For all their joie du vie, Parisians really don’t smile much. At least that’s what I was warned of, that fabled Parisian mean-spiritedness and cold judgment from nearly everyone I told about my Bookpacking trip. Regardless of whether they had been to Paris or not. “Avoid eye contact with anyone on the street. And whatever you do, don’t smile at strangers.” someone told me.

So, the first time I went to the grocery store checkout line I was prepared for the worst. I said my “bonjour” to the cashier. She did too, but she didn’t tone her voice up, or smile, or even raise her eyelids like I’ve been conditioned to do and to expect. She asked if I wanted a bag but I didn’t understand. I figured that this was the moment. I summoned all the spite I had and brainstormed the best ways to retort her inevitable French meanness.  

She repeated everything very slowly, and then understanding my blank stare switched to English. A man with his young daughter at the register across from me turned and asked, in broken English, if I needed any help with anything. Both of them with serene, hard-to-read faces but a nonchalant, genuine patience. I checked out my groceries and left. 

It’s true, Parisians didn’t smile on the metro, they didn’t smile on the street, they didn’t smile at me. It didn’t bother me as much as I think it bothers other Americans. But I thought it was true that they seemed cold and indifferent to one another. And even though I’m not the most talkative person myself, I missed the constant background chatter of London and the U.S. But I found myself greatly appreciating this version of politeness and social culture.

The past few weeks I’ve been smiled at less and also looked after the most than I ever have been by a city. People have gone out of their way to help me and each other more than I’ve personally experienced in any other city. I was a euro short at the grocery store and an old man who overheard silently reached over the register and bought my groceries for me. The lady who ran the boulangerie across the street from my apartment was never not frowning and spoke in a brash tone, but within days memorized my order. 

Everywhere I go, I see Parisians helping each other out. Like giving a supporting arm to people on the bus stumbling when the bus lurches forward. Not with loud English politeness or American enthusiasm. Instead, with a gentle sense of duty. And without expecting zealous displays of gratitude in exchange. 

Any Parisian reading this would be like… duh. Don’t get me wrong, I I was expecting the stereotype to be incorrect as stereotypes tend to be. What surprised me is how incorrect. It’s interesting to be in a place with different ideas of politeness, and I think that is why there is so much cross-cultural misunderstanding. I’m sure that to Parisians, American social norms are brash and superficial. The culture shock definitely made me reevaluate my West coast American culture from what I’d imagine to be a French perspective. It also makes me think about kindness. 

I’ve been thinking of the concept of what it means to be kind throughout reading and discussing Les Miserables because it is a question that seems to fascinate Hugo. What does it mean to be kind? And, what kindness do we owe to each other? One of my (unexpectedly) favorite sections in Les Miserables is the one that opens the novel, a lengthy life story of a Catholic bishop named Myriel. Myriel rejects the corruption of the Catholic Church that would work in his favor towards gaining comfort and wealth. Instead, he devotes every aspect of his life to service and acts of kindness towards others. Hugo criticizes the flashiness of other Bishops, how they use the guise of religion to further their own interests. It’s a conflict between superficial shows of virtue and Myriel’s genuine shows of virtue. But Myriel’s is far quieter. 

Parisians are quiet but they also seem genuine. I like how in the U.S. people talk loudly and smile at each other. But does a baseline performance of kindness make it hard to tell which is real and which is fake? I think so. Parisians don’t seem to appreciate a big American smile. They do appreciate that you say “Bonjour” and “Bon journée.” This practice of greeting store workers and them greeting you is a lovely acknowledgement that the worker and customer are both individuals worthy of an individual hello and goodbye. This simple action of recognizing humanity is far more important than a smile. Forget this step, and you might not be served. Even if you have a big warm grin. 

Not to imply that Parisians all act this way or are the epitome of virtue. They are certainly not. It would be dehumanizing to say they were. And this is surely a starry-eyed American way to see things. It’s not that Parisians are perfect figures of moral purity. Or that no one has seemed superficial or rude. It’s that the specific way that kindness is expressed through silent action without smiles, and little things like the greeting norm, is a reminder to me that kindness does not have to be a performance. In fact, it shouldn’t be at all. Perhaps kindness should be humble, and quiet, because it’s not something to show off, it’s simply what we owe each other.