Window-Licking Keeps Me Ticking
A jolt of Frenchness from the simple act of walking around town
Shopping makes me happy. This is not news. I love to look at things. I also like to buy them: Clothes-type things. Shoe things. Tableware things. Jewelry things. I inherited this interest from my mother.
Recently, though, I realized that, even when I don’t buy anything, shopping in France has an impact on my mental health that goes well beyond what I experienced in the US. There’s always that initial quiver when you find something, pay for it and introduce it to its friends in your closet. Even with the double hit of dopamine provided by online shopping (purchase and delivery), the glow tends to fade pretty quickly. Before France, shopping was not much more than that: a happy time that sometimes came with a special parting gift.
I’ve already gushed to you about our fabulous Saturday marché. I’ve talked about how confounding and exciting it is to navigate the social and cultural nuances of shopping in a different country. I’ve explained how collecting loose ties with shop owners and vendors has helped me feel almost – almost – like I have a lot of friends.
That’s all great, but it’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about using the mere ritual of shopping to find joy and belonging.
I walk 15 minutes into center city, stroll along our stunning commercial district, pop in and out of little boutiques, maybe stop for a Chai Latte or decaf noisette, drop into the health-food store to grind my own peanut butter, look at a wooly pair of socks, smell some candles, think about maybe buying another tube of face cream but then get real intimidated by the high-end face cream boutique and decide I don’t need face cream anyway.
All this reminds me that I live in France! France, Europe. It also reminds me why I live here. I don’t live here merely because of the shopping. (The cheese has some sway, too). I live here for all the lifestyle pleasures and differences and, yes, even for the frustrations.
When I don’t get out and walk through the city, I miss out on that jolt of I-live-in-France-ness. I worry about losing the mojo. If it’s been a couple days of just staying home, doing laundry and running out to the local supermarket for toilet paper, it feels a bit too commonplace. I never want the normal, everyday stuff to dampen the thrill. I don’t want to lose the wonder of walking down an ancient street of half-timbered houses, eavesdropping on a French conversation or sharing a laugh with a stranger. A French stranger.
I especially don’t want to lose the magic that is shopping in France.
I’m not alone in my desire to make shopping a new career. Even window shopping is a sanctified pastime in France. Witness their expression for the activity: Faire du leche-vitrine. Lick the windows. Not just peer into the windows or gaze at them, or even ogle them. No. Lick them. Sunday, when all the stores are closed, is an especially good day to flâner into the center of Rennes to lick some shop windows. I see families - sometimes three generations - strolling together to peek in the shops on Sundays.
Once I recognized the attitude adjustment I get from licking a few windows, I pledged to stroll through the shopping district several times a week. There are “things” going on in the world that I’d like to take my mind off, but - more importantly - I want to put my mind firmly somewhere better. I want to see all the other happy shoppers, pop into a few stores I never noticed before, try on a cool pair of sunglasses. I don’t even have to buy anything, I swear. (Don edits my blogs so I’m sticking with the whole no-buying thing for now.)
The timing of my shopping pledge is perfect: France is in the midst of one of its twice yearly, government-regulated sales! Not that I have to buy anything. . .
Teresa, thank you so much for this wonderful reminder. I am in France! I am in Europe! This experience is not just about my to do lists for my carte de séjour, finding the best dish soap or a doctor! I've gotten really bogged down and a bit depressed with all the genuine slogging of every day life as a relative newcomer.
I have forgotten to be appreciative.
To be curious.
To really look around and take in this fantastic choice I have made. For myself!
The joy you brought to this post is so heartwarming and healing. It was absolutely exactly what I needed and will continue to need.
Thank you.
With great appreciation and love,
Ahulani
The hunter-gatherer instinct is baked into us. My spouse and daughter live by the creed: veni, vidi, emi. I came, I saw, I bought. It may be their way of getting rid of me for a day, as I am not a welcoming participant.
I was afflicted with this for years, but only when it came to items with engines and wheels: cars and motorcycles, along with the occasional tractor. I prowled the streets, back yards, barns, garages, enjoying every minute. I've owned well over 300 specimens.
Now I'm renting a daily driving device and have a classic Jaguar in the garage. But one can still look, can't one? Though licking windows is looked on with suspicion.