Visible Differences: Angers, France (CL)

A pair of shoes my dad would not allow me to bring to France. Goodbye, my loves. (You'll understand why this picture is here in a moment.)

Often, the hedges here are cubes. Sitting where I am now in the library, I look out the window at the lawn by the university, where trees have been planted in straight lines, and at the courtyard. The stones are hexagons. There are some raised blocks for sitting on, hexagons as well. While the gardens beside the university are somewhat more unkempt than others I have seen here (in the sense that the bushes have been allowed to grow into natural shapes), there is still a sense of order, a sense that everything is controlled. Small, rounded concrete barriers prevent the grass from touching the walking path, forming perfect curves and imposing a firm separation between grass and asphalt. I'm thinking of grass springing up between the bricks of Allegheny's paths, bricks sometimes disappearing entirely, roads which have been distorted by the weather. I feel as though that would not be allowed here. The French do not like it when nature disrupts their geometry.

"Nature, for the French at this period," said my music history professor the other day, "was not the forest. Nature was the French garden. Similarly, music which did not say something was not really music. Symphonies were not popular in France at this time because there was no singer to give the music meaning. It's engrained in the French spirit that things must make sense." That explains it, I thought. It seems to be very much part of the French mindset that for things to be recognized, they must be organized.

Last week I retuned home from school to hear my host mother and her son laughing. They were watching a TV show where people try to go to stores and pick out clothes to be as fashionable as possible within a time limit and on a budget, and then they are judged. Annie explained that there was a man on the show who believed himself to be very fashionable but he kept picking up things that were the style of the country, not the city, and really was not fashionable at all. They frequently watch this show together, and both of them always have an opinion.

I found myself wondering why this show was so entertaining and thinking, "it's just clothing." For me, clothing is just a method of self-expression. I love clothes. I wear multiple styles because I feel like they can all be appreciated. But I don't care about fashion, in the sense that I don't necessarily pay attention to and try to imitate what happens to be popular in the moment.

I would describe French fashion as "crisp." Close fitting pants, rolled at the bottom. Blazers. Color coordinated scarves. Only the most shapely shoes.

I, on the other hand, am permanently a bit of a mess, and mostly accept it. Everything has always been a bit chaotic in my life. My mother once wrote a poem as a joke about entropy and not being able to keep the kitchen clean, and decided to stencil it onto the kitchen wall. Things kept getting in the way of stenciling, and for years, half of my mother's poem about entropy sat on the wall, unfinished - which was fitting, really.

Sometimes I look put together and sometimes I don't. But my hair always just does what it likes, because I don't have patience for it. I wear shoes until they die. For example, the picture of the shoes above. I've had them for years. They're discolored, because it rained a few times while I was wearing them, and the dye bled. They're peeling apart. I appreciate wearing them with some of my outfits, because you can see that these are shoes that have something to say. These are shoes that have seen some shit. My dad saw them when I was packing and said, "You are not taking those to France." I'm sure that they would have appalled the French, I am sure that my dad is right, but those are good shoes. It's an aesthetic thing. (An aesthetic which is the exact opposite of France's, apparently.) In addition to that, they're comfortable. I don't like spending money on things that are not food, so as long as a pair of shoes works, I'm going to wear them.

So I suppose that's a difference. The French value appearances, organization, neatness, and putting effort into things even when it's not necessary. I value functionality and expression above appearances and neatness, although I do have a bit of a problem putting far too much effort into things than I need to at times. I like good work, but making it look pretty isn't very important to me. In some ways, I value being a bit of a disaster but producing thoughtful work. For whatever reason, it matters to me.

For the French, the appearance of a work shows that the creator is professional and serious about the subject. For me, the quality of the work itself is the measure of how much someone cares.

Another indicator of the importance of appearance: the architecture. Despite the wide range of time during which buildings were constructed, they all fit together.

I intend to continue being a little bit of a mess, producing thoughtful things. I will learn to better organize my work here, but my values remain the same.