The 5 Reasons Texans Can’t Survive in France

You can land in Paris with cowboy confidence and a carry-on full of optimism. It will last about a week. France is not “Europe but with baguettes.” It is a system that rewards precision, quiet, and boundaries. Texas rewards size, speed, and friendliness. When your reflexes are wired for Texas, France punishes you in small, relentless ways. None of this is about character. It is design. If you understand the design, you stop fighting the house rules and the house stops fighting you.

Below are the five failure points that trip Texans first, plus the workarounds that actually work. Every section has specifics, numbers, and the exact phrases that keep you out of trouble.

1) Time is a wall, not a suggestion

A Texan schedule is elastic. Stores stretch hours, restaurants seat late, and the line between weekday and weekend blurs for business. In France, time has edges. Lunch service is 12:00 to 14:00. Dinner starts after 19:00. Banks and prefectures close when they say they will, and no one “squeezes you in” because you looked stressed. August exists, and your favorite bakery will lock the door for three weeks with a friendly note that does not include your feelings.

This is not snobbery. It is labor law plus cultural sanity. When a sign says service continu, you can eat between lunch and dinner. If it does not, eat at the right times or go hungry. If you walk into a restaurant at 15:00 expecting brisket-hour flexibility, you will meet a closed kitchen and a polite shrug. Workaround: build a clock you can live with. Main meal at lunch on weekdays. Coffee or a drink at 17:00 if you need a landing spot. Dinner bookings made the day before. The rhythm will feel rigid for ten days, then merciful.

Sundays prove the point. Outside big tourist zones, Sunday belongs to families. Many shops close or keep extremely limited hours. You can find a pharmacy on rotation and a boulangerie open in the morning, but malls built for American weekends are rare exceptions. Texans who survive learn a simple rule on Friday: shop for Sunday like the stores will vanish. They will.

2) Space, noise, and the car are not your friends

Texas assumes space. France assumes neighbors. The scale difference warps every routine. Noise is regulated by culture before the law ever gets involved. Drills after 20:00 are not culture. Subwoofers under ancient beams are not culture. You will meet le règlement de copropriété before you have learned how the mailboxes work, and that document will tell you exactly when you may be loud, where strollers live, and how long a hallway may host an abandoned Amazon box. It is not optional.

Apartments are smaller than anything you expect. Air conditioning is not a birthright. Summer survival is shutters, cross-breeze, and a fan pointed at the ceiling. Winter survival is radiators that prefer sweaters to sauna. If your comfort settings are pegged to central air and an open-plan living room, your first month will feel like camping. The workaround is real kit. A good fan, thick curtains, dehumidifier for coastal cities, and a folding drying rack because dryers often shrivel clothes or do not exist.

Cars are a separate fight. Fuel sits around €1.70 to €2.00 per liter, which puts ordinary fill-ups well beyond Texas math. Speed cameras do not forgive. City garages pretend your pickup never existed. Manuals still dominate at the budget end. Parking is a daily IQ test, not a right. If you must drive, learn the Crit’Air sticker rules for pollution zones, read the parking signs like legal text, and accept that a compact hatchback with sensors will save your sanity. Better plan: trains for long legs, feet and trams for the last kilometer, taxis only when carrying a life’s worth of groceries.

3) Money obeys paperwork, not charm

Texas money talks. In France, paperwork talks. Your lease depends on a dossier thicker than a barbecue menu. Landlords expect recent French payslips, a permanent contract, tax notices, and a guarantor who earns triple the rent in France. Your credit score from Austin moves no one. Without payslips, you pre-pay months or use a bank guarantee product that eats cash. That is the rule, even if you have money.

Daily transactions will confuse you until you stop forcing American habits on French rails. Prices include VAT. Service is included. Tipping is a small round-up or a couple of coins. Arguing about tips makes you look inexperienced, not generous. American Express is often refused outside tourist zones. Diners rely on carte bancaire with a chip and PIN. You will open a French account, receive a RIB, and learn to send virements for rent and utilities. Checks still exist. You will write exactly two of them, both for bureaucratic relics that refuse to die.

Salaries may read low until you price the rest of the system. A metro pass around €75 per month in large cities, doctor visits at regulated rates, medicines that do not turn your budget into a joke, and school fees that do not require a fundraiser for the next decade. The trade is real if you stop converting every euro to dollars in your head. Survival step one: build a French budget in euros with local line items. Survival step two: accept that “no paper, no process” is a feature. When you walk into an office with a neat folder and three photocopies of everything, the city suddenly opens doors.

4) The meal is a ritual, not a remix

Texans are excellent hosts and generous eaters. They are also used to substitutions, refills, and ice by default. France runs on a different contract. The kitchen decides the plate. You decide yes or no. If you ask a busy bistro to rewrite a dish because you prefer ranch, the server will smile while your credibility falls through the floor. If you have allergies, state them clearly when you book, then confirm when you sit. People will accommodate real needs without a speech. They will not help you re-engineer lunch because you are bored.

Portions are human. Refills are not automatic. The coffee is small on purpose. Ice exists but is rationed like the precious thing it is. Dogs appear under tables like small, silent saints. By the time dessert arrives, the table has talked enough to earn it. If you turn food into a scoreboard or a therapy session, you will look lost. Work the ritual instead. Order the daily special. Eat what is seasonal. Share plates at the table with a quiet exchange rather than a broadcast. Ask for the bill when you are ready. It will not appear as a hint. The table is yours until you end it.

Barbecue comparisons are a fast path to being that guest. France has its own smoke and fire. It is called duck confit that crackles, lamb that tastes like the hillside, and a steak cooked a shade rarer than you think you want. If you insist on American flavors, you will miss the point of being here. Learn one neighborhood place by name, tip small and steady, say bonjour and merci every time, and watch how fast the staff remember your face and pour something you did not know you loved.

5) The social code punishes volume and rewards form

Texas friendliness is a force of nature. You smile at strangers. You land a joke in the first minute. You lead with warmth and learn names. France flips the order. Form first, warmth later. You begin every interaction with bonjour or bonsoir, even in a bakery line, even if you met five minutes ago. Vous unless invited to tu. Titles until given a first name. Speak softly in shared spaces. The ritual is not empty. It is a safety rail that lets millions coexist in tight quarters without hating each other.

Small talk is narrow until trust appears. Family, work, food, weather, films. Politics arrives later with nuance. Compliments are precise, not effusive. The loudest person in the room is assumed to be the least self-controlled. If you equate authenticity with volume, you will be read as exhausting. Overcorrect by a hair. Ask a real question, then wait for a real answer. The speed will frustrate you for a month. Then you will notice that friendships formed under this code are quiet and durable.

There are hard edges you need to respect. Staff are professionals, not characters in your service hero story. You greet when you enter a shop and say thank you when you leave. You do not touch produce without permission in markets that say so. You keep dogs on short leashes in crowded streets. You lower your voice on trains at night. Courtesy here is the oil in the engine. If you supply it, the engine runs without smoke.

What Texans actually get right

This is not a culture dunk. Texans bring strengths France quietly admires. Hospitality scales under pressure. You can feed ten people without panic and make strangers feel like cousins. Keep that, but redirect it into French form. Host a lunch that starts on time, ends on time, and respects the neighbors. Set a long table in a park with a thermos of coffee and slices of something you baked. You will become the favorite person in your building by June.

Problem solving without drama is another export worth keeping. When the prefecture tells you to bring one more paper, do not melt. Ask which paper, where to get it, and whether an appointment is required. Bring a pen. Bring photocopies. Bring chocolate if you are human and the line was brutal. Texans who survive here treat bureaucracy like a ranch fence. It is in the way, but it is not the end of the world.

Direct generosity translates too. A neighbor’s kid needs help with English homework. The café server is learning, asks for a phrase, and you supply it without a lecture. A colleague is sick and you show up with soup. France records acts more than speeches. If you put your hands where your values are, the city will start handing small favors back.

The hard numbers you need before you pack

You cannot brute force the math with confidence. You need the actual lines in a French budget. Here is a clean starter set for a major city, two adults, one child. Adjust down 20 to 30 percent outside Paris and the Riviera.

• Rent: €1,600 to €2,000 for a modest two-bed within transit, more central if you accept small. Three months up front or a bank guarantee if you have no French payslips.
• Utilities: €120 to €180 for electricity and gas if you do not run heaters like a sauna.
• Internet and mobile: €50 to €80 combined if you choose standard plans.
• Transport: €75 to €85 per adult for a monthly pass in big metro systems.
• Groceries: €450 to €700 if you cook and shop markets and discount chains.
• Insurance: €10 to €20 per month for renter’s insurance, required and checked.
• Childcare: public options are subsidized, private costs vary widely.
• Out-of-pocket medical: modest if you register properly and add a basic top-up.

Build this in euros, not mental dollars. If your plan depends on tips, overtime, and shops that never close, you built a Texas house on French soil. It will not stand.

Workarounds that let Texans breathe in France

Treat every office like a courtroom. Folder, copies, appointments, a clean sentence that states your request. “I am here to submit X, here is my appointment, here are the documents.” The official will relax because you are not asking for improvisation.

Pick a small radius and conquer it. You cannot “do France.” You can do your neighborhood. Learn the baker’s name, the market days, the trash schedule, the pharmacy on duty, the cafe that will give you hot water for a child’s chocolate. Local mastery is what makes the country feel kind.

Trade your truck for legs for ninety days. You will not become less Texan by learning to walk to buy bread. You will become less frazzled. If you must drive, rent something small and learn to park in reverse in a tight bay. This one skill saves marriages.

Speak French poorly and consistently. Texans who survive are the ones who refuse to be precious about accent. Two sentences to start any interaction. Bonjour. Je cherche. S’il vous plaît. Merci. Competence is a slope here, not a switch.

Time your pleasures. A steak frites at lunch on a weekday. A bottle you love opened at 18:30 with cheese and a friend. A cinema seat on Sunday night. France rewards people who place joy in the calendar with care. It punishes people who demand joy at random.

If you still want to try, here is a ninety-day plan that works

Days 1 to 7: Learn the clock
Eat lunch inside service hours. Eat dinner after 19:00 with a booking. Buy Sunday bread on Saturday. Set quiet after 22:00. Greet everyone. Watch how a city softens when you respect the rhythm. This first week is about friction reduction.

Days 8 to 21: Build the dossier
Open a bank account with your passport and proof of address. Get renter’s insurance. Organize payslips or a guarantee. Learn the app for transit and the website for city services. Put these in a labeled folder. Admin is identity here.

Days 22 to 45: Shrink the map
Pick your five places. Boulangerie, café, market stall, pharmacy, corner grocer. Spend a small amount at each, regularly, at the right hours. Use names. Tip a euro when you feel it. Trust grows on repetition.

Days 46 to 60: Speak more than you think you can
Take two classes a week. Ask one real question per day in French, even if you know the answer. Order by describing rather than pointing. Make one phone call instead of sending an email. The phone is where foreigners grow up.

Days 61 to 90: Invite and reciprocate
Host a lunch that ends at 16:00. Bring a small gift when invited. Send a thank you message the next morning. Offer a specific favor when someone helps you, not a vague promise. Reciprocity is the real visa.

If you can do this for ninety days, you will stop surviving and start living. The city will start opening doors before you knock.

Where Texans quit, and how not to

People usually quit at two points. Point one is the paperwork spiral. They take the first no as final and decide the country hates them. It does not. It hates freeform. Bring the missing document and return with a calmer face. Point two is the loneliness dip. The formality reads as cold. You retreat into English and your apartment becomes a Texas bunker with baguettes. Solve it by joining something that is already scheduled. A sports club. A cooking class. A volunteer hour at the school. France warms up in groups more than in spontaneous coffees.

If all else fails, get out of Paris for a weekend. Lyon, Nantes, Lille, Bordeaux, Toulouse. Smaller scale, better conversations, lower carbon load on your patience. You might discover that what you hated was not France, it was one arrondissement on a rainy week.

Something to Think About This week

France asks you to trade volume for form, urgency for rhythm, and customization for competence. Texas trained you for the opposite. If you keep fighting, the country will keep winning. If you accept the edges and work inside them, you will be surprised at how quickly the place gives back. Say bonjour before you ask for anything. Eat inside the hours. Bring the right paper. Lower your voice. Walk more. The rest follows.

You do not have to stop being Texan. You have to stop assuming the world is Texas. If you can do that, you will find the parts of France that make sense for you. If not, you will spend a fortune proving a point no one asked you to make.