Now that the Foire du Trône, the largest funfair in France, has come to an end, it’s easy to think of it as a metaphor of consumerism. Andfunfairs have already been compared to department stores or malls on Saturday afternoons…Unlike concerts or demonstrations, funfair crowds produce no collective energy, but a wandering movement dominated by non-determination and nonchalance. The desire to leave the house and soak up a singular atmosphere prevails over the prospect of nourishing a passion or protesting. It is still a desire. It’s simply looking for a place to rest and a way to express itself. The desire to show off one’s skill or strength to win a “big” prize, to scare or please oneself, to produce a souvenir for tomorrow or to reconnect with those of yesterday… The funfair is the place where a thousand lurking desires are waiting to be awakened. And therein lies the challenge: how do you transform the flow into a moment? How can we give substance to suspended desires? This question also concerns businesses.

Funfairs are not just about entertaining crowds. They are also about time. Time passes there more slowly than elsewhere, and the rides and stalls seem unchanging except for their technology. Among them, claw machines are always a hit. They often only feature stuffed animals, but the idea of owning them simply by moving pliers is irresistible. What we’re talking about is not a desire for plush toys, but their desirability: the possibility, within reach of a pair of pliers…

The same applies to consumption. How can we desire what seems inaccessible? This is the question that the luxury sector must reflect on today. It has always offered products that are expensive, but never totally beyond reach to the worldwide “aspirational” middle classes who are behind its success. But when some brands decide to sharply increase the price of their iconic bags (the classic medium-sized Chanel bag has just passed the symbolic threshold of 10,000 euros), they justify their decision by claiming that accessibility could lead to a loss of desirability. It’s a bet.

Claw machines teach us otherwise, but perhaps the world of luxury isn’t the carnival we imagine it to be.

The municipality of Le Tour-du-Parc, the leading oyster-farming town in the Gulf of Morbihan, in Southern Brittany, recently opened Ostreapolis, “an interpretation center for oyster farming”. The name sets the tone for this ambitious project. The architecture also sets the tone, with its crushed oyster shell forecourt and its limed main building used by local oyster farmers.

The purpose is to understand this multidimensional mollusk, from taste to climatic and oceanographic issues. Ostreapolis aims to be “a tool for discovering and appreciating the trades, know-how, production, landscapes and ecosystems of the region”. To achieve this, the site was designed around three poles. A Discovery center (exhibitions, events, study groups, etc.) to grasp oyster farming through an emotional journey intended to give visitors an (inevitably) immersive experience (touching rocks, observing the oyster environment, watching their lives from larvae to spat, and even steering a barge through oyster beds in the middle of a storm in a simulator, etc.). A Gastronomy section (events, workshops, classes…) led by chefs, now an essential part of any travel proposal. And a Research section (talks and conferences with scientists, PhD students and experts) open to professionals, students and scientists alike, to reflect on the future of oyster shells.

This multifaceted and didactic initiative illustrates how regions polish their offers in order to attract a wide audience, as well as the new expectations of the public. It’s no longer a question of simply offering entertainment, but of providing an experience; no longer a question of simply educating, but of questioning; no longer a question of understanding, but of learning.

The Ostreapolis example should inspire all food brands wishing to stand out. Couldn’t they, too, use educational, gastronomic and scientific discourses with the sustainable tone required by our times? This would give them the opportunity to renew their image and look dynamic in a complex ecosystem. Perfect for asserting their uniqueness, forging their values and underlining their commitment to their industries.

One sector that never stops reinventing itself is the hotel industry, indifferent to the turmoil of the crisis. This undeniable sign of vitality can be explained by the staggering growth in tourism (post-Covid recovery, Rugby World Cup, the Olympic Games…) and by the spread of a new relationship with time and space among urbanites. What establishment today can indeed claim that it is “targeting” only tourists, and that it does not also wish to “open up to the city”?

Hotels have invented new offers: their rooms are no longer only excuses. Some boast vast patios or rooftops with breathtaking views for divine aperitifs, while others are multiplying events (cocktails, cinema, DJ sets, spas…) to attract locals who lack space in their city apartments. Since the health crisis has rekindled the longing for nature, hotels are now looking to the nearby countryside, less than two hours from the capital.

The idea here is to attract families and groups of friends rather than couples. Better still: blended families, and their many children… Whether it’s Le Barn, Une île (launched by the restaurant Septime), Casa Rosalie, La Prairie (the new sustainable country house imagined by The Oasis House) or, in a more bourgeois version, the Abbaye de Vaux-de-Cernay, recently renovated by one of the kings of Parisian nightlife, all these addresses are surprisingly all highly Instagrammable (as if taken out of a decorating magazine with a host of vintage items, dried flower bouquets, furnished bookcases and inviting cushions and cozy fabrics), kid-friendly spaces (for peaceful weekends), activities of all kinds (horseback riding, canoeing, karaoke, aperitifs, snacks, yoga, spa, DJ concerts, swimming, cycling, cooking… ) as well as many solid wood tables with local and sustainable dishes, available from the inevitable brunch to dinner.

Life, shared moments and storytelling have become the new hallmarks of elegance. Contrastingly, Relais & Châteaux almost seem to belong to a bygone era.

Halfway between beauty and lifestyle, some liquid soaps — that trendy magazines call “hand washes” (much more elegant) — have turned into signs of recognition. We belong to the same taste community. Their scents have become fragrances developed by famous noses, their promises are palpable, somewhere between gentleness and exfoliation. Their glass bottles are shaped to mean refinement, stand the test of time with nobility and, when the moment comes, welcome the contents of an environment-friendly refill aimed at soothing the guilty conscience generated by their purchase price. Aesop undoubtedly dominates this market, as tangible as symbolic, envied by a growing number of brands including L:A Bruket, Diptyque, Panier des sens, Dior and Fôme, the latest addition. Among others.

The changing status of liquid soap is a perfect illustration of our era’s desire to transcend the ordinary by giving it a discourse and an inordinate attention. As if seizing the anecdotal was a way of distancing (protecting?) oneself from the essential. Like a design object or an iconic piece of jewelry, a beautiful bottle of liquid soap conveys a soft elitism fueled by the assurance of impeccable taste, when in fact it’s just the umpteenth form of social conformism. Further proof of the marketing genius of creating markets by changing the way we look at them.

Any product can try its luck. Some brands would like to subject washing-up liquid or laundry detergent to the same fate as liquid soap, while others are thinking about tackling toothpaste, a perfect symbol of everyday life, stuck in its rhetoric of whiteness and prevention without always managing to renew the look of its tube or the nature of its promises.

The Smilist has understood this. The new brand proposes to revolutionize the dental world with its assertive aesthetics, and claims to be a pioneer in oral microbiota, “fusing the power of prebiotics and natural ingredients to give us a smile bursting with vitality.” We’ve been warned. Headed by a “cosmetic expert”, a dental surgeon and an artistic director: the winning trio of chic marketing to transform everyday life into “beautiday”. Beauty in the service of good. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Within the food industry, the coffee sector is undoubtedly the most dynamic. In the beginning were the origins. Each brand came up with its own geographical list, designed to make us dream and provide us with the signs of authenticity that would build its image. Gone, the simplistic days of arabicas and robustas. Coffees from the high plateaus, Papua New Guinea and Jamaica’s Blue Mountain burst into our minds and our cups, accompanied by adjectives that are as novel as poetic. Sweet and smooth, fruity and balanced, full-bodied and opulent. Who could resist

Then came the time of machines. Performance in the service of taste. Coffee moved from beans to capsules, obliterating all human gesture and poetry. All that remained was a gleaming body that we liked to show off. It couldn’t last. A worldwide actor, even when accompanied by more local notoriety, is not enough to convey a quality message, because quality is first and foremost a matter of gesture. The hand of the gringo who dives into the coffee bag to pull out the best beans, and the hand of the barista who measures out the coffee and takes care of the foam.

It’s hardly surprising that Asian cafés are all the rage these days. Vietnamese, Filipino, Taiwanese, Korean and even Japanese. Hanoi Corner was the first to set up shop in the French capital, six years ago, followed by Shiba café, Laïzé, Kafé Buki and Filipino-born Kapé. After being driven by French models (cup and counter), then by Germanic and American models (mug and coffee to go), coffee is now opening up to Asia. At Hanoi Corner, the coffee machine has a vintage feel, and the smell of espresso blends with that of coconut, a specialty from northern Vietnam. At Kapé, customers opt for a “kapé de Filipina,” an Arabica from the Philippines, or an “ube latte,” a latte spiked with purple yam native to the archipelago, which gives it a vanilla taste. At Kafé Buki, a Japanese coffee shop, the baristas take the time to practice aisukohi, a cold brew method that consists of pouring hot water directly onto ground coffee, which then passes through a filter.

With their specific gestures, Asian cafés are renewing the codes of their market to stand out better, feed social media and rekindle travel memories.

They are the new ambassadors of authenticity, signaling the triumph of the gesture over the machine.

The headline-grabbing press is all about it, in a tone that is partly new, partly not so good. Having one’s face entirely made-up, or “Full Face”, seems to be the ultimate trend of the moment among (very) young consumers. The Nude movement, at the opposite end of the spectrum, wasn’t that long ago.

Full Face was born on social media, and especially on TikTok, as you’d expect. Dermatologists are worried about it, pointing out the deleterious effects of make-up on young skins, but their messages carry little weight in the face of the temptation generated by store shelves (real and virtual) overflowing with promises of sensations and effects. The phenomenon is, of course, indicative of the expectations and dreams of our times.

First, because it affects the youngest among us all, who can always be seen as the bearers of a piece of the future. A future where consumerism is a source of culture, and looks is the new opium of the people. These Full Face addicts are also known as “Sephora kids,” which says a lot about the brands’ ability to shape brains and engender a generational sense of belonging. Just like school.

The phenomenon highlights the importance of the face. As a result of the explosion of images on social media, the face is the new body. The object of all attention and expectations, thanks to a routine that is conscientiously applied to every micro zone. It’s clearly easier to correct the appearance of one’s face than one’s body…

As a result, a 16-year-old today masters the art of make-up infinitely better than her mother, shaking up the transmission hierarchy, and new brands are multiplying, such as Huda Beauty (born in 2013), Charlotte Tillbury (2013), Rare Beauty (2019), and Avril (2015). Soon, they’ll be as old as their buyers. Rarely used alone, they find their place alongside the premium brands of all time (those of mothers) as well as low-cost and unknown brands found at Action or on Ali Express. Their characteristic is to be “brands of words” rather than “brands of speeches”, since the influencer’s testimony is worth more than any argument.

This is how teenage, a period of self-invention, becomes one of self-construction. It’s no longer a question of revealing oneself to the world, but of presenting oneself as the world of the moment demands.

You don’t necessarily need to fly to experience jet lag. Lunch and dinner take care of that. In the last century, blue-collar and white-collar workers had lunch at noon, while executives met around 1 p.m. Likewise for leaving the office. When the former couldn’t stay late — they had to cope with family responsibilities or public transport schedules, while the latter made their distance from these constraints an ostentatious sign of their hierarchical position. “Late” was synonymous with responsibility. Yes, but that was before the health crisis.

Just being out in the streets at around 12:15 p.m. is enough to see queues at the countless street food outlets that have replaced company restaurants. As a result of the increase of home-working, arriving “around 1 p.m.” means taking the risk of being faced with a smaller choice… The break time is slowly slipping towards noon. This gradual move can also be seen in the evening, provoked by restaurateurs’ ambition to “rotate tables” twice. To achieve this, they set up a first service at 7:30 p.m. and a second at 9:00 p.m., with diners from the first being asked not to stay too long. First served, first gone.

If dining early evokes tourists, talking about “early dinner” sounds better… On closer inspection, however unprecedented it may be, the situation isn’t all bad news. Leaving the table early can give you the feeling of being on vacation in a foreign country, breaking with your habits (which feels good), or escaping the “gunshot” in the dining room and its stress. An early dinner is also a way of extending time and treating yourself to a second evening. In another place or at home, watching a TV series.

Every brand now needs to think about how to occupy these “new after-hours”, which could turn out to be a juicy market opportunity. Since snacking is now seen by catering professionals as a new growth area, why not hybridize brunch and snacking? Tomorrow, the working day could start earlier (due to global warming), be interrupted by a “mini finger lunch” and end with a “brunch” around 5 p.m… In the plate, change is all the time.

Just like the Big Apple, marketing never sleeps. As soon as the promises of the day are fulfilled, it’s time to imagine the evening and night ones. Recently, articles on the need for quality sleep have proliferated like new injunctions. A good night’s sleep is essential for tackling the day, looking younger and even living longer. According to the National French Institute of Sleep and Vigilance, 37% of French people report sleep dissatisfaction. If we add those who are unhappy with their lives, we’re not sure there are many left…

That’s all it took to expand proposals to help us fight this new battle against insomnia. “Sleep well” is now added to “eat well”, “live well” and “age well”. Soon “dying well”. Our era is definitely in search of wellbeing. Ergonomic memory foam mattresses and pillows are the first to take up the fight. So it should be. Closely followed by dedicated applications such as Dodow, a luminous device based on cardiac coherence—already adopted by over a million people. Weighted blankets and comforters (weighing several kilos) are also in the starting blocks. You can even find them at Ikea. Kusmi Tea, which once made a name for itself on the crowded tea shelves with its Detox blend, has just launched a Sleep Ritual with rooibos, enriched with lemon balm extracts, recommended for falling asleep. A sign of things to come.

But night isn’t just about sleep. It’s also about beauty. Contouring face masks, botox patches to erase fine lines and sleep wrinkles, night caps to reduce tangles, and night gloves (!) to optimize cream penetration for optimal repair of hands and nails. Think of it. As for spa centers, they now prefer to focus on sleep rather than fitness. It’s calmer. For example, the Thermes Marins in Saint-Malo offer a “sea and sleep recover” stay designed to “reconnect with restful sleep”, with the option of choosing a pillow (pillow mist offered).

We knew that consumers were ready to pay to do nothing and even eat nothing. Now they’re ready to pay for sleep too. Marketing never sleeps.

It had to happen. Since Emily loves Paris, and Arsène Lupin has brought an unexpected influx of visitors to Etretat, Normandy, why not exploit the potential and turn each series into a tourist information center? In charge of developing tourism in France, Atout France thought about it and got on to Netflix to publish a travel guide dedicated to the filming locations of its movies and series. France has suddenly become a life-size theme park. The zenith of the entertainment society.

Transformed streets, revamped stores, dressed-up inhabitants and sometimes even changed town names (because what’s supposed to happen here was, in fact, shooted there) in exchange for hypothetical economic spin-offs brought by a stream of holidaymakers we dare not call tourists, since their motivation is no longer to discover or learn, but to recognize or even relive what they’ve previously seen on a screen. What city could resist this prospect, which is far more consensual than an e-commerce warehouse setup?

To avoid the risk of over-tourism (think of the locals), Netflix and Atout France reassure us: Lupin also visited the Nissim de Camondo Museum and the headquarters of the Communist Party, and Emily took the train to Provence. When can we expect an Emily in France guide with her itineraries and “secret addresses”?

Some people see this as a crime of lèse-majesté: the dispossession of our narrative sovereignty by an American platform, and our submission to stereotyped values (gastronomy, culinary arts, elegance, love) that no longer tell the story of our times. Let’s not forget that many countries would like to own them, and that just because these values appeared centuries ago doesn’t mean they’re outdated. Quite the opposite, in fact. To see them as desired and desirable as ever shows their strength.

It may be reductive, but their power of attraction is certainly more powerful than that of Fintech or the new technologies that also contribute to our pride. “We haven’t finished inventing France“, says Netflx in an advert produced for the occasion. That’s the challenge. It’s up to each city to attract the inspiration and stories to enrich our national perception… and enable a better distribution of visitors.

Why couldn’t the grand national narrative that some are calling for appear more on screens than in political speeches?

While coffee is constantly reinventing itself (filter, pods, flavored, cold brew, enriched with protein or collagen, in cocktails, capsules and now in Asian versions), matcha is pulling out all the stops. Proof that urban life is no longer possible without a hot beverage close at hand.

Originating in China, and particularly popular in Japan, matcha is made from green tea leaves, which give it a bright color, very much in line with social media expectations, and which, when mixed with water or milk, produce a velvety appearance that can’t fail to stimulate craving. But matcha isn’t just a drink, it’s also an ingredient that can easily be incorporated into baked goods to make them more enchanting. Traditional pudding, cakes, ice creams and even smoothies take on a greenish allure that, while surprising at first, has come to seduce. The power of strangeness.

Matcha is also making inroads into the world of cosmetics, on the eyelids of celebrities and influencers. Last but not least, matcha can also be used to promote good health: rich in antioxidants, it helps combat bad cholesterol. It is even said to have calming effects on the body and mind, as Buddhist monks have well understood…

If matcha’s success can be explained by its virtuous promises, reducing it to an “alicament” would be to deny the importance of its color, which is as easily identifiable and Instagrammable as it is adaptable. How many products can claim such a strong association with a color as matcha? One of the futures of food takes shape here in the form of “good-looking” foods, characterized by a distinctive shape, color, packaging and even gesture. A way for them to clearly convey the lifestyle to which they aspire. Proof of this is the transformation, during the last Fashion Week, of one of Paris’s Café Kitsuné into an ultra-green pop-up entirely dedicated to matcha, with cane chairs and a green-and-white awning. The consecration. Meanwhile, collagen beverages are making more and more appearances, with a futuristic blue as a sign of recognition. The future looks bright…