Baguette Buyer, Fashionista, Parisian

There’s nothing more boring than an amateur's account of their excursion to an art gallery or museum, so I’m going to talk about baguettes.  

Paris is the canvas on which a thousand baguettes are painted. On every corner, down every street, coming at you is a French person with a baguette. Voila! It’s like a baguette is a fashion item. In fact, you can forget the high heels (thank god) and if you want to be mistaken for a local, simply wack a baguette under your arm (and refrain from using the term ‘wack’). 

Seriously, it’s how you distinguish the locals from the tourists. Tourists have a camera in their hand. Locals have a baguette under their arm (or somewhere on their personage). 

You’ll find baguettes on the young, old and middle-aged. This foodie fashion item doesn’t discriminate. You’ll see these crunchy batons squashed in clenched fists, protruding from briefcases, stuffed in pockets, hiding in prams, lurking in shopping bags and trolleys, and extending from bicycle baskets. And if you want to erase all possible doubt that you’re a local, then master the art of navigating the metro, while talking on your mobile phone, with a baguette under your arm. If you can achieve this, without taking anyone’s eye out and without meeting with a bready disaster at the exit point, then you, my friend, are a Parisian. 

Like fashion or art in Paris, the baguette phenomenon is a naturally occurring thing and, I do believe, if you’re in Paris long enough, it will rub off on you. I say this because an interesting thing happened to me yesterday. I returned to my apartment, late afternoon to freshen up for dinner and, as I closed the door behind me, it suddenly occurred to me that I had a baguette under my arm. What’s more, I had no recollection of purchasing that baguette! Then I glanced towards the kitchen bench and noticed the remains of another baguette, most likely purchased the day before. And suddenly, just like that, here I am, a true Parisian because I have baguettes and I have no memory of how I begot! Imagine my excitement at discovering just how Parisian I’ve become!  

Just to be sure, though, I decided to retrace my steps and investigate. I took the lift to ground level, exited my building and turned left down the cobbled street that is rue Gravilliers. As suspected, it was only minutes before I stumbled across a boulangerie, stocked to the windows with pastries and pies, croissants and quiches, éclairs and tarts and (you guessed it) baguettes! Oh my! Could this be my place of purchase? Could this be the point where unconsciously, because I am Parisian, I attached myself to a baguette?  

I stood in the doorway, inhaling the yeasty fumes, and for a moment, doubted myself, as I considered the impressive but confusing array of baguettes. How would I have known which one to choose? How would I have known which would complement my outfit? How would I have known whether to go for an under-armer or a briefcase-protruder?  

But then, to my delight, Monsieur, behind the counter, recognised me! Yes, it was true! I had obviously been here before...many times! It was conclusive! I was a baguette buyer, a fashionista, a true Parisian!  

And, to seal it, Monsieur smiled a knowing smile and winked across the counter at me and I knew it was true because he knew me like I was a regular Parisian customer and he was absolutely and genuinely pleased to see me. (Or was that a baguette in his pocket?)