Bonjour. Now, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – French men are the best dates. And believe me, I don’t say that lightly. I can speak with some authority because I’ve just spent the past week in Marseilles, drifting between cobbled backstreets and bustling cafés, watching the world go by with a glass of rosé in hand. Marseille is a city that feels like it’s stretching and waking up after a long sleep – definitely on the up, incidentally, especially since it’s the City of Culture this year. You can’t really miss that fact; many of its beautiful Louis XIV buildings are draped in enormous, bright pink posters announcing it to anyone who so much as glances upwards. It’s slightly garish, yes, but there’s something rather endearing about this loud, unashamed pride.
The Devilish Charm of French Men
But what is it about the Frenchman that makes him so devilishly charming? Why is it that, after only a few days there, I found myself half in love with every waiter, barman and stranger who held a door open for me? I know many London escorts share this belief, and for me it’s all about the way he’s grown up. A French man doesn’t learn to flirt later in life; he absorbs it, almost unconsciously, as part of the culture. Flirting is woven into the everyday rhythm of life – the way he orders his coffee, the way he greets the woman behind the counter, the way he looks you directly in the eye and holds the gaze a fraction longer than is strictly necessary.
He knows instinctively how to treat women graciously – to prize them, if you like. That doesn’t mean putting women on some absurd pedestal; it means recognising them, seeing them, and making them feel as though they’re worth the effort. The flirting is playful banter rather than a performance. It’s always done with laughter hovering just behind the words – a glint in the eye, a half-smile, a slightly exaggerated compliment that you’re not expected to take too seriously. It feels light, fun, and never threatening or offensive. I never once felt cornered or uncomfortable – just deliciously noticed.
And then there is the chivalrous side, that old-fashioned charm that seems to come so naturally to them. They always insist on pulling out chairs for you at dinner, offering an arm as you navigate a crowded terrace, or guiding you gently through a doorway as if you might get swept away by the tide of people without them. They make a point of giving you their full attention – phones away, eyes on you, responding as though every anecdote you share is a fascinating revelation. It’s the sort of attentiveness that makes you feel like the only person in the room, even when the restaurant is noisy and packed. Well, that’s my experience anyway – and it’s difficult to go back to distracted, half-listening dates once you’ve been spoiled like that.
Discovering the Vibrancy of Marseilles
A few escorts in London had told me about Marseilles before I went, and they spoke about it with such enthusiasm that I was almost suspicious. But I must say, I loved its vibrancy. Everything feels amplified there – the colours, the sounds, the smells. It’s colourful, noisy, and utterly fun-loving. The port is a hive of activity, with fishing boats bobbing gently next to sleek yachts, and the air is thick with the scent of sea salt, grilled fish, and strong coffee. In the narrow streets behind the harbour, washing hangs from balconies, children shout in a jumble of French and local dialects, and old men sit outside tiny bars playing cards as if they’ve been in the same seats for decades.
Actually, you can keep Paris for now. Paris has its perfection, of course – all those elegant boulevards and carefully curated shop windows – but Marseilles has something rawer, more alive. The country’s second-biggest city has stolen my heart and is now my favourite destination across the channel. There’s a certain rebelliousness in the air, a slightly rough edge that makes it feel more real, less like a postcard and more like a living, breathing place that doesn’t particularly care what you think of it.
Fashion, Fit, and the Petite Parisienne
Since I’ve been here, I’ve been impressed by the designer shops tucked between traditional boulangeries and quirky independent boutiques. Unfortunately for me, they tend to cater for the typically smart – but undeniably petite – French woman. You know the type: effortlessly chic, with a perfectly cut fringe and a wardrobe of tiny black dresses that seem to float rather than cling. And yes, the Parisians are moving down here too, bringing with them their polished style and that unmistakable air of nonchalant superiority.
Being 5ft 10 (without high heels) and a size 10, I often feel like a slightly oversized Amazon compared to the sylph-like creatures those clothes are clearly designed for. I’d find it hard to squeeze into some of those exquisite little dresses, not because of my size as such, but simply because they’re made for women who appear to stop growing at 5ft. Some of the hemlines looked as though they’d barely skim my hips. Maybe it’s just as well, though – my suitcase is already groaning, and I have a three-week trip to Mauritius booked for the beginning of February.
Looking Ahead to Mauritius
Mauritius feels like the perfect excuse to shop properly, and I fully intend to make the most of the sales before I go. I’ll be hoping to pick up some fantastic Chanel and Gucci items at slightly less eye-watering prices than usual. I can already picture it: breezing around the island in a perfectly cut sundress, oversized sunglasses, a silk scarf knotted carelessly at my throat, and a discreet little logo winking from my handbag. And knowing me, once I’m let loose in those boutiques, no doubt I will manage to find exactly what I’m looking for – and several things I didn’t know I needed.
So, yes, French men may be the best dates, but French cities – Marseilles in particular – are the perfect backdrop. Between the flirtation, the fashion, and the promise of more adventures just across the water, it’s hard not to feel just a little bit enchanted.
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