In 2017, I quit my job as a paralegal, packed up my life in England, and bought a one-way ticket to Paris.
The new chapter was full of surprises, and though most of them were positive, I was in for some unexpected challenges in those early months — from navigating the notoriously tricky French bureaucracies (and supremely unhelpful bureaucrats operating them), to the weird and wonderful world of the Parisian soirée.
However, the strongest culture shocks came in the workplace, and even now, after eight years in France, I still find aspects of French office culture surprising.
Adjusting to French social norms was harder than expected
Jodie Hughes
Getting to grips with office etiquette was my first major challenge — and the most urgent to overcome. I was starting a completely new role, in a completely new company, barely three days after arriving in France.
My title was still paralegal, but even there, my remit couldn’t have been more different. To say I had a steep learning curve ahead of me would be an almighty understatement.
I had, at least, anticipated some difficulty addressing people correctly, but that didn’t make my (frequent) blunders any less embarrassing.
In French, there are certain words for “you” and different versions of verbs depending on the level of politeness/deference needed. The rules around who you “tu” and who you “vous” feel nebulous at best — and a total minefield for a (foreign) new recruit.
Meanwhile, social norms I wasn’t expecting included greeting everyone who joins you in an elevator, and then wishing them a good day/evening when they/you leave. (People do this in medical waiting rooms here, too. I still haven’t gotten used to it.)
In England, people mostly awkwardly avoid eye contact at all costs in these situations. And if you do accidentally acknowledge someone else’s existence, at the very most, you offer them a tight (also awkward) smile.
You absolutely do not, under any circumstances, talk to them.
Mealtimes are sacred here, and I couldn’t believe the food — or bubbly — on offer in my office
Jodie Hughes
It didn’t take me long to realize just how seriously the French take enjoying the enjoyment of mealtimes.
Even my office cafeteria felt like a foodie’s dream with a rotating menu of things like duck, salmon, and paella; desserts hand-crafted by a professional pastry chef; fresh bread from the local boulangerie; and literal mounds of cheese
My lunches were so heavily subsidised by my employer that, unless I wanted a three-course meal or a glass of wine (a girl’s got to treat herself occasionally), they were almost always free.
And, yes, it’s apparently perfectly acceptable to have an alcoholic drink in the middle of the workday in France.
I also quickly learned that mealtimes, like baguettes, are sacred in this country, both for socializing and for savoring.
It’s frowned on to eat at your desk, scarfing down a sandwich while you work (I’m looking at you, England). Here, you sit down around a table, and you enjoy your food.
Accordingly, a two-hour lunch break is also customary; The French are often baffled as to what you’re supposed to do with “only” an hour.
My colleagues use their breaks to take or teach classes, exercise, or enjoy a leisurely meal in a restaurant — none of which had ever been possible with the 30 to 60 minutes I’d grown used to back home.
Remember how I said it was acceptable to have a drink with lunch?
Apparently, it’s also acceptable to have a drink before lunch, after lunch, and at essentially any time of the day, if there’s even the smallest occasion to celebrate.
I was served more champagne in my first two months in the office than I had been, cumulatively, in my entire life until that point.
One time, several bottles were opened for a colleague’s going-away breakfast at 11:30 a.m. It was tough going, but I adapted to this particular culture shock as uncomplainingly as I could …
My new vacation allowance changed my life
Jodie Hughes
Another early discovery was that work-life balance is everything in France.
The culture of competition I’d experienced in England — the peculiar bragging over who was arriving at the office earliest and leaving latest (read: burning out fastest) — was completely absent.
Leisure time feels ferociously protected here, to the extent that employees legally have the “right to disconnect” (ignore job-related calls and emails outside work hours) and the French are not shy about enforcing their rights.
Additionally, when I was informed of my vacation allowance, I was sure I must have mistranslated something: I had over five weeks of annual leave in my first year, and that’s not including the 11 public holidays.
In France, workers are generally required to take at least two consecutive weeks’ vacation. These breaks often falls between July and August, and swaths of employees disappear for an entire month.
It’s quite a contrast to the situation I’d left behind in England, where taking two weeks’ vacation in a row was considered a real extravagance. This is perhaps unsurprising, given I was never entitled to more than four weeks total annual leave.
That means everything pretty much grinds to a halt in the summer — pretty inconvenient when you’re in the middle of a project and all your colleagues are OOO until September.
But it also opened my eyes to just how life-changing that kind of balance can be, and has been one of the most incredible parts of relocating to France.
Adapting to such starkly different workplace norms from the ones I’d known in England has been a real roller-coaster ride — but there have definitely been plenty more ups than downs.
Ultimately, the experience has been as enjoyable as it has been surprising. Champagne, anyone?
