Parisian stone apartment with mansard roof, dormer windows and iron balcony with flowering plants against pale sky
CITY GUIDE

PARIS

A city shaped by elegance and indifference

Words by Isha Mehmood.

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Window view of ornate mansard roofs and dormer windows

Paris at dusk: a rooftop view of classic architecture and soft evening skies.

To love Paris is to accept a certain level of indifference in return. 

I mean that in every sense: nasal, unbothered, philosophically committed to refusal. It is a city unafraid to show its emotions; so assured of its beauty, it feels no need to be kind. 

The elegance goes without saying. Wrought iron balconies bloom with red geraniums; a baguette spills from a bicycle basket; a picnic by the Canal or apéro en terrasse, regardless of the season. It sounds cliché, but it’s true. The city is so enchanting it slows time. Or maybe that’s just the French: a culture that treats leisure not as indulgence, but as a principle. Meals are never rushed, and nothing is overextended unless absolutely necessary—and even then, reluctantly.

There’s a particular charm to this stubbornness. A waiter will flatly say non if you ask for coffee with, instead of after, dessert. A taxi driver will refuse your fare if it’s not on his way home, and then shrug as if to say, Mais enfin, what did you expect?

These are people who plan a mass defecation in the Seine to protest Olympic spending, who shut down the city over the thought of retiring at 64 instead of 62, who celebrate a Champions League win by setting their own streets on fire—not from rage, but ecstasy. Rousseau said authority stems from the consent of the governed. Parisians will remind you society only functions because they agree to play along.

I’ve been to Paris so many times it’s become a sort of second home. I first visited as a tourist, then moved there as a law student, and later returned, as a woman in love. I came to see a man I’d met in France, then another who returned to it, and later, accompanied by one born there. Eventually, I returned with the Frenchman I’d met in New York and would go on to marry (in Paris). It’s a city (and demographic) I kept insisting I was done with and somehow found myself becoming more and more bound to with time.

French flag hanging between blue shipping container offices and a weathered building

Classic Paris alley: French flags fluttering over stone walls and lively blue stalls.

My favorite part of Paris—or France, for that matter—is not historically French at all. As a Muslim woman of mixed heritage, I am drawn to complexity: the kinds of stories that can’t be pulled apart cleanly, that exist only because of their entangled, multilayered past. At its peak, France colonized approximately 84 countries, second only to the British Empire (13 of those remain as overseas departments and territories). Modern France exists because of this colonial legacy—culturally, economically, gastronomically.

And yet.

And yet, the country’s most vocal political movement is a far-right party that campaigns on anti-Muslim, anti-immigrant rhetoric. It overlooks—or willfully denies—the immeasurable contributions of postcolonial communities to its culture. This tension isn’t unique to France, of course, but here, it feels especially personal.

For those who choose to see it, immigrant Paris is everywhere. Tunisian grocers in the 18th arrondissement. Senegalese street vendors near the Eiffel Tower. Vietnamese temples in the 13th. Kurdish kebabs in Saint-Germain. Cameroonian hairdressers near Château d’Eau. Syrian bakeries on side streets. The list goes on. 

In the run-up to the Olympics, some Parisians questioned whether Aya Nakamura—born in Mali, raised in the Parisian banlieues, the most-streamed Francophone artist in the world—was the right choice for the opening ceremony. She embodies contemporary Paris, which is precisely why, for some, she represents a challenge to French identity and language. The debate raised an urgent question: What does it mean to be French today? And whose Paris is it, anyway, if not for those who grew up on its streets and persevered despite its rejection? 

My husband grew up in the same department as Nakamura—the quatre-vingt-treize (93). In French media, it's often reduced to a breeding ground for poverty, crime, and radical Islam. But having been there many times, I can tell you: it's simply a borough. One of bakeries and barbershops, of children playing, of parents practicing the art of flânerie, aimlessly wandering in streetwear or traditional clothes.

If I may recommend a film before visiting Paris, it’s Les Misérables. Not the Victor Hugo story, but Ladj Ly’s 2019 film that won the Cannes Jury Prize. Set in the modern-day banlieues, it offers a glimpse of another Paris: one that is fully French, but complicated by far more than its reputation suggests. 

These recommendations focus on central Paris, but they aim to reflect a broader, richer truth: a city layered with history, diversity, and complexity. So enjoy it, as you wish. Or better yet, like a Parisian: on your own terms.

Classical sculpture fragments in a dark studio, including a white armless torso on a crate

Plaster torsos and busts in a dim, timeworn atelier.

Before You Go:

  • Paris isn’t designed around children and it doesn’t try to be. Its rhythm favors adult convenience: long lunches, narrow staircases, unsentimental sidewalks. But with flexibility, it can still be surprisingly fun with young children.

  • Service is never rushed. Waitstaff are salaried, not tip-reliant, so you’ll rarely be hurried (or fussed over).

  • Sidewalks are slim and uneven. Bring a carrier for the métro and museums (elevators are rare and strollers often restricted). A compact stroller handles cobblestones and café corners best.

  • Restaurant hours don’t always align with family schedules. Many places close between lunch and dinner. We’ve highlighted spots with continuous service or earlier seating.

  • Outdoor smoking is common, especially on terraces. A new national ban covers beaches, parks, and school zones, but cafés remain exempt so choose tables accordingly.

  • For a day trip, Giverny offers stroller-friendly paths through Monet’s gardens.

  • A handful of new play cafés offer rare freedom: coffee for you, space to roam for them.

  • And lastly: don’t fear a little non. Parisians are direct but unbothered. Warmth isn’t guaranteed, but when it comes, it feels earned.

OUR GUIDE

EDITOR’S PICKS

Morning: Cardamom bun & play at Maison Fika.
Afternoon: Place des Vosges.
For a rainy day: Storytime at Ludothèque de Paris or a stroll through Petit Palais.
For design inspiration: Merci and Centre Commercial Kids.
For a family meal: Breizh Café in the Marais.

STORIES FOR THE ROAD

This book link is an affiliate link.

For kids:

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint‑Exupéry: A poetic and gently philosophical tale of a little prince and his journey across planets. (Ages 6+; illustrated picture book 3+). English edition. Illustrated picture book.

Le Petit Nicolas (Nicholas) by René Goscinny & Jean-Jacques Sempé: A collection of whimsical adventures and misadventures of French childhood. (Ages 9+). English edition.

For parents:

Les Misérables (2019), directed by Ladj Ly: A gripping, contemporary portrait of Paris’s banlieues that examines justice, youth, and community in modern France. Watch on Prime Video.

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