Tourist Simulacra

A friend, upon recently visiting Paris, remarked that everyone there dressed like Emily in Paris, that thanks to the algorithm, the dominant look had developed into a grotesque camp version of “French Girl Style,” an aesthetic already endlessly packaged and reified for American audiences. My first couple of days there, I was inclined to agree with his thesis, and took a malicious delight in my people-watching, playing a guessing game of “Real Parisian, or Well-Heeled American Tourist?” However, once I managed to get out of the most heavily-trafficked areas, I realized the situation was much more bizarre: all the people dressed as Parisians were actually American tourists, and all the cool young Parisians were all dressed as American tourists – big jorts, chunky runners, wraparound sunglasses. Indeed, the figure of the vulgar “American Tourist” no longer even exists in any meaningful way, except as a bogeyman to frighten Americans into buying new vacation clothes. In turn, the writers of listicles and instructional shopping pieces turn to the centre of Paris, and produce content about how not to look like a tourist based on the outfits of scrupulously conscientious Americans who read the previous batch of articles and are now miserably shuffling around in shoes far too new and stiff to pass as louche. By 2030, every visitor will be dressed like they’re at a bachelorette weekend, wearing grotesquely confectionary berets and eye-wateringly high contrast striped shirts and carrying around baguettes as accessories; at this the city will rally together in protest, marching through the streets and spouting their rage in – what else? – practical athleisure and well-cushioned shoes.