At the risk of sounding shallow, I reluctantly admit that I’m enthralled with French president Hollande’s women problems. Not only am I amazed that the president’s record low ratings have risen since the announcement of his affair and sneaking out on a scooter (scooter?) without security, but I’m also fascinated with the trio of women themselves– his first partner and the mother of his four children, his second and now ex companion, and his current girl friend. It’s all just too good.
The NYT’s ran a thoughtful piece, Memo From Paris, that raises the question of the role and value of a first lady in France. Also, I find it interesting that many French people, and especially Hollande himself, insist that this is a private matter and should have no bearing on his position as president, certainly a sentiment that would not fly in the U.S. Yet, despite my desire to intellectualize or even pooh-pooh this drama, I’ve been watching it unravel, from the hospital stay to the room trashing at the presidential palace, with guilty pleasure.
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