Not sure if you heard, but late yesterday France collapsed. Let me explain. France, a country that gave the world wine and cheese has an inability to keep its government standing for longer than a teenager’s TikTok attention span. It’s not just falling apart. Oh no, it’s doing it with panache. The French government doesn’t just collapse. It collapses! It implodes like a soufflé made by a guy who forgot to preheat the oven. And every time, they act shocked, like they weren’t the ones who put Le Pen in charge of the fireworks and Macron in charge of reading the instructions.
Why does this keep happening? Because every couple of years, they decide to blow up the whole system, toss the pieces in the air, and hope they land in the shape of a baguette. Spoiler alert: they don’t.
Let’s start with Emmanuel Macron, a guy who somehow looks like a politician and an overachieving intern at the same time. Macron came in all shiny and new, promising reforms and a brighter future. Instead, the only thing brighter is the fiery glow of yet another round of protests. Because in France, if you don’t like what’s happening, you don’t vote. You burn stuff. And honestly, I respect the efficiency.
But here’s the kicker: Macron is trying to make changes that even he doesn’t believe will work! The economy? On life support. The budget? Tighter than a pair of skinny jeans in a hot yoga class. And yet, he’s out there trying to explain to people why raising the retirement age is actually a good thing. French workers heard that and said, Oh, you think I’m working until I’m 64? Here’s a Molotov cocktail and a strongly worded chant.
And let’s not forget the supporting cast: Marine Le Pen, France’s far-right queen, who’s always lurking like a bad smell in a small elevator. She’s waiting for the right moment to pop up and say, I told you so, like some kind of nationalist Cassandra. Her big idea is that France’s problems can be solved by blaming immigrants, the EU, and probably the guy who accidentally left the fridge open. Because nothing says visionary leadership like scapegoating.
Meanwhile, the left is over in the corner having an existential crisis, like a philosophy major who just realized they have to pay rent. They can’t agree on anything except that they hate Macron. It’s like a dysfunctional Thanksgiving dinner where everyone’s yelling, and the turkey is on fire.
And then there’s the French people, who—let’s be honest—are the real stars of this soap opera. Nobody protests like the French. In the US, we protest by posting angry tweets. The French protest by shutting down the entire country. You’ve got to admire the commitment. They’ll march, they’ll strike, and they’ll blockade highways, all while smoking a cigarette and looking fabulous. They’re not just mad—they’re elegantly furious.
But here’s the twist: For all their chaos, the French seem to love it. They thrive on it. The instability, the drama, the je ne sais quoi of constant government collapse—it’s like a national sport. And just when you think it can’t get worse, they’ll invent a new way to bicker, strike, and start the whole circus over again.
So where does this leave us? With a country that’s too stubborn to change, too proud to admit defeat, and too French to care what anyone else thinks. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because while the rest of the world is busy pretending they’ve got it all figured out, France is out there proving that sometimes, a beautiful mess is better than a boring masterpiece.
