I’ve only had one celebrity encounter in my life—Lily Collins, Paris, adorable little café near the Seine river. Glamorous, right?
Well, not exactly. Long story short, Collins bumped into me while I was waiting in line for coffee, then apologized profusely. I turned to see who it was, not expecting a famous actress in the least. The appropriate response would have been oh, that’s alright! or don’t worry about it!, but words abandoned me, and I just stood there in shock. After a few seconds of silence, during which I just smiled awkwardly, she moved on and left me with a new embarrassing memory to relive when I’m trying to sleep.
That was the first time I saw Collins in Paris. The second was on my TV screen when the actress starred as the title character in Netflix’s “Emily in Paris.” If I’m honest, the experience wasn’t much better—and yet, I burned through all 10 episodes in two days.
“Emily in Paris” follows Chicago native Emily Cooper as she moves to Paris, tasked with contributing her American perspective to a French marketing firm. As she adjusts to the city, she faces a myriad of cultural, friendship, career and love life challenges.
The premise sounds interesting enough, so initially, I was intrigued. I’ve always loved French culture, and I’ve been a fan of Collins for a long time, not to mention the particular intrigue of seeing places I’ve visited on screen. Ever since my trip to France, I’ve found myself drawn to French-centric stories. There’s a curious familiarity in watching fiction play out in places where you’ve had real experiences.
While watching Emily in Paris, however, I began to find it offputting. That feeling quickly grew to annoyance, mostly directed at Emily herself. She’s a walking American stereotype—work-obsessed, narcissistic and ignorant of other cultures. Emily waltzes into Paris with little knowledge about the language or culture, expecting everyone to accommodate her. Surrounding her are more stereotypes and clichés, including some rude French people, inherently stylish French women and the idea that everyone is having an affair.
Overall, I found “Emily in Paris” predictable and soapy, and I was annoyed by just about everything the characters did. However, I couldn’t stop watching it. If it’s possible to enjoy and hate something at the same time, then that was my relationship with this show.
My experience had me thinking about the love/hate dynamic in entertainment. It’s not uncommon to hate-watch a show (it’s a thing, I googled it) purely for the pleasure derived from figuring out why the show is bad. It’s a kind of thought exercise, one in which you gain a sense of intellectual superiority. Then, you join a Twitter community of other hate-watchers and live-tweet your reactions together, returning to watch that thing you supposedly dislike week after week.
So, there has to be some crackle of appeal in the things we hate-watch, something to keep us hooked. In the case of “Emily in Paris,” Emily’s utopian existence particularly piqued my interest. The show sells a fantasy: move to Paris, land the perfect job, be amazingly successful, meet cool new friends, then fall in love. It’s unrealistic, but that’s what makes it so fun to buy into.
Weirdly enough, I do recommend giving “Emily in Paris” a watch. It’s kind of terrible, but I also kind of love it.
