In her memorable piece, Emmanuel Macron's charm offensive, journalist Sophie Pedder does a great job sprinkling subtly hilarious anecdotes about the respected but unloved French president. On the eve of France’s election, I'd like to offer some thoughts on Macron’s off-putting energy.
Though a bit unfair to introduce him in such a harsh light, I think this vid is indicative of his demeanour. Meeting the president at a rally, this teen basically says, “What up, Manu?”, which is inappropriate, pretty disrespectful and thus very funny. The president proceeds to rip him a new ay-noos, telling him he’s out of line among other naggings and finger-waggings.
“During the pandemic, alone and often against counsel, Macron took repeated risks,” Pedder writes. “He re-opened schools two months in, and he introduced a Covid pass despite being told it would prompt an anti-vax rebellion. France’s vaccination rate promptly rose above that of Germany and Britain.”
Here’s what I like about this supremely unlikable guy: he doesn’t care about being liked. When confronted with a cheeky ado who’s made an irreverent joke, a prez with a gummier spine might have fist bumped the kid, playing along in a desperate attempt to appear less lame to capricious teens. If you want to shiver, think Hillary Clinton doing the Nae Nae on Ellen. Though Macron obviously didn’t need to go so hard on the kid, his instincts show he’d rather uphold the integrity of French institutions than relate, even for a moment, to his constituents.
“When I was a child, a teenager, what fascinated me was people who were extraordinary.”
Since assuming the office in 2017 Macron has embraced all things theatrical. I remember peeping his speeches on his IG a few years ago. Though my dog water grasp of French got me nowhere, I don’t think even the French themselves understood his opaque monologues. In response, he has had to adapt his performances.
“He replaced the historian who was in charge of his communications team with a public-relations professional. The 18th-century Louis XV-style golden desk, once used by de Gaulle, has been swapped for a sleek black modern one. He uses shorter words and fewer abstract nouns.”
LMAO! This dude had a historian—a historian—running his PR. He was talking about “four score and seven years ago” and everyone said: “What that means?” Cut to a modest Frenchman turning on the news after a gruelling day of work. Okay, French people definitely don’t work gruelling hours but stay with me here. He simply wants to know what’s the deal with Covid restrictions. But with Monsieur, le président de la République, it could never be so simple, so stupid! Instead Jean the bouquiniste must endure a half-hour of flowery metaphors somehow linking the efficacy of vaccines with the shame of—say it with me—imperialism. Got it!
Even when Macron manages to have a straightforward human interaction—some people call this, “chatting”—with the citizens who collectively pay his €102,000 post-tax salary, Pedder notes his encounters often leave people confused. Just grabbing drinks with this guy would take days to digest.
"So. How was it?” your friend asks you, slumping into her TOGO Ligne Roset as she floods your glass with natural wine.
"It was, uh, you know, it was...a date."
"It was a date?"
"Yeah."
"Okay,” your friend says, puzzled. “But how was it?"
"I don't—You know, I'm not really sure."
"I mean…what's he like?"
"We didn't, uh, we didn't really get that far," you say, opening Hinge.
Macron has this unplaceable aura, as if his presidency were a relentless Birdmanian production. As the protagonist his one and only costume is a trim, pressed navy blue suit: “he wears it to sea in Marseille, in the sand in the Sahel or in the sodden fields of la France profonde. ‘We told him loads of times, listen, you are heading to the Cantal, there’s mud, put some boots on,’ recalls Sylvain Fort, who wrote speeches for him from 2017 to 2019. ‘What happens? No boots. His shoes finish the day completely destroyed.’”
I’m dead! Honestly, this is extremely cool behaviour. Baby, we’ve been over this. The John Lobb loafers stay ON during sex. — Emmanuel Macron speaking with his wife, his old teacher (24 years his senior) whom he courted as a teenager. To me it’s understandable that he finds it difficult to break character.
“The regal trappings of the French presidency sit awkwardly with the common touch: the head of state governs from a palace, officiates as co-prince of Andorra, enjoys baguettes delivered by the boulanger crowned the best in Paris each year and gives televised speeches introduced by trumpets playing “La Marseillaise”.
Did your broke ass read that right? I don’t know where you get your bread from, but I’m going to go ahead and tell you it’s dog food compared to whatever Macron is chowing down at Elysée. The best baguette in Paris. I’m aroused just imagining the taste. Bone apple teeth, one might say!
On the topic of heavily accented French, Pedder makes a great point that applies to American voters who demand politicians be both effective and charismatic.
“The great paradox”, says Fort, “is that the French want a president who speaks well, holds himself well, knows how to bow to the queen and has a literary culture. But at the same time they want a guy who knows how to barbecue in his garden.”
I think everyone is asking for too much. Consider: do you want someone to tell you want to hear, or need to hear? I recently asked a friend what she thought of my plan to install myself in Madrid with the goal of executing video campaigns for the coolest brands. With zero hesitation, she said it was completely unrealistic. The exchange was honest, unpleasant and felt a little bit hostile. I got Macron’d, and I’ll never forget it.
Tomorrow voters head to the polls to decide the president’s fate. The one-man show who belongs to no party has his work cut out for him should he win a second term. Under the glow of chandeliers and the gaze of bodyguards, Pedder spoke with Macron shortly after he was first elected.
“‘When I was a child, a teenager, what fascinated me was people who were extraordinary.’ Even now, as he nears the end of his term, he speaks often of ‘heroes’: of firefighters and résistants, scientists, explorers and other ‘extraordinary’ people. Lurking inside the besuited technocrat is a romantic – and inside the earnest former banker is a boyhood dream of heroism. In the book he wrote before his election, ‘Révolution’, Macron said that he has long wanted to live ‘my own adventure’.
“His presidency,” says Pedder, “has certainly been that.”