So, last night I was sitting in my hotel room drafting a blog about a high-end French chicken shop. It was at that point that Julie got on Skype, and we started chatting about the shop that we had both seen. It turned out, upon further discussion, that we both had entirely different understandings of the high-end chicken shop based on our cultural experiences. So, Julie is writing about it today, in a guest blog that will probably convince all of you that shopping with me is a very difficult experience.
So Holly wants me to talk about the “high-end chicken shop” that we came across while walking on the Île Saint Louis the other day.
Yes, you read that right. A high-end chicken shop.
I’m not sure what it means, by the way, maybe because I’m not a native speaker of English. What I know for sure is that I went “What do you mean, high-end? It’s just the local butcher, and it hasn’t changed since the 1960′s.” Holly retorted, “Yeah, exactly!”
And that’s when I realized that, as she puts it, “there is a niche market for everything.” It’s kind of funny though because “niche” is a French word that means “dog kennel.” So I’ve been smirking a lot ever since I began learning about running an Internet business.
And as a French girl learning about business from Americans, I come across many such cultural differences. Where I only saw a normal butcher shop with rather a lot of dead birds on display (chicken, turkey, quail and pigeon), Holly saw a USP.
The Île Saint Louis, you may or may not know, is a very posh part of Paris. It’s a small island on the Seine, right in the middle of Paris, the other small island being the neighbouring Île de la Cité. Now while the Île de la Cité has a lot of interesting things to see, like Notre-Dame, the Île Saint Louis is quieter and Parisians would say that there is less “riff-raff” there (read: less tired cranky tourists queueing for overpriced Berthillon ice-cream).
Most buildings on the Île Saint Louis date back to the 17th century, and you can’t buy a house or flat there: it’s way too expensive, and anyway flats only change owners when somebody dies. Then their children inherit it. Very exclusive. I can very well imagine that the people who patronize the high-end chicken shop are neighbours, old ladies from the haute bourgeoisie mostly, who think of the shop as “the butcher down the street.”
But then they wouldn’t buy from just any butcher: if the quaint little shop with all the prize medals came to close down and be replaced by a neon-lit supermarket, they would purse their lips in disgust.
They want a shop that belongs to their world. A shop that specializes in somewhat rare poultry (although I’m French and love good food, I don’t eat quail every day). A shop where the butcher behind the counter calls them by their name and knows how many grandchildren they have and what each child’s favorite part of a chicken is. So, yes, a high-end chicken shop.
The funny thing is, this being Paris, the butcher might very well get away with being temperamental and gruff. As long as his poultry is reasonably good quality, his clientèle will be happy. The only thing that counts here is exclusivity: you don’t get quail at just any butcher’s.
But that’s actually not even the most interesting part of this shop. The prizes and different signs tell a story: that of a family shop that has been around for a very long time, for once. In such a stuffy neighbourhood, being an insider matters. I doubt that a shop recently opened by a newcomer would do as well. Then, all the prizes were won in poultry competitions (I didn’t even know there was such a thing!) around the country. The message is clear: real poultry from the countryside where they don’t mess with quality fowl (I mean, they have competitions!). Authentic, free-range chicken, direct from the “terroir”.
But what I like the most is this: the shop uses non-clients as a selling point for clients. When Holly stopped in front of the shop, there were about five other foreigners cackling with delight at the chicken and taking pictures. This shop looks so French, foreigners have to stop and marvel. But then it sells raw chicken: no tourist will ever buy from this shop.
“Thank God,” would say the old ladies from the haute bourgeoisie, who don’t like to rub shoulders with camera-wielding tourists. So the tourists’ awe, coupled with the fact that they can’t buy there, serves as reinforcement that yes, this shop is authentic and very French. And the fact that tourists think it’s remarkably French makes you even more French, if you’re a patron.
Under the fascinated gaze of people who are left outside, you feel authentic and exclusive, which is what luxury is about. So there you have it: even when it comes to chicken, the French know a lot about the luxury industry.
Julie is French but doesn’t own a Louis Vuitton handbag, unfortunately. Hopefully as soon as she runs a successful writing business she’ll get something much better on Etsy anyway.
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