There is something deliciously and authentically French about the political scandal that has the rest of Europe in a tizzy.
Where else other than Paris would the very public private life of the President of the Fifth Republic raise not an eyebrow when it’s reported in a nine-page expose that he and his mistress had been having a torrid affair while his regular girlfriend was carrying out her First Lady duties.
In America, the self-righteous members of Congress actually voted on impeachment when it became public that Bill Clinton was engaging in extra-curricula activities with a star-struck intern Monica Lewinsky. And no, Clinton very publicly reiterated, he “did not have sexual relations with that woman”.
In Paris, President Francois Hollande readily admits to his tete-a-tete dalliances with actress Julie Gayet. It’s even been acknowledged that his bodyguards ran around to the local cafe in the morning so that the couple could cuddle over fresh croissants.
Imagine the television tizzy if it was revealed Secret Service men in black suits who talk into their sleeves ran out to the local coffee shop or Starbucks so Bill and Monica could munch on muffins? Was it wholewheat or bran? Is the president trying to lose weight? Oh, and that server making minimum wage is actually an illegal Mexican.
Did delivering the jelly donuts represent a breach in White House security protocols? And, coming up after this message from our sponsors at the top of the hour: How you can make your very own apple bran muffins, just like the ones the president eats...
Broken heart
In Paris, when news of the affair broke — it’s hard to even call it a scandal because few are indeed truly scandalised — The First Lady, Valerie Trierweiler, collapsed in shock and was hospitalised. Shock? More like a broken heart that her little Francois was actually a two-timing twerp who was skulking around the Elysee Palace with an actress. An actress! And a married actress, no less! A modern-day Lily Marlene.
Gayet is one of the most popular and acclaimed artistes of both screens and has been married for the past six years to writer Santiago Amigorena. He has kept a low profile since learning that his partner was intimately involved in the affairs of state and was the First Mistress of the Fifth Republic.
She’s certainly not the first to hold such a high office — the late Francois Mitterand kept a spare on the side and had a love child.
In Britain and in Brussels, there’s a wink-wink, nudge-nudge smirk on the faces of the European Union leadership — and one question: “How did a middle-aged and balding so-so socialist actually manage to land such a hottie?”
One French feminist columnist in a fit of political pique described him as “a sweaty potato”. For a nation that’s consumed by all things gastronomical, — French toast and French fries are not French — how astronomical a put down is that? Not starchy enough for Vichy’s Soisse. Ouch!
Gayet, however, was wooed by Hollande’s listening skills. Guys, it’s all about the ‘C’ word. Communication. Ladies want to be listened to.
They want to know that they are heard. They want you to say the right thing at the right time. Not “Yes, dear” or “Absolutely” or “What ever you like dear”. No — you have to listen and make the appropriate responses at the right time. (I hope my wife doesn’t read this as I’ve just dug myself into a very big hole!) There’s also a very beautiful irony in all of these trysts and turns.
While Gayet and Hollande were holding hands and holding late-night rendezvous’ in a Parisienne arrondissement, sharing bonbons and bonhomie, the political and business elite were calling for Hollande’s head. The sweaty potato has the lowest ratings of any recent French president. At least he had one supporter in Gayet. Who heeds opinion polls when pillow talk and an affair trumps the affairs of state.
Gayet has issued a lawsuit against Closer, the magazine that broke the story of her love life. The suit was filed in court on Thursday. And no, her next movie is not All The President’s Women. It’s all like that most French song from Saving Private Ryan by Edith Piaf as the Germans lay siege to the village at the end of the movie: Non, j’ai regret rien — I don’t regret anything. I listen enough to my First Lady to know that it’s my wife’s current ring tone! (See, yes dear, I do communicate.)
Croissants, anyone?
