Is My Husband Grumpy Because He's French Or Because He's A Scorpio?

Sweeping generalizations about both French and American men abound.

I made him wear a series of French-inspired Halloween costumes three years in a row and he still married me. What a trooper.

I didn’t know a thing about French guys until I saw Vincent Cassel in Ocean’s 12 in 2004 and was like “hmmm.” Later I visited France and realized that when French men encountered me they were also like “hmmm.” Then there was a French guy in my ballet class who I thought of as a friend until one day when he arrived late to class, slowly sauntered to the floor and said to the instructor “I’m here, you can start.” Hmmm. This asshole moment was the red flag I needed to move him from the friend zone to the romantic zone.

While I now had a rare Frenchasaur for my dating Poké Ball, I still didn’t actually know anything about his culture. It was very simple to attribute to France all of his personality traits that didn’t fit into what I knew of American dudes. This logic tended to work in his favor because, with all due affection and admiration, he has a stubborn streak, highlighted by contrariness, a propensity not to smile, and a compulsion to make people ill at ease just for the fun of it. I assumed that these elements essential to his personality must be *jUsT fReNcH tHiNgZ*. I would naively attribute many great qualities to him as an individual—his ability to cook and ski—when in fact, those were actually all grâce à la France.

Eventually we visited France together for the first time where he made the mistake of introducing me to all of his French school friends. There I was, at a dinner with a baker’s dozen French guys of the same age and education as my (then) boyfriend, creating a control group to which I could finally compare him against. It was then that I began to realize that my attribution model was broken.

Over the years I’ve slowly begun to evaluate which qualities are more universally French, which are just him being him, and which are actually true of anyone outside of the US where we swoon if a man knows that cargo shorts are verboten. This exercise is critical to our marriage as it helps me to know if I should blame him or the country of France when I’m angry at him. Here are some of my findings.

Yes I have his permission to write this. Yes I’m exaggerating about how grumpy he is, but only a little.

Cooking For Himself: Universal except for America

It really says something about LA dudes that I was so impressed by my husband’s ability to feed himself. Before we were dating, I saw him shopping at the Silver Lake Farmer’s Market while I was shopping at the Silver Lake Farmer’s Market and I was impressed that he was up early on a Saturday to shop at the Silver Lake Farmer’s Market even though I was also there early shopping at the Silver Lake Farmer’s Market. He did not see me at the Silver Lake Farmer’s Market, and this is how I knew that he wasn’t buying vegetables for clout; he didn’t even know that I knew that he knew how to buy vegetables.

Yes, American men can do the cooking task, but it’s rarely the invisible grunt work of the family kitchen. Instead, it’s always some spectacle to showcase their deep passion for capital “F” Food. I’ve come to realize that men around the world are able to cook for themselves and others as part of their daily existence, all with the economy and nonchalance of a woman doing the same. My husband was just being a normal human who needed to eat, but I hadn’t witnessed a man cook unless he was hungry for a pat on the back.

Not Playing (too many) Games: French

When I began dating my husband I was enough of a dating veteran to know that if an LA-based man’s mouth is moving, he’s lying. Okay, okay, that’s a mean oversimplification: it’s not technically lying because they do mean things when they say them. It’s just that soon after, they can mean something else just as vehemently. As soon as you’ve left the room, they might now be obsessed with their next directing project, sports team game, stonks, a new bbq place, the nearest person willing to give them attention. The best way to understand a man is to add “right now” to everything he says so that you don’t play yourself. I want to see you this weekend, right now. Right now, I respect that you’re so opinionated. I love you, right now.

So when my French ballet crush/boyfriend/husband seemed to keep liking me and acting on that like, I thought I was being pranked. What kind of non-game game was he playing at by making weekend plans well in advance? What kind of maniac asks me to catch up over dinner after we hadn’t seen each other in a few days? When I inquired as to whether he was seeing anyone else (something my friends taught me I had to ask in the “talking” stage), he raised a befuddled eyebrow and said of course not because he was seeing me.

It turns out that dating in French culture has very different rules than in major American cities. When you go on a few dates with someone, you are now seeing them exclusively. I’m sure they’ll play their own unique brand of games within that exclusive dating structure, but dancing around the “what are we?” question isn’t one of them.

This year he was a bottle of French wine even though he didn’t want to dress up or go to the Halloween party of even be out.

Contempt for fashion: Just Him

My husband once needed new pants. He asked me to help him get new pants. I said his wardrobe would benefit from a pair of black jeans. He said no way was he wearing black jeans like just another LA hipster. We argued about this for weeks until he tried on some damn black jeans and agreed that they suited him. It’s been like this for every article of clothing for 10 years. It has nothing to do with the French, this one is him all the way.

Wanting to watch the world burn: Scorpio

When I introduce my husband to a new person I always have to remind him to be “American nice.” This means not contradicting everything they say, and not providing awkwardly short responses that create awkwardly long silences. I agree with his antics on principle: yes, people need to be reminded to reconsider their assumptions and check their facts. Yes, conversations can become superficial if you fill silences with sweet, people-pleasing nothings. But can we save it all for like the second time we meet these friends?

Because the French are renowned for their unique brand of rudeness, I assumed his antipathy for friendliness was cultural. But French rudeness is different from my husband’s rudeness. If French rudeness does exist (I’m not saying it does, I’m saying if), it is more to do with being unhelpful and aloof. My husband’s rudeness is an antisocial zeal for watching people squirm…and also being aloof. He won’t dilute his highly concentrated bitter tea to make others comfortable, something I respect immensely until I have to bail out a conversation that he’s intentionally sinking in said tea. I therefore attribute this quirk to him being a Scorpio, the sign that is allergic to pretending to be something they’re not.

I’m still pretty proud of this French toast costume, but god how did he ever put up with me?

Being able to put up with my shit: Scorpio… and a little bit because he’s French

I won’t linger too long on astrology, but for those who know a teeny bit about it, it’s worth noting that I’m a Taurus (sorry and you’re welcome). He may be taciturn but I’m stubborn, obsessed with ambience, loyal to a fault, I frequently keep it too real, abhor a phony, talk shit for sport. Now who in all the world can deal with this well-decorated cocktail of drama and idealism? A French scorpio, that’s who.

His scorpio-ness makes him immune to anything I say because he was probably already thinking something even more mean (aka true). His Frenchness doesn’t mind my spikiness because women in France are not expected to be bubbly caretakers of men’s hearts like they are in America (thank you, French women).

Not wanting to go out: Him

Sadly, my husband’s contempt for fun is just a him thing. He’s retired from attending concerts, you’ll never see him at the wine bar after dark, if he has more than two drinks he’ll sneak away from the party and fall asleep. I once asked him if he wanted to go dancing at the throwback night at Spaceland and he said no. Just no. Given that the French love a spectacle, I attribute this quirk entirely to his own personality.

Having a ton of close friends: French

When we began dating, my husband seemed to have so many amazingly close friends who thought very highly of him. This was a huge green flag because if he could maintain that many close friendships, there must be a decent kind of human behind the scowl. But it turns out this is a French thing. I don’t know why, but it is a universally known truth that French folks make close friends in school at some point, declare one another best friends, and maintain that status for the rest of their lives. They will even refer to one another as best friends well into adulthood.

Taking forever to let new people in: French/Scorpio

Not in the door, into their hearts. Because French folks have so many ride-or-die level friends, they don’t really need any new ones. It’s not just because demand is low; they also don’t have interest in superficial friendships and chit chat. They only want the good stuff, which is hard to have with a stranger, so good luck making a French friend if you move to France.

I saw this in my husband and just thought he was misanthropic. He is, but also he’s just being French. He requires years of shared experiences, about 15 deep conversations, two long trips, and a physically taxing project like a hike or building something before he will esteem you as a friend. Scorpios are also nodding their heads because they’re like this as well.

Incapable of Excitement: French

A friend recently posed a good question: is there even a way to say you’re excited in French? Not really. If you try the most obvious option, “exciter,” you’re going to get some grins because that usually means sexually excited.

With few exceptions, the French are just less excitable than Americans. Everyone might be less excitable than the Americans, but I married a French guy so let’s stick with them. One must remain blasé in the hexagon; being overly effusive is embarrassing. You don’t over-compliment, you don’t have favorites, and you don’t get excited about the Olympics. I don’t think the French are born this way; from baby photos of my husband, I know that he is capable of glee. But after years of holding it in, he’s forgotten how to be dumb with joy unless it’s taco night. It’s kind of sad, to be honest, but it also speaks to how good my birria tacos are.

Food Snob: French

I used to think my husband was being a total jerk when he wouldn’t eat the cheese and bread I’d buy for our picnics. He’d force a tiny smile and say “thanks” and then just not eat any of the cheese I had procured specifically because I thought it was the food of his people. Then we moved to France and I understood. I don’t want to be a downer but American cheese, bread, dairy, most produce—it’s all kinda bland. I blame Monsanto and big grocery.

Verdict

Why do all of these categorizations matter, you may ask (if you’re still reading). Well, if you make the difficult decision to begin a family project with someone from another country, it ain’t all cheese and dual citizenships. You are also marrying a culture that will always be there, causing space and confusion and miscommunications in your partnership.

If you trace the origin of any argument or difference of opinion, like the utility of ceiling fans, it will be due to your differences in culture. It takes years to learn to pause, remember this, and chuckle instead of just launching into a tirade about why your husband is wrong, ceiling fans are glorious and should be left on at all times. You’re not in fact mad at him, you’re mad at France, which is better for the marriage.