I’ll admit, when I decided to write a column from abroad, I thought it would be a unique opportunity to report on international perspectives. Worldwide, opinions toward the United States have changed dramatically since Obama’s inauguration. The Whitman study abroad office and the several books on French culture that I read to prepare myself all advised me to be well-informed on U.S. foreign and domestic policy, since the French would be sure to see me as an expert in my country’s government. I anticipated long discussions analyzing U.S. politics and history from a European perspective. However, my host family doesn’t seem to be interested in my opinion about anything but food, and the only time politics have been mentioned was when an extremely drunk Brit alternated between yelling that the American people were responsible for millions of deaths and pretending he supported Bush because it was “ironic.”

So I was forced to turn my attention elsewhere to find an evocative subject for intercultural discussion. When most Americans think about the French, a wealth of stereotypes surface. The French are cold, unfriendly and uninviting; they’re sex-obsessed, argumentative and have no sense of common decency. French people see Americans as greedy, naïve and prudish. There are some truths behind these stereotypes: I’ve come to the conclusion that most of them arise from very different definitions of public and private spheres.

When the United States was in uproar over the Clinton-Lewinsky affair, the French scoffed. It was childish, they said, for a nation to be outraged over one man’s personal choices. In France, romance and sex aren’t secrets. The cliché of Paris as the city of love is not without basis. On the second day of orientation, one of my advisors told me that in France, there are no “PDA rules.” Of course, by then I’d already sat across from a young man on the metro who nuzzled his girlfriend’s ear all the way from Argentine to Châtelet. Everywhere you go in Paris, people are kissing: regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation or degree of publicity.

For me, this took a lot of getting used to. I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t even like holding hands in public. Unexpected physical contact, even if it’s totally innocent, makes me jump. I’ve yelled, “Get a room!” my fair share of times. I don’t see it as being unromantic, but merely respectful. Who really wants to see that?

However, long metro rides face to face with necking couples has given me plenty of opportunities to rethink this stance. I don’t think I’m the only one here, either: Why are Americans, as a society, trained to reject actions that prove their affections? Our culture is obsessed with sex and marriage –– from a certain age, we’re surrounded with images and slogans meant to jumpstart our biological clocks. Every TV show, every movie, your parents, your friends, your magazines: all the same messages. Have sex, get married, have kids. In whatever order you prefer. So why are the manifestations of these occurrences, the success of all these messages, kept so hidden?

French people also don’t disguise their emotions. I don’t know how many times I’ve been told this: when in France, don’t smile at strangers. Smiles for no reason are interpreted as insincere and unwarranted. Why would you smile at someone you don’t know? Last night, I came home to find my host parents in the middle of an argument. I was extremely uncomfortable; they didn’t seem to mind at all. Argument and criticism are interesting for the French. They’re subjective. Mutual agreement or compromise is not the goal. It would be so boring if everyone agreed. Americans want to make people comfortable: they save the nasty scenes for the privacy of their own homes. Criticizing your significant other in public won’t make you look cleverly cutting –– it’ll make you look like a bitch. The French say: Don’t you ever get tired of pretending that everything’s fine, even when it’s not?

So after two weeks in Paris, I’m not sure which philosophy I agree with: the one I’m living in or the one I’ve grown up with. It’s more interesting that way.