A lesson in adjectives: windows are "charmante", women are "canon". You wouldn't say a window is canon, but you could say a woman is charmante. Read on and learn about the French art of complimenting. Photo taken this week in Orange (Vaucluse).
canon [kah noh(n)]
There are other senses of the word.. for today we'll focus on the one above
elle/il est canon = she/he's gorgeous
les canons de la beauté = canons of beauty
A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse
How to Compliment a Frenchwoman
Mom and I are in the village pharmacy, having made a beeline here from the doctor's office. We're in luck when one of the three counter stations instantly opens. We step up to the comptoir and I hand over the scribbled ordonnances.
As the pharmacist studies the doctor's prescriptions, Mom studies the pharmacist and when the latter turns and disappears into the stock room Mom is breathless. "My God. She's beautiful!"
"I know," I respond, matter-of-factly.
"She looks as though she could walk right out of this vineyard town... and onto the big screen!" Mom is wowed.
"Did you see her hair?" Mom continues, and I recall the thick brown boucles that fall to the pharmacist's waist.
"Chestnut-colored," I guess.
"With golden highlights!" Mom corrects. "And not a stitch of makeup. She is a classic beauty -- like Audrey Hepburn--only, she must be 5'11!"
"I know, Mom. She is gorgeous." I conclude.
"Well, haven't you ever told her that?"...
I think about the pharmacist -- she is what the French would classify as canon. If she is this beautiful... chances are she is the last one to have heard about it. After all, the French do not dish out compliments as the folks back home do--at least not to strangers. But this isn't to say that they do not praise one another, or strangers--they just do so discreetly, almost imperceivably.
How to explain this to my mom, who is poised to shower compliments just as soon as the pharmacist returns? Mom has already done the impossible (by reaching for those chestnut curls! I can't believe she ran her fingers through the pharmacist's hair, as a mother would her own daughter!).
"Mom, the French are..." (and here I pause to find the correct word...) "...the French are a little reserved that way!"
Mom is not impressed with this latest French-etiquette lesson, which is quickly dismissed, and, by the time the pharmacist returns, I feel the need to explain the goggle-eyed woman to my right. If I don't say something right away, Mom will say it for me--in her own extravagant way.
And so I blurt it out. "Ma mère pense que vous êtes magnifique!"
As if Mom could understand my French (which she cannot) she looks at me expectantly, until I've coughed up the entire compliment:
"...et c'est vrai!"
Were we French, Mom and I would have waited until the pharmacist walked off and, while she was still within earshot, we would have let her hear our admiring thoughts: qu'est-ce qu'elle est belle cette fille! Elle est charmante!
Though we have yet to master the French art of complimenting, our Mom-thinks-this approach seemed to have the same effect... and that palpable French reserve that I had so often felt began to break a little bit in time to soften or melt.
le comptoir = counter
une ordonnance = prescription
une boucle = curl
Ma mère pense que vous êtes magnifique! = My mother thinks you are magnificent
Qu'est-ce qu'elle est belle cette femme! = She is so beautiful, this woman!
Elle est charmante! = She is charming!
Everyone thinks their mom is canon - and I, especially so! Sorry for the dark image (I should have used the camera flash!). This photo of Mom, aka Jules, was taken just this morning, before she left on her 24-hour voyage home to Mexico! Here she is readjusting her turtleneck (earlier, she had on a camisole beneath her Frida cape! I told her to cover up - because I know she gets cold on airplanes).
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