Why Brighton is better than Paris
Haute Cuisine, Coco Chanel and the Eiffel Tower, we’ve got Fatboy Slim and the fucking Kooks.
Is it the art, the sophistication and the nonchalance that makes France so ‘chic’? If Thierry Henry can convince us that a Renault Clio is cool, and definitely not shit, that’s surely some form of enlightenment. Most of you won’t be planning a quick visit to Paris any time soon, but here’s why even considering the idea is a sin especially when you’ve got a debauched, pleasure-mecca like Brighton on the right side of the channel.
Meant as literally or as figuratively as you want it to, Paris is heaving with immense waste clogging up the ‘cultural capital’, which at the forefront stands street-performance. I often find it hard to describe the true monotony of street performers, an art about as noteworthy as planking or cup-stacking, but in Paris it’s as celebrated as Edith Piaf doing the can-can on top of the fucking Arc-de-Triomphe.
Engaging in woeful Parisian ritual is only aggravated further by the actual faeces now encrusted in your loafers after minutes of walking the streets. In Brighton, we make clothes and paper out of animal shit so you don’t have to step in it.
An overwhelming frustration people have with the French capital is the hostility we receive from the first cab we climb into after touching down at Charles De Gaulle airport. I’ll be the first person to admit that Brits aren’t comprehensively likeable, but our meagre attempts at trying to speak their language doesn’t warrant angry gesticulations and disapproval bequeathed unto us . Brighton is now essentially a municipality occupied by a hemp-clad bohemian assembly, who would rather sell you spinach and feta tagine or invite you to their peaceful protest against KFC or Greggs than deride your pathetic attempts at communication . However, these dreadlocked beings are not the only member of the Brighton populace. An amalgamation of these Mick Hucknall die-hards, 50’s throwbacks and a strong LGBT community all combine like the worlds shittest power-ranger to make Brighton the cultural melting-pot we know and love.
True devotee’s to everything art and fashion weep with excitement at the thought of hopping on the Eurostar to the ‘City of Love’ and straight to Paris’s glorified vessel of artistic indulgence; the Louvre. Was it worth waiting two hours and paying €12 for mild whiplash from hoisting yourself above the swarms to get a better look at a painting of a chubby girl smirking? For me, I limit my search for cultural fulfilments to the confines of the BN postcode area, a plethora of musical and artistic euphoria. Can one venue alone permit me to fulfil my heterogeneous musical taste of pop/indie heartthrobs The Feeling, Major Lazer and 2007 grime sensation Tinchy Stryder? Yeah it fucking can. Paris, just say non.