On a crisp October morning, I sat in the Eurostar terminal at London St Pancras, my suitcases overflowing with trench coats, jeans, and knee-high boots. Sipping a black coffee and nibbling a Pret croissant, I awaited the call for my train to Paris, ready to start a marketing internship in the city I had adored since childhood.
An Uncanny Parallel to a Netflix Fantasy
My excitement for this new chapter was amplified, and complicated, by an unexpected pop culture twist. The Netflix series 'Emily in Paris' premiered exactly one week before my departure. My brother was quick to tease, texting, 'Emily in Paris? More like Erin in Paris.' The similarities were striking. Like Lily Collins' character, I was a young woman moving to Paris alone for a job in marketing. We shared a love for fashion, pastries like pain au chocolat, and a decidedly romantic view of the city.
However, having spent much of my childhood there, my understanding of Parisian reality was far more grounded than Emily's. While I enjoyed the show, I was acutely aware of its many fabrications about my soon-to-be home.
Where the Show Strays from Reality
The most glaring inaccuracy is the portrayal of French people. I never encountered the sheer rudeness or vitriol displayed by characters like Emily's boss, Sylvie. Being fluent in French undoubtedly helped, but even my visiting British friends were never treated with such hostility. The French are certainly more reserved and direct than Brits—instructions at work were concise commands, not polite requests—but my colleagues and high-powered boss were consistently helpful, if somewhat disinterested.
Fashion is another major pitfall. Beyond Emily's famously absurd outfits, even the French characters wear garments far more outlandish than anything seen on the streets of Le Marais or near my office by the Champs-Élysées. A true Parisian style is built on well-cut jeans, immaculate trainers, an understated coat, and a perfectly draped scarf. The meticulously styled hair of characters like Camille also misses the mark, ignoring the prized 'undone' look favoured by local women.
Elements the Show Actually Gets Right
Some aspects, however, ring true. Emily's minuscule apartment is painfully accurate, mirroring my own compact living space. The show also faithfully films in iconic locations like the Jardin du Palais Royal, though these spots are now swarmed with TikTok tourists. Crucially, the show is correct about the superior quality of Parisian croissants, wine, and pastries.
Yet, few locals date rising-star chefs or frequent the famous La Boulangerie Moderne; most pop to their local boulangerie for equally phenomenal, cheaper options. Social life is also less glamorous. My colleagues and I typically socialised at local bars, and lunches were often McDonald's or takeaway sushi eaten on office sofas—a far cry from Emily's long, wine-fuelled breaks. I was always invited to join, contrary to the show's narrative of the isolated foreigner.
Making deep friendships with Parisians proved challenging; most of my close bonds were with other internationals. And while I went on plenty of dates, the rom-com trope of a dashing chef neighbour appearing at your door remains pure fantasy.
Ultimately, my experience was a blend of familiar childhood memories and adult realities. Paris is a city of breathtaking beauty and incredible food, but it's also a place of reserved people, tiny apartments, and a social landscape far more nuanced than any Netflix caricature.
