I am experiencing some francophile rage and indignation and a deep sense of loss. I’ll share. Of course.
It started with Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Paris métro station, that is, and my absolute favorite. I rarely had cause to take the 1 line as far as that, and when I did, I kept telling myself that I would hop off and take some pictures next time. I live here. Plenty of time, right?
Wrong. One day a few months ago, I rolled into FDR and, to my horror, it had been stripped. It sat there cold and naked and shivering. The station had been betrayed and violated. I felt betrayed and violated. Those bastards.
Fortunately, other people did take pictures…
Love that font. (We’re into fonts.) Love the orange with the semi-opaque glass and the shiny metal. Love the seat separators. Love the design.
Now, I’m sure plenty of people thought the FDR station was an abomination when it was created because of its incongruity with the older stations. (Many, including me, thought that of the pyramid at the Louvre and the Beaubourg, although I’ve changed my tune on the pyramid.) The FDR station was done in the distinct style of a specific era. I know enough to recognize its specialness, and guess that it’s from the post WWII era, but I don’t know enough design history to say more than that. Maybe you do? In any case, I love that look. (It would make a fabulous kitchen, wouldn’t it?)
Ever since I got here, two and a half years ago, journalists and talking heads have been whining about how Paris has become “a museum city.” (No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think you get more tourists here than any other city in the world?) And your point is?
Over the last few months, I’ve been taking the métro more than usual and noticing more and more naked stations… Then, not long ago, I started seeing these posters appear in the stations…
…promising a métro that is “simpler, brighter, more beautiful, and new.”
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Do you think tourists come here for spiffy, shiny, generic new métro stations? Non, merci. Shiny and new and generic we have plenty of (at least where I come from).
The city of Paris is like Jeanne Moreau. Old. Yes, old. To use a euphemism would be an insult. Paris and Jeanne don’t need to worry about their wrinkles because they are both still gorgeous. Mesmerizing. They exude a powerful, irresistible, animal sexual/sensual attraction. Paris is more than a moveable feast. It’s an orgy.
I say leave it alone.
Maybe the city government thinks they’re doing Parisians a favor. After all, a responsible government should put the needs and wants of its citizenry before those of tourists… (But then again, when tourism accounts for a massive chunk of your GDP, you gotta keep that in mind too.) I do actually see lots of advertising for a company called IMMONEUF. Evidently there is quite a market for the Paris equivalent of tract homes and brand-spanking new apartment buildings. I can’t imagine who in their right mind would choose that over the delectable parquet-moulures-cheminée (wood floors, crown molding, fireplace).
I’m afraid what’s happening here is that the City of Paris is tossing all the vintage Chanel out of the Parisian closet and replacing it with Isaac Mizrahi for Target… I’m honestly worried that the renovations they are undertaking today might end up as generic, artistically insignificant and lacking in personality as most of today’s websites are. Coming from a place where lowered standards, homogenization and expediency are the norm, I dread seeing it happen here.
I still have hope, however, that the French flair for style and design, their attention to the tiniest aesthetic detail, their pride in their unique and extraordinary capital will prevail. Will the new métro stations be a pure delight to behold? Or will they simply be utilitarian public transport spaces…
I’ll keep you posted.
I recommend global moxie’s great post on the same, sad topic. I stumbled across it when I was looking for some info on the design of the FDR station. Nice to know I’m not alone.
I am experiencing some francophile rage and indignation and a deep sense of loss. I'll share. Of course.
It started with Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Paris métro station, that is, and my absolute favorite. I rarely had cause to take the 1 line as far as that, and when I did, I kept telling myself that I would hop off and take some pictures next time. I live here. Plenty of time, right?
Wrong. One day a few months ago, I rolled into FDR and, to my horror, it had been stripped. It sat there cold and naked and shivering. The station had been betrayed and violated. I felt betrayed and violated. Those bastards.
Fortunately, other people did take pictures...
Love that font. (We're into fonts.) Love the orange with the semi-opaque glass and the shiny metal. Love the seat separators. Love the design.
Now, I'm sure plenty of people thought the FDR station was an abomination when it was created because of its incongruity with the older stations. (Many, including me, thought that of the pyramid
All of that would have been magical enough. But I must say that the most extraordinary thing about this night for me was that I got to spend it with my son in California.
I sent him the link to the live feed so he could watch. I asked him about his voting experience. He told me he was wearing his NATCA t-shirt (the National Air Traffic Controllers Association, the union he recently joined, which endorsed Obama). He took it off and sent me this picture while we were talking.
