Déodorant

Somehow, despite having lived in France for 4 and a half years (admittedly not consecutively), I have avoided up till now purchasing and using French deodorant. And no, I wasn’t just not wearing it! Somehow the deodorants that I’ve brought with me were enough to last.

I use solid deodorant, and I really made my last stick count. I was stabbing the weird plastic-y part at the end with a q-tip to ensure I got every last bit of use out of it. But, one can only put off the inevitable for so long, and so I ventured forth on the search for French deodorant.

Why was I going to such lengths to avoid French deodorant? Well, I have never seen deodorant in a solid form over here. They tend to prefer aerosols where you spray particles under your arms, or liquids.

Granted, I haven't done an extensive search, but as part of my on going quest to integrate into French culture, I decided to branch out.

While I know some of my fellow Americans use liquid deodorant, I never have. So faced with the unknown and my limited number of options, I went for something my compatriots use: liquid deodorant.


I hate it.

It’s wet. It stays wet. It takes eons to dry. If I’m running late and don’t give myself enough time to dry off, the underarms of my clothes get wet.

It’s cold, and I’m already cold in the mornings.

It’s slimy, and after application my underarms remind me more of frog skin than human skin.


My liquid déodorant, aka early morning torture.
I’m just glad I bought a travel size bottle.

However, my travel size solid deodorant lasted me 6 months... Looks like I’ll have to deal with cold, wet, slimy underarms for a while to come yet.

Update: thanks to my awesome readers, I was able to find solid déo!

Les Lascars

At the beginning of my time here, I felt like I had two very different personalities, my American one and my French one. My French personality was shy, and I am definitely not shy.

I am outgoing, friendly and confident. I am pretty much all up in your face with my opinions.

But something about not being able to speak the language as well as I would’ve liked changed me in ways I didn’t like. I didn’t say anything when I saw people littering. I didn’t speak up when I heard people make sexist or racist or anti-gay comments.

I lost a little bit of myself in trying to make new French friends and speak French well and be French.

Back in March, FBF and I were walking home from a house party in Lille. It was late, around 3am, and we took rue Solferino, the main bar and club street, on our way back to my studio.

I saw a girl crying, surrounded by 5 guys, 4 of whom were dressed in France’s version of gangster attire: colorful sporting shoes, puffy jackets, and hoodies.

At first I kept on walking, even though in the US I would never have allowed that to happen. I would have made sure the girl was okay. I realized this and I made a decision.

I wasn’t going to let my inability to speak French perfectly let this girl be taken advantage of by a bunch of up-to-no-good guys.

I turned around, walked right up to the group of them, looked at the girl, and said, “ça va?” (Are you okay?)

She kept on crying while one of the gangsters replied, “oui ça va, pourquoi ça va pas? On fait rien.” (She’s fine, why wouldn’t she be? We’re not doing anything.)

So I looked him in the eyes and I said, “je vois une fille qui pleure avec 5 mecs autour d’elle et je veux être sûre que ça va.” (I see a girl who’s crying with five guys around her and I just want to be sure she’s okay)

They immediately started back pedaling. “On fait rien. Allez, appellez les policiers! On fait rien du tout!” (We’re not doing anything. Feel free to call the cops! We’re not doing anything wrong).

Although they claimed to be doing nothing wrong, after my intervention, they decided that their time would be best spent elsewhere. After a minute there was just one guy with the girl, and he wasn’t dressed in gangster clothes. He seemed to be the friend who was comforting her. I asked a final, “ça va?” and the girl nodded her head.

Having done my part to make sure everything was okay, I walked away feeling better about my life here. I hadn’t let my limited language skills inhibit me from doing what was right.

Although my American personality has been shining through in my French life more and more as time passes, this final test really cemented it in my mind.

I could be both.

Of course living abroad changes you and presents you with challenges you could never have dreamt up if you had chosen to live at home, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have the best of both worlds. I can speak French, eat cheese, and still stand up for what I believe is right by approaching random gangster looking guys to make sure a fellow woman isn’t being taken advantage of.

I can still be American Laura, even when I’m speaking French.

Les Ennuis Des Femmes (Women's Troubles)

When I studied abroad in Paris for Fall ’07, I was warned that in France the tampons do not have applicators. Being afraid of sticking an uncomfortably dry tampon up my vagina with no aid of a nice plastic casing, I brought along my own 4-month supply of American tampons.

Then the inevitable happened. I don’t know if Shark Week came early, or I just forgot to put tampons in my bag, but suddenly I was caught in a situation I was not prepared for. I was out with some friends when I realized I needed a tampon, and STAT.

We took a detour to the nearest MonoPrix (a grocery store) and found the appropriate rayon (aisle). This was my first time in this rayon in France, and to my surprise I found tampons with applicators! I bought the tiniest box of generic MonoPrix brand tampons available, and while they were far from ideal, I made an important discovery: Tampons with applicators existed in France!

When I moved out here in Fall ’09, I decided to leave my trusty American tampons at home and use that valuable suitcase space for shoes instead. If applicator tampons existed in generic brands, clearly the France-doesn’t-have-applicators rumor was a lie, and I’d be able to find usable tampons in Lille.

I now regret this decision. Back in the states, I use Playtex Gentle Glide tampons. They fit me perfectly! The applicator is plastic and it goes in smooth. The size is the perfect size for my vagina. Everything is wonderful in tamponland.

Unfortunately, this brand does not exist in France, and so far none of the French brands have been up to snuff. They are either too big, or I have trouble with the applicator. I still use these French brands, but am I totally comfortable down there? No sir. That “time of the month” is uncomfortable enough as it is even with the perfect tampon! Oh Playtex Gentle Glide, how I miss thee!

Although a lot of me has adapted and become more French as time passes, my vagina remains stubbornly American.