The outskirts of Paris continue to burn in the wake of another grotesque (but sadly, not unfathomable) instance of police brutality. And this on the heels of Paris itself already burning after the nonstop protests against Macron raising the retirement age from sixty-two years old to sixty-four years old as a result of invoking the notorious article 49.3 of the French constitution, which allows the president to enact a law without a vote from parliament. A parliament that would have surely caused, at the bare minimum, a deadlock on any such vote—with the ideological divide between left and right being pretty much the same in any country. And yet, as far as Taylor Swift and Lana Del Rey are concerned, “Paris” still signifies nothing but romance and (false) idealization. Even if both women are referring to two entirely different Parises altogether. Just as, depending on your skin tone, two versions of Paris exist.
It would be nice to say that one of the chanteuses is actually referring to the “real” Paris—that is, the one where a police officer will shoot a teen of North African (a.k.a. Arab) descent named Nahel Merzouk while he’s pulled over for a traffic violation. Of course, many people won’t count Nanterre as part of Paris or its long-standing racism. But to exclude the “suburbs” of Paris from considering what the city “means” is an all-too-common mistake. One that allows romanticism to persist in the face of blatantly ignoring that Paris is no Disneyland (despite being home to Euro Disney a.k.a. Disneyland Paris…appropriately enough, also located in the city’s outskirts).
Nonetheless, Swift is the first to equate “Paris” with some sort of fantasy realm where reality can be avoided. Her “reality” consisting of constantly being stalked by fans and paparazzi alike as they dissect her every move and relationship. So it is that she chirps of imagining herself somewhere else with her man, “I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris/Like we were somewhere else/Like we were in Paris, oh.” Her wistful intonation and delivery builds on the enduring lore that Paris is a place one escapes to (as opposed to being a place one wants to escapes from). That it is an emblem of freedom, endless possibility, etc. Something that a girl like “Tay Tay” would certainly do nothing to discourage. For her entire oeuvre favors only melodrama as opposed to actual drama—a true crisis. Such as the one that has existed within the justice system since time immemorial.
Perhaps because Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” isn’t about the Paris, it gives way more willingly to something like realism (even if still drenched in its own kind of faux plaintiveness). Complete with Del Rey admitting that, “When you know, you know/It’s time, it’s time to go” after already painting the picture, “I went to Paris (Texas)/With a suitcase in my hand/I had to leave/Knew they wouldn’t understand.” And who (but those of Nahel’s skin tone) could possibly understand ever wanting to leave Paris? Least of all Swift, who wants a “privacy sign on the door”—likely at Le Crillon or Le Meurice, both of which she’s stayed at during her numerous stints in the City of Light. This being one of her many “evocative” descriptions in “Paris,” along with how “romance is not dead if you keep it just yours/Levitate above all the messes made.”
One such “mess” (to use understatement) being the wrath incurred by those who will not stand for what happened to Nahel or any number of men and women of color who this has happened to or will happen to. That wrath has spread over days of unrest, consisting of burning cars, buildings (mostly those harboring French bureaucratic institutions) and trash, and clashing with police as general mayhem is incited in response to the unapologetic blatancy with which systemic racism continues to flourish. And it’s of a variety that does not permit those of a non-white skin tone to romanticize Paris (or its “outlying” areas) in any way, shape or form. Meanwhile, Swift can happily prattle on, “I’m so in love that I might stop breathing [people of color instead “might” stop breathing because a police officer has shot or choked them]/Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling/No, I didn’t see the news/‘Cause we were somewhere else.” Not just physically, but mentally—with that statement about not seeing the news being a sign of white privilege. Because, to be sure, unless a rich white person sees something “untoward” happening directly in their periphery, they’re not likely to notice anything other than the status quo—because they damn sure ain’t botherin’ with the news.
As for Del Rey, her Paris is located in a (theoretically) more racist locale: Texas. Lacking the shine and glitz of the more famous city in France, this small town in Northeastern Texas still has the same racist “philosophies” (so frequently put into practice) that people are seeing come to greater light in the French Paris at this moment. Although it’s long been there, with similar riotous crests after the deaths or aggravated assaults of other Black and/or Arab men (including Amine Bentounsi, Théo Luhaka, Cédric Chouviat and Adama Traoré), the “magic” of France so often causes outsiders to have blinders to the unbridled reality that it is a country with as much racism as the next (often because of a history rooted in colonialism). And, at this instant, it’s not looking so different in that regard from Paris, Texas. Site of numerous violent race relations incidents over the centuries, and, thus, fittingly known for being the location where a lynching was photographed for the first time (with the victim in question being Henry Smith). In this regard, Del Rey’s “Paris” serves as a foil to Swift’s that grounds the French one in reality. A reality that’s not manifest whatsoever in Swiftian lyrics such as, “Stumbled down pretend alleyways/Cheap wine, make believe it’s champagne/I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris, oh.”
As if such twee fantasies weren’t enough, Swift continues, “I wanna brainwash you/Into loving me forever/I wanna transport you/To somewhere the culture’s clever/Confess my truth/In swooping, sloping, cursive letters/Let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight/In my mind.” The “tower” she’s referring to, of course, could be none other than the Eiffel, with its signature flashing lights. And especially its rotating light ray at the top that not only mimics the lighthouse effect, but also the spotlight effect that occurs when a prison break happens. Needless to say, at this juncture, France feels like a prison many people (of color) want to escape from in terms of having none of the same freedoms as those of a certain “look” and class. In short, there is no “liberté, égalité, fraternité” for those who are a “high-risk” color in the eyes of the Establishment—which is, sadly, best embodied by police forces (in France and throughout the world).
When Swift wraps up her song with the lines, “‘Cause we were in Paris/Yes, we were somewhere else/My love, we were in Paris,” she reminds that the so-called whites of Paris are, in fact, somewhere else. In a dimension alternate from the one where somebody such as Nahel lives (or rather, lived). And while the concluding lyrics to Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” might pertain to always going with your gut and taking a risk on making a mistake (something most people of color don’t have the luxury of doing…whether in general or vis-à-vis choosing a place to briefly “settle down”), within the context of amoral and immoral police brutality, it sounds positively eerie to hear: “When you’re right, you’re right/Even when you’re wrong.”
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