I’m sure you’ve heard of this book. It made quite a wave in the stagnant pool of nonfiction bestsellers a few years ago, a list typically populated by weight loss guides and over-hyped memoirs. Yet to this day, I still harbor nonfuzzy feelings towards the tome in question. I would characterize my distaste as mild hatred spiced with a lasting residue of bitter resentment (yes, it is that specific). I especially hate that they’ve now managed to squeeze some sort of diet program out of this ridiculous manual.
Seriously?
First of all, a commercial diet program is only worth it if you’re a willpower-deprived type that gets motivated by the fear of being bitch-slapped by an authority figure. But sadly, this book and the demon spawn diet plan that it spewed forth can really just be simplified to the following: eat less, exercise more, avoid fast food.
The book’s logic is childishly simple, yet excessively romantic. Waxing poetic like some feel-good WE channel movie on steroids aimed at young, men-hating divorcees, it side steps real issues and goes for the delusional gold. Think of advice like … “Smart women don’t hate men. They approach their relationships with men respectfully and responsibly because before you can remedy your problems with men, you must first understand yourself.”
Replace “men” with “food” and you basically have the book’s main message. Its logic is that French women don’t treat food as an enemy but instead consider it as something to be appreciated and enjoyed, though with sensibility. So basically, an Oprah’s Book Club makeover of stuff you already knew.
But I beg to differ. Because if grandiose generalizations like “French women” are going to be thrown around like nobody’s business, then you might as well offer some REAL reasons. So here are some reasons why I think French women don’t get fat, free of charge and free of coddling doubletalk:
- French women don’t spend the bulk of their waking hours in always-thirsty SUV’s. They use public transportation and they use their legs. This is because fuel = expen$$ive unless you’re willing to shell out some vital organs (Though I guess the amount of weight lost via organ harvesting might offset any you gain through a sedimentary lifestyle).
- In France, lunch is the biggest meal of the day. Thus, more time to work off the calories with a smaller chance of gorging at dinner.
- People in France don’t usually snack. Snacking is something that children do in the afternoon when school lets out.
- Though gradually inundating the culture (Child obesity in France is on the rise), fast food is not always widely embraced. Americanization, cultural hegemony, blah blah blah.
- Smaller portions. Good luck finding a soft drink cup that exceeds two hand spans such as the following, from Texas:
- Yes, French women aren’t fat, but neither are they the emaciated Victoria Beckham types that all American dieters strive to become. They are just people who look proportional and couldn’t care less about you.
The answer lies in cultural differences and circumstance, not in some hush-hush regimen passed down the ages through the Celtic Gauls. They might as well have written a book called, “Blind People Can’t See” or “New Yorkers Love New York.”
And that my friends, has been bottled up inside of me for two years. Doesn’t it make you wonder what other secrets lurk in the icebox where my heart used to be?
My efforts towards self-refinement tend to end badly so I don’t know why I thought this one would end differently. If there was a culprit, it would be my family’s diligent weekly pilgrimage to Costco (it’s like clockwork), which makes picking up a random bottle of wine so easy as you casually make your way from house wares to raw meat. I usually can’t resist reading at least two descriptive labels, but it only takes two for the Lush effect* to completely incapacitate my common sense while cajoling me with a sweet lullaby of “buyyyy meeee!” (*The Lush effect is a heinous consequence of entering any Lush store whereupon one is assaulted with yummy phrases like “hint of honey” or “splash of peach” that conjure pleasant imagery for all senses … mmmm so good).
