situation around and become the talk of the fashion world, is this an elegant and tacky fusion of fashion that went viral, or just a fantasy of triumph?

Looking at those gaudy red and green colors, we already have the answer. In fact, based on the character setup, a fashion mogul like Pierre, who pursues beauty to a pathological degree, would never say that only “older women” wear his clothes and certainly wouldn’t be so defeated as to lock himself in his room, sulking over it.

It’s clear that the writers’ Paris is a limited collection of labels: handsome men and beautiful women, arrogant and exclusionary, romantic style, croissants, the Eiffel Tower, and the Arc de Triomphe (just look at how they keep cutting to these two landmarks every time there’s a scene change). Why do I say labels and not even symbols? Because the show’s portrayal of these aspects is incredibly superficial.

Europeans know that the French look down on outsiders, and Parisians look down on people from the provinces. This stereotype, rooted in reality, has even inspired countless Paris jokes. But the writers are too lazy to show this through details. Instead, they have every French person openly insult the protagonist as soon as they realize she doesn’t speak French—calling her “a country bumpkin” and “a tacky girl”—as though the French have no concept of social etiquette or professional decorum.

Take romance, for instance. France is famous worldwide for its romance, and there’s no shortage of movies that showcase it. Perhaps the most familiar one to Chinese viewers is Amélie , with its sweet and intense portrayal of French romance—“Without you, who can I share the beautiful scenery with?” This line is still used by countless romantics today to express melancholy.

But the French romance in this show is shallowly depicted as being about extramarital affairs and one-night stands. As for the romance itself? We don’t see any of the world-famous French love speeches in Emily in Paris . When the protagonist’s first romantic interest blurted out “American pussy” after a brief romantic moment, I felt like I had been fed a fly.

The show’s other characters, like the Chinese rich girl who ran away from her father’s control and became a nanny in France, are even more full of stereotypes and not worth mentioning.

In reality, every society and culture is diverse. When you overlook the entire city of Paris from the Montmartre hill at sunset, or when you stroll under the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower at night, you feel that Paris is indeed an international metropolis, a city of romance. But perhaps a few steps away, in a dark, poorly-lit neighborhood, a robbery is taking place.

Like many romantics, I once dreamed of the Left Bank and flower-scented cafes. But one day, as I struggled to pedal through a torrential downpour, my boots soaked when I fell into a pothole on the street, I couldn’t help but think of a thousand angry horses running through my mind.

—This is Paris, too. But of course, it won’t be seen in Emily in Paris . For a light, sweet show, maybe we shouldn’t expect more.