As formerly-fun-friends-turned-new-parents prepare to throw their children lavish first birthday parties, I have my own joyous occasion to celebrate – the one year anniversary of this blog that has, ironically, served as a highly effective form of birth control! To mark this momentum, I have decided to take you on a walk down memory, retracing the locales that have served as the backdrops of all my exuberant Parisian experiences over the past year.
(Guided tours available upon request.)
La Perle (78 rue Vieille du Temple, 75003)
As I often like to say, all road lead to la Perle. La Perle is where I met Bestie, my first Parisian Prince Charming who fed me frozen carrots while whispering into my ear “je te desire”. It was also in the decaying, unhygienic couloir of La Perle that I first spotted the Adonis-like beauty of Paul the Australian, proceeding to leave him my number on a piece of seaweed. Situated smack in the middle of Le Marais and about 100 meters from my house, La Perle is the international hub where one can go to on any given night to find a myriad of dirty hipsters who will invite you to visit them at their Airbnb rentals next door. (FYI, half of Marais is comprised of Airbnb rentals, particularly favored by American tourists who annoy the residents so much that I end up taking the blame for all of their sins merely for having the Yankee accent. Two eviction letters and counting, baby.)
For an alternative option with more seating and a slightly more progressive crowd, try Le Progrès (1 Rue de Bretagne, 75003). Don’t you love my puns?
Le Wood (1 Place Thorigny, 75003)
Situated around the corner from La Perle, this cute little hut of a bar popped up about a year ago, exciting the community by providing an alternative, more hygienic option for the consumption of shit wine. I used to hold all my Tinder screenings there, until the management started looking at me funny. (Turns out that you can be mistaken for a prostitute even in high-waisted mom jeans!) Le Wood is where I had my Tinder date with the #Murican sexual predator otherwise known as Incredible Hulk, and where my stinky bearded hipster date got asked beard grooming advice by his doppelgänger, promoting me to have a miniature nervous breakdown about the direction of my love life.
Belleville – La Bellevilloise (19-21 Rue Boyer, 75020)
Belleville is basically Paris’s answer to Bushwick, the once-ghetto that is becoming increasingly gentrified due to its popularity with stinky bearded hipster types (aka my peeps). Since I’m a creature of comfort and rarely venture up to the 20th Arrondissement, the only time I actually went here is for my dancing n’ grinding n’ cucumber shot downing session with Cyrano de Bergerac at the eponymous nightspot La Bellevilloise.
Canal St Martin – Chèz Prune (36 Rue Beaurepaire, 75010)
Canal St Martin is one of my favorite areas in Paris, oddly similar to LA’s Silver Lake in the sense that everybody here appears to be permanently stoned. Chèz Prune, the neighborhood’s landmark brasserie, has served as the background to many a date, starting with Paul the Adonis-like Australian, and ending with Jean Paul, the designer with a penchant for female butts and makeout sessions with his close guyfriends.
If you want to feel like you’re in Williamsburg, try Le Comptoir Général (80 Quai de Jemmapes, 75010). For an even more cost-efficient option, buy a bottle of alcohol and perch yourself by the river along with 50 percent of the city’s 15-30 demographic.
Gare du Nord (8 Rue de Dunkerque, 75010)
Otherwise known as the Escape Hub that allows you to board the Eurostar and flee to London on a moments notice. Once there, you can get yourself into a Jam Jam condom situation and return to Paris a newly traumatized woman!
Hotel Amour (8 Rue de Navarin, 75009)
Artsy place full of Caroline de Maigret wannabe types. While I can’t really accredit any blog posts to this particular spot, I do feel like plugging it in for its distinctly sexual connotation. Every room here has its own perverted little theme happening, while the downstairs garden always has a few (equally perverted) writers lingering around. Despite being more authentically Parisian that anything in Le Marais, the place still has an aspirational-international angle – as in, their menu has radishes.
Silencio (142 Rue Montmartre, 75002)
David Lynch’s underground members-only gazebo. At this point I have dated a good fifty percent of the members, which doesn’t prevent me from coming back to seek other other fifty percent in my spare time. While nothing particularly blog-worthy has taken place at Silencio, I did become tight with the DJ during my well-documented 27-th birthday breakdown. Oh, I also once got rejected from the door with JJ the Nerd, an occasion that I like to wipe out of my memory.
Le Baron (6 Avenue Marceau, 75008)
Pretty similar to its NYC outpost. For a vivid mental image of Le Baron, one must simply read my best friend’s post, in which she describes the general contingent as “a group of 30 and 40-something adult males ALL dressed in pajamas and beanie hats, stinking to high heaven of wretched BO left to fester days on end, without even the simple masking of cologne or deodorant.”
She’s harsh. But she’s right.
The Love Lock Bridge
Where I go to wish upon the stars!
Ha, gotcha. Frankly, I can’t wait for the thing to collapse under the weight of all that love.
L’Hôtel (13 Rue des Beaux Arts, 75006)
My safe haven. One of the most serene places in Paris, famous for being the last residence of Oscar Wilde. Unfortunately, my experiences here were once tampered with by the likes of JJ the Nerd, who spent two hours telling me about his innermost secrets while wiping his olive-stained fingers on my Acne jeans.
La Palette (43 rue Seine, 75006)
The place to go when looking for a quick Eurotrash fix. Everybody here has burgundy pants and shiny loafters and sweaters tied around their shoulders, looking like they just stepped off a PJ from Naples (by way of Capri) or Biarritz. Order a bottle of rosé and an assiète de charcuterie and let the doucheparade begin! La Palette is where I walked into one night to discovered a very prominent NYC doorman-turned-restauranteur in the middle of his midlife crisis, inspiring a whirlwind romance comprised of exactly three runs, until he finally ran away. (Insert little running man emoji with that little white puffball after.)
For a slightly more subdued alternative (frequented by me more often that I like to admit), try Café Flore (172 Boulevard Saint-Germain, 75006)
Le Montana (28 rue St Benoît, 75006)
Closed for renovation as all of Café Flore and La Palette mourns. One thousand square feet of inebriated happiness, where, during a successful fashion week, one may find themselves sharing the bathroom line (and possibly, other lines) with Kate Moss and Olivier Zahm. Personal memories involves going there with Abie-the-DJ-slash-old-lady-killer, who’s bearded mug could always be spotted in the DJ booth downstairs. I’m so hooked up.
C’est tout. You now know all the douchiest places in Paris, hence you are now set. Fly free, my birds! See you at La Perle.