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Why the French have the best sex in the world, by a Parisian sexologist

Why the French have the best sex in the world, by a Parisian sexologist

Telegraph5 hours ago

Recently, a 52-year-old woman came to me for help. She told me she'd been with her husband for over 30 years but had never had an orgasm during sex. 'I just assumed that part of me was broken,' she said.
Sadly, that belief – that pleasure isn't for them – is something I hear again and again from women as a French sexologist living and working in Britain. So many women, particularly in this country, struggle with allowing themselves to ask, want and feel.
The contrast with the confidence I see when I'm in France is stark. At a workshop I was running in Paris last year, a woman in her early 60s told a room of other women, matter-of-factly: 'Of course I still masturbate – I'd never rely on a man for that.' The whole group laughed, not in embarrassment, but in solidarity. For her, sexual pleasure was just part of life, like good food or good company.
And the differing attitudes towards sex in France and Britain aren't confined to women. The entire cultures surrounding the subject are poles apart. Whenever sex is mentioned here, there's an underlying current of prudishness which often manifests as a blush, a giggle – or, as I've experienced many times, a total shut-down of the conversation.
In France, sex is embedded in the national conversation. It's not seen as smutty, or risqué, to talk about it; it's not shrouded in nudge, nudge, wink, wink innuendo. People are far more open about the importance they place on it.
We have a reputation for infidelity, but in my experience, French people don't necessarily have more affairs. There's less moral panic and more acceptance that eroticism and commitment can be complex, especially over the course of decades. Desire can ebb and flow within relationships – but being unafraid to talk about the subject means the French report feeling more sexually fulfilled, regardless of how long the relationship lasts.
I trained to become a certified sexologist to help midlife women in similar situations to mine. Like so many of my clients now, I went through a divorce in 2019, after 17 years of marriage and two children, and wanted to explore my sexuality. I remember thinking, 'I wish I had someone to talk to about how to navigate these very turbulent years I'm going through', and that so many other women must be feeling the same.
I embarked on a journey of sexual rediscovery, including having fun with younger men before meeting my current partner. My adventures taught me that pleasure isn't about performance, but truth. Being honest about what I wanted, on my own terms, was about learning to be sexual again, for myself. My confidence improved – in every aspect of my life – along with my sense of overall wellness.
Inspired, I qualified as a life coach at first, then quit my 25-year career leading global campaigns in sustainable finance at institutions including the WWF, Barclays and the UN. I decided to devote myself to helping women who, whether in long-term relationships or single, are hungry for something more but lack the tools to go after it.
Most people have heard of sex therapists, who help treat sexual dysfunction. Sexology is different. I'm not a therapist or medical professional, but a coach, who helps clients explore their goals around their sex lives and find solutions to attain them.
In France, pleasure isn't seen as a luxury, but a life force; something for everybody at every stage of life, rather than the preserve of the young and beautiful. The Pleasure Atelier, the workshop for women I founded in Paris and am now bringing to London, is based on this principle. It's a space for women to have a glass of champagne and learn about ways to reconnect to their erotic selves, on their own terms.
Here's what I believe British people can learn from the French about how to reignite their sexual spark.
French women are not obsessed with staying 25
When you think of a celebrity British people deem sexy, chances are you're picturing a lissom young thing. The culture here encourages us to think of women, in particular, as sexual beings only when they're youthful, with taut skin and no responsibilities. The moment women have children, or go through the menopause, they're placed in another box: now nurturers, not creatures of desire.
One woman in her late 40s came to me after her children had left home. She said: 'I've spent my whole life being everything to everyone else. I don't even know what I want any more.' It's common for my British clients to feel they've lost their identity as they've grown older.
In France, there are many more role models of older women who exude sexiness, are vocal about sex and portray characters continuing to enjoy it. Think of Sylvie in the Netflix series Emily In Paris, played by 62-year-old Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu, or the 72-year-old actress Isabelle Huppert. They're chic, sophisticated women who continue to take their sexuality seriously, and seeing them inspires French women to expect the same for themselves.
French women embrace the freedom of midlife and beyond, once their children are older – it's a time for us. Rediscovering yourself as a sexual being is essential to keep sex alive in long-term relationships, and it starts with not writing yourself off because you've hit un certain age.
Treat yourself like a Parisian woman
The cliches about Parisian women are broadly true: they often restrict their diets to remain rail-thin and rarely mention the menopause – quelle horreur! There's a vanity and pressure to stay sexually desirable which I wouldn't want British women to emulate.
But there's also an innate sense of ourselves as sexual beings that I would like British women to embrace. It's in how we dress, how we speak, how we take up space. It's a mindset of self-worth. For too long here, from the boorish lad's mag culture of the 1990s to the current prevalence of Only Fans and porn, the conversation has centred around male pleasure, and women fulfilling male fantasies. French women, by contrast, view themselves as just as worthy of satisfaction.
It might sound trivial, but wearing beautiful underwear under your everyday clothes, taking a moment to spritz perfume or lighting a candle can be a powerful reminder that you're deserving of pleasure. Make yourself your own fantasy.
Pleasure is essential, not a luxury
In Paris, there's a chain of female-friendly sex stores called Passage du Desir, which are a world away from the seedy sex shops found in London's Soho. They're an example of how sex is woven into the fabric of everyday life there, and how normal it is for French women to pop out and buy a sex toy. Sex toys are advertised on mainstream television and discussed endlessly in newspaper articles.
My British clients have often lost touch with any kind of sensory pleasure, so I ask them to start small. Take a moment to feel the sun on your face, drink an ice-cold glass of rose or listen to a song you love – whatever feels enjoyable for you. The more in tune you are with your own body, the more pleasure you allow in.
Learn to speak up
Desire isn't shameful, it's human – and we French know that the more we talk about it, the more empowered we become.
Here in Britain, I often hear women complaining that their partners don't satisfy them. Sometimes, if the issues between them begin outside the bedroom – women are often seething with years of pent-up resentment over their partner's behaviour – I suggest couples' counselling; some tell me outright that they hate their husband, and that's not conducive to reigniting the spark.
Often, though, it's a case of years, sometimes decades, passing by with women hoping their partners will somehow intuitively know how to please them, without ever being told. I know it can feel daunting, but we have a responsibility to help guide them, and in my experience, most decent men are happy to learn.
I encourage clients to write a fantasy list, starting with 'I've always wanted to…' Then I help them work up the courage to tell their partner one thing they want. Most of the time, he is delighted – and once that barrier has been crossed, it's much easier next time.

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Tesco is selling a £6.99 buy that'll get rid of pesky flies in seconds, and it's completely chemical-free too
Tesco is selling a £6.99 buy that'll get rid of pesky flies in seconds, and it's completely chemical-free too

The Sun

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Tesco is selling a £6.99 buy that'll get rid of pesky flies in seconds, and it's completely chemical-free too

WHEN you spend long summer days in the garden, keeping pesky flies and mosquitos at bay is a top priority. Fortunately, there are many great repellent options available if you're tired of the constant buzzing by your ears. 3 3 However, for pest control that also makes your outdoor space look better, it's worth considering adding a special plant that will kill the unwelcome visitors. Most of us have heard that adding basil or rosemary to the greenery works wonders. But turns out, there's another plant worth snapping up from your local Tesco - the Venus Fly Trap. The ultimate natural pest control is this carnivorous plant that captures pesky insects and spiders in its claw-like, clamshell-shaped leaves. Once the pest has been trapped, the plant snaps them shut, and then "eats" its unsuspecting prey by releasing digestive enzymes. While these plants are certainly fascinating and entertaining to watch, the Venus Fly Trap requires rather specific conditions. For best results, you should plant it outside for full sun - however, if that's not an option, you can keep it on a sunny windowsill with an additional artificial light nearby. The fly-munching trap also likes wet soil, meaning if in a pot, its roots must always be sitting in water. As the plant can't handle hard water that comes from most taps in the UK, it's strongly advised to keep it hydrated with distilled or clean rainwater. If the trap is unable to catch food on its own, green-fingered Brits should keep it fed with insects, blood worms, or fish food. The 2C method which stops flies plaguing your home and ruining your BBQ Keen to see whether this chemical-free solution works? Shoppers can snap up Venus Fly Trap in a Tin from Tesco for just £6.99, order it from Amazon for £13.99 or buy it from their local B&Q on sale for £16.35. One person who was recently amazed by how well the plant worked was Irish lass and TikToker Hannah Tuite - her plant caught a fly just an hour after purchasing it. ''Wasn't expecting this to work, let alone so quick,'' she told fellow social media users in the now-viral video. Why do flies come out in summer? Flies are present all year round, but all of a sudden when summer comes, they are just EVERYWHERE! The main contributing factors are the breeding cycle of flies and the soaring temperatures. Insects are cold blooded and in summer, when their body temperature rises from the external heat, they become more active. The hotter weather also let's them seek out cool moist spots, like inside your home, to escape from the sweltering heat and to lay their eggs. House Fly eggs take around 20 hours to hatch, but when the temperature rises above 37 degrees, can hatch within 8 hours! In extreme hot weather the eggs can mature from larvae to adult fly in as little as four days. The average lifespan of a housefly is 21 days, so each female can lay up to 900 eggs during the summer months! However, if you're on the lookout for a less barbaric option, the stunning lavender works a treat too - and it will leave your garden smelling amazing. Although lavender is one of the most beloved scents for humans, flies can't stand the scent of it. Therefore, if you plant the fragrant flower near the entrance to your home or on the windowsill, it will act as a barrier against flies. Plus, lavender also attracts bees, which will give your garden a wildlife boost. lavender plant for just £3.79. The bargain bloom will be available at stores across the UK from June 12, so flower fans had better set their alarms to be in with the chance of snagging the product.

Why the French have the best sex in the world, by a Parisian sexologist
Why the French have the best sex in the world, by a Parisian sexologist

Telegraph

time5 hours ago

  • Telegraph

Why the French have the best sex in the world, by a Parisian sexologist

Recently, a 52-year-old woman came to me for help. She told me she'd been with her husband for over 30 years but had never had an orgasm during sex. 'I just assumed that part of me was broken,' she said. Sadly, that belief – that pleasure isn't for them – is something I hear again and again from women as a French sexologist living and working in Britain. So many women, particularly in this country, struggle with allowing themselves to ask, want and feel. The contrast with the confidence I see when I'm in France is stark. At a workshop I was running in Paris last year, a woman in her early 60s told a room of other women, matter-of-factly: 'Of course I still masturbate – I'd never rely on a man for that.' The whole group laughed, not in embarrassment, but in solidarity. For her, sexual pleasure was just part of life, like good food or good company. And the differing attitudes towards sex in France and Britain aren't confined to women. The entire cultures surrounding the subject are poles apart. Whenever sex is mentioned here, there's an underlying current of prudishness which often manifests as a blush, a giggle – or, as I've experienced many times, a total shut-down of the conversation. In France, sex is embedded in the national conversation. It's not seen as smutty, or risqué, to talk about it; it's not shrouded in nudge, nudge, wink, wink innuendo. People are far more open about the importance they place on it. We have a reputation for infidelity, but in my experience, French people don't necessarily have more affairs. There's less moral panic and more acceptance that eroticism and commitment can be complex, especially over the course of decades. Desire can ebb and flow within relationships – but being unafraid to talk about the subject means the French report feeling more sexually fulfilled, regardless of how long the relationship lasts. I trained to become a certified sexologist to help midlife women in similar situations to mine. Like so many of my clients now, I went through a divorce in 2019, after 17 years of marriage and two children, and wanted to explore my sexuality. I remember thinking, 'I wish I had someone to talk to about how to navigate these very turbulent years I'm going through', and that so many other women must be feeling the same. I embarked on a journey of sexual rediscovery, including having fun with younger men before meeting my current partner. My adventures taught me that pleasure isn't about performance, but truth. Being honest about what I wanted, on my own terms, was about learning to be sexual again, for myself. My confidence improved – in every aspect of my life – along with my sense of overall wellness. Inspired, I qualified as a life coach at first, then quit my 25-year career leading global campaigns in sustainable finance at institutions including the WWF, Barclays and the UN. I decided to devote myself to helping women who, whether in long-term relationships or single, are hungry for something more but lack the tools to go after it. Most people have heard of sex therapists, who help treat sexual dysfunction. Sexology is different. I'm not a therapist or medical professional, but a coach, who helps clients explore their goals around their sex lives and find solutions to attain them. In France, pleasure isn't seen as a luxury, but a life force; something for everybody at every stage of life, rather than the preserve of the young and beautiful. The Pleasure Atelier, the workshop for women I founded in Paris and am now bringing to London, is based on this principle. It's a space for women to have a glass of champagne and learn about ways to reconnect to their erotic selves, on their own terms. Here's what I believe British people can learn from the French about how to reignite their sexual spark. French women are not obsessed with staying 25 When you think of a celebrity British people deem sexy, chances are you're picturing a lissom young thing. The culture here encourages us to think of women, in particular, as sexual beings only when they're youthful, with taut skin and no responsibilities. The moment women have children, or go through the menopause, they're placed in another box: now nurturers, not creatures of desire. One woman in her late 40s came to me after her children had left home. She said: 'I've spent my whole life being everything to everyone else. I don't even know what I want any more.' It's common for my British clients to feel they've lost their identity as they've grown older. In France, there are many more role models of older women who exude sexiness, are vocal about sex and portray characters continuing to enjoy it. Think of Sylvie in the Netflix series Emily In Paris, played by 62-year-old Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu, or the 72-year-old actress Isabelle Huppert. They're chic, sophisticated women who continue to take their sexuality seriously, and seeing them inspires French women to expect the same for themselves. French women embrace the freedom of midlife and beyond, once their children are older – it's a time for us. Rediscovering yourself as a sexual being is essential to keep sex alive in long-term relationships, and it starts with not writing yourself off because you've hit un certain age. Treat yourself like a Parisian woman The cliches about Parisian women are broadly true: they often restrict their diets to remain rail-thin and rarely mention the menopause – quelle horreur! There's a vanity and pressure to stay sexually desirable which I wouldn't want British women to emulate. But there's also an innate sense of ourselves as sexual beings that I would like British women to embrace. It's in how we dress, how we speak, how we take up space. It's a mindset of self-worth. For too long here, from the boorish lad's mag culture of the 1990s to the current prevalence of Only Fans and porn, the conversation has centred around male pleasure, and women fulfilling male fantasies. French women, by contrast, view themselves as just as worthy of satisfaction. It might sound trivial, but wearing beautiful underwear under your everyday clothes, taking a moment to spritz perfume or lighting a candle can be a powerful reminder that you're deserving of pleasure. Make yourself your own fantasy. Pleasure is essential, not a luxury In Paris, there's a chain of female-friendly sex stores called Passage du Desir, which are a world away from the seedy sex shops found in London's Soho. They're an example of how sex is woven into the fabric of everyday life there, and how normal it is for French women to pop out and buy a sex toy. Sex toys are advertised on mainstream television and discussed endlessly in newspaper articles. My British clients have often lost touch with any kind of sensory pleasure, so I ask them to start small. Take a moment to feel the sun on your face, drink an ice-cold glass of rose or listen to a song you love – whatever feels enjoyable for you. The more in tune you are with your own body, the more pleasure you allow in. Learn to speak up Desire isn't shameful, it's human – and we French know that the more we talk about it, the more empowered we become. Here in Britain, I often hear women complaining that their partners don't satisfy them. Sometimes, if the issues between them begin outside the bedroom – women are often seething with years of pent-up resentment over their partner's behaviour – I suggest couples' counselling; some tell me outright that they hate their husband, and that's not conducive to reigniting the spark. Often, though, it's a case of years, sometimes decades, passing by with women hoping their partners will somehow intuitively know how to please them, without ever being told. I know it can feel daunting, but we have a responsibility to help guide them, and in my experience, most decent men are happy to learn. I encourage clients to write a fantasy list, starting with 'I've always wanted to…' Then I help them work up the courage to tell their partner one thing they want. Most of the time, he is delighted – and once that barrier has been crossed, it's much easier next time.

‘An absolute steal': supermarket croissants, tasted and rated by Felicity Cloake
‘An absolute steal': supermarket croissants, tasted and rated by Felicity Cloake

The Guardian

time8 hours ago

  • The Guardian

‘An absolute steal': supermarket croissants, tasted and rated by Felicity Cloake

Until the age of almost 30, I was largely indifferent to croissants, primarily because, despite all the time I'd spent in France, I'd tried a squashy industrial example sometime in the 1990s and decided they weren't worth the effort. When I finally tasted a croissant fresh from a bakery, out of politeness more than anything else, the flakes fell from my eyes, and a love affair was born. Since then, I've made up for lost time – in fact, I wrote an entire book based around the idea of cycling across France rating croissants, and judged the inaugural Isigny Sainte-Mère Best Croissant Competition UK. But I still steer clear of the supermarket variety wherever I am in the world, so this tasting was a baptism of fire for me. The Guardian's journalism is independent. We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link. Learn more. My usual croissant-judging system, out of 10, has had to be adapted for the Filter's rating system, but the criteria remain the same: I place little weight on appearance, because some of the flabbiest, most disappointing-looking croissants I've encountered have been the most delicious and, conversely, some perfect-looking beauties have turned out to taste of nothing. Personally, I favour an all-butter croissant, because I like them to taste of butter, and preferably that slightly sweet French butter; if you have to add more on top, or indeed jam, cheese, or Nutella, they've not used enough in the dough. Ideally, the little paper bag should be translucent with grease by the time you get it to the cafe seat where you intend to demolish it in the company of a cafe creme. That said, I'm not averse to the slightly more savoury, bready British style, either, so long as it's done well. Texture-wise, though, I'm aware that a technically perfect croissant should be made up of many airy layers of pastry; I prefer them a little squidgy in the middle and shatteringly crisp at the ends and underneath. After all, if a croissant doesn't leave you covered in buttery crumbs, you're doing it wrong. Not that I'm fussy, of course. £1.30 each in store★★★★★ I'm always a bit suspicious of big croissants – what are they trying to make up for? – but I can see the flakes coming off this one as I remove it from the bag. It's even authentically squashed, as if put in there warm from the oven. Shatteringly crisp ends, lovely, damp, elastic crumb and a savoury, even salty flavour that seems to be characteristic of British croissants. It doesn't taste French, but it is delicious – I'd definitely buy this again. 59p each in store ★★★★☆ A clumsily large croissant with a mildly off-putting matt finish, like a pair of American tan tights, but a prime example of how you should never judge by appearances, particularly when it comes to pastry. Inside lurk some very respectable layers and a decent, if fairly neutral buttery flavour. It's also an absolute steal. £1.30 each★★★★☆ If I'd been told there was a French interloper here, I'd have picked out this glossy, handsomely layered chap as the most likely candidate. It's a bit dry inside, sadly, but it has excellent lamination and they've nailed that authentically French flavour, with the delicate sweetness of good unsalted butter. £1.75 for two★★★★☆ This one has a spray tan worthy of Love Island (I suspect egg wash), and though it has lost a bit of definition in the oven, a few layers are evident on the outside. Unfortunately, I cut it in half to discover an enormous hole in the middle, which feels like a technical fault or a swizz, because what I can taste is actually really rather good. Faintly sweet and subtly buttery, with crunchy, if dry ends, and what remains of an elastic interior. Feels like it has potential, hence the charitable rating. £1 each in store ★★★☆☆ A medium croissant, with a pleasant colour and a classic, flaky appearance. It's not bad at all texture-wise – the ends are delicious and a few layers are evident in the middle – but it's a bit dull and could do with a pinch of salt. Sign up to The Filter Get the best shopping advice from the Filter team straight to your inbox. The Guardian's journalism is independent. We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link. after newsletter promotion £1.75 for two★★★☆☆ Looks a bit deflated, with a dull finish and not much in the way of layering visible. The flavour actually isn't bad – slightly yeasty and sweet – but the insides are fluffy like a bloomer, rather than rich and springy. Not unpleasant, you understand; just not what I look for in a croissant. £2.38 for four★★★☆☆ Another one to have been given an egg wash glow-up, though I won't hold it against it, because it wears it well, with decent definition and an airy, honeycomb centre. That said, 'exceptional' might be a little hubristic to describe this fluffy, inoffensively bland number. 59p each in store ★★☆☆☆ A nice-looking, golden brown pastry (if rather solid, like a toy croissant). There are some promising-looking layers on the outside that don't translate into much in the way of lamination in the middle, and it has an odd, pronounced, sweet yeasty flavour that reminds me slightly of rooibos tea. Unfortunately, I don't like rooibos tea. 50p each in store ★★☆☆☆ A small croissant, which is not necessarily a criticism; if it contains enough butter, small can be perfectly formed. I don't doubt some has been involved in the manufacturing process, but sadly I can't detect it in the finished product. The ends are so dry I have to reach for a glass of water, while the middle is bready, with a faintly sweet, but fairly neutral flavour. Butter and jam would be required to eat a whole one. £2.25 for six at Tesco£2.25 for six at Waitrose★☆☆☆☆ All the definition of a croissant emoji, but none of the colour, this reminds me of a runty version of a croissant-shaped dog toy I used to keep finding in my bed. No layers, just soft, chewy dough with a weirdly caramelised flavour. Tastes long-life, processed and unpleasant – I don't get the point of these, sorry. They remind me of something you might be given for breakfast on a long-haul flight, right down to the individual plastic wrapping.

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