Love To Hate It
In Defence Of Emily In Paris
(Emily In) Paris is built on a fantasy — and I just happen to be able to see right through it - Alfie (and also, me)
I never understood the phrase ‘clichés are clichés for a reason’ until I watched Emily In Paris. A 2-season long dreamscape set in Paris that premiered mid-pandemic, the escapist show quickly became an internet sensation — unfortunately, as a punchline. Critics and netizens ripped apart the Lily Collins-starrer as a stereotype-filled, fluff show with no meat. To my end, I joined in the bashing too — but I’m here to eat my words.
When Netflix dropped season two, I binge-watched the entire show in just one night. And I have to say, I’m obsessed. Emily In Paris is, at its heart, a stereotype-filled fluff show with no meat. But after a gruelling two years that feel like twenty, I’ll be the first to say that fluff TV make for great TV — and Emily In Paris may just be the best one out there. Ahead, I’m listing down why.
The Comfort
Listen. Emily In Paris isn’t a genius show. Screw that, it’s not even a smart show. The plot is predictable, low effort, and reminiscent of every rom-com out there. *Gasp* Camille finds out about Gabriel and Emily. *Gasp* Alfie is in love with Emily who may still harbour feelings for Gabriel. *Gasp* Sylvie is leaving Savoir to start her own thing. I wonder what Emily will do!
Yeah, no. None of this is groundbreaking content, and the writing reflects it. But you know the thing about predictability? It’s comforting. Watching Emily In Paris is like finding a pair of avocado-patterned socks under the Christmas tree. Or going to the same coffee shop everyday and getting the same glass of cold brew for the umpteenth time while sharing a knowing smile with the barista. Or slipping into a pair of cosy fur-lined years-old pyjamas to find out they still fit the same. The show is comfort-watching at its peak.
The Closure
Watching Emily In Paris is like taking a couple of drops of CBD oil an hour before bed. You start off thinking it’s not your taste, but before you know it, it’s got you hooked — in the most relaxing way ever. The reason? It’s not stressful. While watching shows like Aarya had me stress-watching to the point where where I bit my nails down to their beds and ducked under the covers to avoid watching what was next, Emily In Paris is #NotLikeTheOtherGirls. Every single plot-line, no matter how contrived, is neatly wrapped up in a shiny, Eiffel-tower-smattered, in-your-face bow-packed episode of twenty-to-thirty-something minutes.
The Character
Emily, who, in case you missed it, is in Paris, is by no means a character with depth. Instead, you could say she’s the textbook main character — which comes as no surprise since the show has been written by Darren Star, who practically invented the main character with Carrie Bradshaw. Emily won’t make you think, she won’t make you introspect, and she won’t leave a lasting impact in the traditional sense. But is that such a bad thing?
What Emily manages to do goes beyond a lasting impact — she makes you wish you were her. F*** it, I wish I was her. You’re telling me this girl lives in Paris? And has a two gorgeous men in love with her? And comes up with ‘campaigns’ like ‘How do you pop your top?’ and gets paid for it by her marketing company?? In THIS economy???? (Side note: I would definitely get fired for pitching an idea like this — but go girl, give us nothing!)
Emily’s character fuels the main character syndrome in all of us — and for ten episodes, we manage to picture ourselves living her life. Going on bateaux mouches whilst wistfully gazing at a twinkling Eiffel Tower alongside our love interest. Doing the bare minimum at a cushy job where everyone is snarky-funny. Becoming a social media influencer by posing with a croissant. Wearing obscenely-priced, incredulous-looking outfits to buy a baguette. Someone’s been reading my dream journal!
The Conclusion
The escapist daydream that is Emily In Paris has stepped up my hate-watch list to my binge-watch list. The world is a shitty place, I have deadlines to meet, and 10,000 steps to walk before I go to sleep — but when I watch the show, I get to lose myself in a world where my biggest problem is not having air conditioning during peak summer. I welcome the obvious twists and clichés. I pretend I am Emily, eating the almond croissant Sylvie threw after her sex-romp, or at a drag show where my best friend is la dame pipi — which, BTW, is a real thing.
So what if the writing is bad? So what if it’s not an eloquent, meaningful commentary on society? So what if it’s borderline absurd? Not everything needs to be the greatest thing ever. Think of Emily In Paris as the colour beige — mild, quiet, neutral, but simultaneously comforting, welcoming, homely. And I don’t know about you — but I’ve set a Google alert for season 3 already.
