Category: Featured
A collection of featured posts; essays and stories that stand out, whether for wit, insight, or sheer absurdity. Highlights chosen not by algorithm, but by human judgement.
Renting in France comes with a certain romantic aura — cobbled courtyards, wrought-iron balconies, and the faint whiff of existential despair. But behind the shutters lurks a more sobering truth: as a tenant, you carry rather a lot of responsibility, and when things go wrong with your landlord, you’ll need both patience and paperwork.
Here’s what every tenant should know before they hand over their security deposit and their peace of mind.
The Sacred Inventory (État des lieux)
In France, the legal presumption is deliciously simple: everything is your fault. You are responsible for the apartment in its entirety, insured accordingly, and your liability is measured against two documents — the entry and exit inventories.
These inventories must match exactly if you hope to see your deposit again. A scratch here, a dent there, and suddenly you’re funding your landlord’s new parquet flooring. The paperwork may feel tedious, but it is, quite literally, your only protection.
Deposit Disputes
The landlord has two months after your departure to return the deposit. That’s the law.
They cannot hold it back for “normal wear and tear” (faded paint, softened sofa cushions, the honest erosion of Parisian living).
But beware: the deposit is not your last month’s rent. You must keep paying rent until the very end of your tenancy — France is particularly humourless on this point.
If the landlord withholds money, they must provide receipts or estimates. Should they decide to don their DIY overalls and fix things themselves, they can only claim the cost of materials, not their own “labour” (translation: no charging you €500 for an afternoon with a paintbrush).
When Things Escalate
If mould blossoms in the corners, the heating dies in January, or a window remains eternally cracked, what then?
- Report it: Start with the landlord, naturally, but if they remain unmoved, you can escalate to la mairie or la préfecture de police. Authorities can impose penalties, which usually gets a sluggish landlord moving.
- Withhold rent (carefully): The bold option. Technically possible, but riddled with procedural traps. The safest version is to pay the rent into a separate account that the landlord cannot access until repairs are made. Do this wrong, and you’ll find yourself cast as the “bad tenant” — not a role you want in French housing court.
- Seek mediation: Cheaper and faster than litigation, mediation through a local housing association can untangle many disputes.
- Take legal action: If nothing else works, the courts can compel a landlord to make repairs. It’s slow, but effective.
- Terminate the tenancy: When the property becomes genuinely uninhabitable and the landlord remains obstinate, you may have grounds to break the lease. Get a lawyer before you pack your boxes.
- Recover your deposit: If your landlord clings to your deposit like it’s a family heirloom, you can file a formal complaint or take legal steps to recover it.
Practical Advice
- Keep everything in writing — emails, registered letters, scribbled notes slid under doors.
- Take photos with timestamps.
- Collect witnesses if you can.
Think of it as compiling a dossier for the inevitable courtroom drama, should it come to that.
And remember: procedures can vary by department, so always check with local housing associations or lawyers before making bold moves.
Associations That Can Help
- Association de Défense des Habitants — lacnl.com (€70/year).
- Agence Nationale pour l’Information sur le Logement (ANIL) — anil.org.
Both can provide guidance, support, and occasionally, much-needed moral outrage on your behalf.
Final Thought
Living in Paris is rarely simple, and dealing with landlords is no exception. But armed with the right paperwork, a decent insurance policy, and perhaps the phone number of a good tenant association, you can survive – and even triumph – in the charming but unforgiving theatre of French property law.
As someone who loves a good “buy it for life” moment, I thought the BÉIS Sports Backpack would be my new travel and work companion. The sleek black design, the promise of durability, and the price tag north of €100 were convincing enough to make me press “purchase.” I love a good deal, I snagged it for €98 instead of its usual €119.
As someone who tries to support women-owned businesses, I was drawn to BÉIS, the brand founded by Shay Mitchell. Her marketing is undeniably on point, which made the purchase even more appealing. After years of carrying a tote to work, like a “vraie Parisienne,” I had perfected the effortless, chic commuter vibe. Bag slung over my shoulder, my mobile phone in hand—but that oh-so-French style came at a cost. I started noticing my posture was becoming wonky. Switching to a backpack seemed like a kinder choice for my body in the long run, especially since I often brought my packed lunches to work most days of the week. I wanted something functional yet stylish, a balance of practical utility and understated cool that felt très moi.
Unlike so many other celebrity-backed brands, Shay Mitchell is not just the face of BÉIS, she’s actually the founder and acting CEO. Her involvement in the brand’s product design made me feel like I was supporting something authentic. One year later, I’m wondering: was I scammed by the marketing, or has “lifetime” taken on a whole new meaning?
NThe first year of ownership for this bag was nothing special: weekday commutes, carrying my MacBook Air, a charger, maybe a small notebook and my lunchbox. No rock climbing trips. Nor camping excursions. No yoga mats, just the humdrum of daily professional life. Despite this minimal use, the bag is falling apart. The shoulder strap stitching is unraveling and the inner lining is frayed and torn. I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry that a supposedly “premium” backpack couldn’t handle light use for even a full year.
So, I did what any annoyed millennial would do: I reached out to the brand. BÉIS’s customer service reps were quick to respond (thanks, Jemmy!) but less quick to resolve. Their policy? If you didn’t buy directly from their website, you’re out of luck. They advised mme to contact Revolve, the retailer I purchased it from. Cue the customer service ping-pong match.
Revolve’s response? A dismissive “this is normal wear and tear,” accompanied by a polite but hollow apology and a 10% discount code for my trouble. To recap: I spent over €98 on a backpack marketed as durable, used it lightly for one year, and now they are telling me that its rapid deterioration is “normal.” What exactly is the life expectancy of BÉIS products—a single rotation around the sun? The real kicker here is the disconnect between price and performance. A backpack in this price range should offer more than fleeting aesthetics; it should deliver on its promise of durability. Instead, I’m left with a fraying, dysfunctional bag and a discount code I have zero intention of using. Why would I want another BÉIS product when the first one failed so spectacularly?
This experience has me questioning the “quality guarantee” of so many modern brands. If we’re paying triple the price of a standard backpack, we should be getting triple the quality—or at least something that doesn’t unravel under the weight of a laptop. BÉIS’s branding might scream chic and reliable, but the reality is far less glamorous.
To BÉIS and other companies offering premium-priced products: your customers aren’t just paying for aesthetics. We’re paying for trust. If you can’t stand by your product, then don’t expect us to stand by your brand. A 15% discount code doesn’t fix a broken reputation.
As for me, I’ll be taking my search for a durable, high-quality backpack elsewhere. BÉIS might want to rethink what “buy it for life” means, because at this rate, it’s the lifetime of a fruit fly—not the customer—that they’re guaranteeing.
PS: If you’re curious about the discount codes I got, feel free to reach out—I’m happy to share!