To that effect, I went to the most amazing bar last night, as recommended to me by the lovely Lauren Elkin. It was called Chez George, located in the 6e arrondissement near the Mabillon metro stop. We recognized the place by the swell of loud French students swarming outside in the alleyway smoking cigarettes and laughing. I have to say, I've never seen so many good looking guys that I would promptly categorize as "my type" squished into one small space, but it was... delightful. And they love American girls, though as my new friend Michel pointed out, it is because of the discriminatory stereotype that we are "easy," and perhaps not because they think our accents are "cute." Within literally a minute of walking in, Rebecca and I had a free drink in our hand and attractive men fawning over us. It felt like a movie. It's a blessing and a curse, here, how guys are unafraid to approach you: when they're creepy, it feels unwelcome and scary, but when they're sweet it's just plain flattering.
The upstairs has some tables but is generally too packed to find a seat. The downstairs is cavelike and bathed in red light. The DJs spin Klezmer and everyone was drunk and smiling and twirling around. It was spectacular. I left not having paid for a single drink, happily wine-drunk and exhausted. The bouncer, Ryan, is a really cute American from California who moved to France to become a writer (such a cliche, but I love it) and now has three novels published. The fact that he's forced to make his money by yelling at drunk Sorbonne students to not bring drinks outside kind of speaks to the sad state of the literary world these days.
Ryan and Rebecca trying to look like angry French people, and me just being generally drunk