The broken hearts of Paris club

Lessons I learned from heartbroken French men

Hello you!

Something a bit strange happened this summer. I had a slightly skewed Amelie moment when I became a matchmaker for broken Parisian couples.

Everyone thinks Paris is the city of love, but it’s more like the city of broken hearts. There’s nowhere better to be in love and there’s nowhere worse to be heartbroken. The loneliness is amplified by the beauty and romance that encases every corner. Throw in seeing a loved up French kissing couple by the Seine and you’re ready to break down in tears at any moment.

When I left Paris to go back to the UK for the summer I found myself single (again). The details are still too painful as well as irrelevant so I won’t go into them but in a desperate attempt to restore some self-esteem I downloaded a dating app. The worst possible road to take I know, or maybe not.

I didn’t want to choose the obvious option and cry to my girlfriends or my mother, bitch about men and swear off them forever. Instead, I wanted to get curious. I’d made a commitment to opening my heart back in June after a combination of more love drama and reading Bell Hook’s All About Love. I intended to keep my promise. Shutting men out was no longer the answer. I wanted to be surrounded by them. A first for me. I wanted to learn and understand.

These days I’m more acutely aware of what lies behind the seemingly glossy profiles thanks to a little dating experience in the field. I was in no way ready to date. I felt grateful to have enough self-awareness to know my true motivation was I wanted some male validation and I wanted a connection to Paris while I was away. Pen pals.

Just be honest I thought. See what happens.

We attract what we are. It’s a universal law. If you’re unavailable you’ll attract the unavailable. If you’re heartbroken you will attract the heartbroken. This is exactly what happened.