Learn French

My first “serious” French job interview was in a tiny Paris office above a bakery. I spent the whole morning rehearsing impressive sentences, and then the manager asked: Vous connaissez le chiffre d’affaires de votre dernière entreprise ? /vu kɔ.nɛ.se lə ʃifʁ da.fɛʁ də vɔtʁ dəʁ.njɛʁ ɑ̃.tʁə.priz/ I caught entreprise /ɑ̃.tʁə.priz/ — company — and […]

The first time I tried to say écureuil /e.ky.ʁœj/ — squirrel — in front of real French people, the whole café went silent. I opened my yak mouth and produced something like “é-cu-ree-oy”. A child at the next table flinched. A week later, I met feuille /fœj/ — leaf — and its bigger cousin mille-feuille

The first time someone asked me how many words are in la langue française /la lɑ̃ɡ fʁɑ̃.sɛz/ — the French language — I was in a tiny Paris bookshop surrounded by dictionaries taller than my horns. The bookseller smiled, pointed to a massive multi-volume set, and said: “Assez pour t’occuper toute ta vie.” — enough

One of my early victories in France wasn’t conjugating a fancy verb. It was finally understanding the difference between ou /u/ — or and où /u/ — where. Before that, I’d sent a text that said something like:On se voit ou ? /ɔ̃ sə vwa u/ — We’ll see each other or? Instead of:On se

The first time I heard anticonstitutionnellement /ɑ̃.ti.kɔ̃s.ti.ty.sjɔ.nɛl.mɑ̃/, I honestly thought the person had swallowed three other words on the way out. I was in a French class in Paris, and the teacher proudly announced: “C’est le mot le plus long de la langue française !” Everyone nodded. I wrote it down. I have still never

The first time I tried to “sound smart” in French was at a dinner in Lyon. I wanted to say something elegant like “I think the question is more complex than it seems.” What came out was closer to: La… chose… est… très compliquée… euh… voilà. Everyone nodded politely, the way you nod when a

One of my earliest Lyon memories is standing in a supermarket, staring at a bright yellow bottle labelled pamplemousse /pɑ̃.plə.mus/ — grapefruit. I didn’t even like grapefruit. I just kept whispering it in the aisle like a weird yak: pamplemousse… pamplemousse… A week later someone taught me crépuscule /kʁe.py.skyl/ — twilight — and that was

The first time someone in France called me mon chou /mɔ̃ ʃu/, I honestly thought they were comparing me to a cabbage. I froze, wondering if this was a compliment, an insult, or a very specific salad order. Later, I realized it was just a normal, sweet nickname — the kind French people toss around

My first French girlfriend called me mon chou /mɔ̃ ʃu/ one morning and I genuinely thought she’d just called me “my cabbage.” I stood there, half-asleep, wondering if this was a compliment or if I’d reached “vegetable” stage in the relationship. Later, a French friend called her boyfriend ma puce /ma pys/ — literally “my

When I first moved to France, I thought I had greetings under control. I’d memorised bonjour /bɔ̃.ʒuʁ/ — hello and salut /sa.ly/ — hi/bye, so obviously I was ready for society. Then I walked into a bakery at 8am, smiled, and forgot to say anything. The woman behind the counter looked right past me and