Our blogger La Petite Anglaise explores whether or not speaking more than one language means having more than one personality. And is that a good thing?

I've come to the conclusion that being bilingual is not just about speaking and thinking in two different languages.  It's about having two distinct personalities.

When I first moved to France, despite my twelve or so years of French lessons at school, culminating in a university degree, I found it horribly difficult to express myself in French.  I could get my point across, make conversation and understand what was being said around me, but I struggled to translate my actual personality.  French people I met thought I was rather reserved and shy, quiet and not particularly opinionated.  As painful shyness was something I had suffered from as a teenager and subsequently conquered, it was intensely frustrating to relive that awkward phase all over again in France/French.  Another sticking point was humour:  any attempts to communicate a dry Northern sense of humour into French tended to result in disaster.  What I had intended as sarcasm was often taken literally.

Ten years down the line I am far more comfortable in conversation with French and am sometimes mistaken for a native (I never grow tired of this compliment).  Nonetheless I have realised that I am a slightly different person when I speak French.  I think this is due in part to a conscious or subconscious desire to conform to French expectations of what it is acceptable for women to say (which means, for example, less swearing and crudity, even after a few drinks).  Whatever the reason, my French self is certainly rather more polite and deferential than my English self.

Take answering the phone for instance.  My English self is congenitally incapable of uttering the phrase “you're welcome”.  My mind goes positively blank when someone says “thank you” and I tend to mumble a bashful “no problem” or “that's alright”, only to remember the existence of the phrase “you're welcome” as I am replacing the receiver.  My French self, on the other hand, adopts a syrupy sweet voice not unlike the invisible Arte anchorwoman (similar to the Cadbury's caramel squirrel) and never ceases to amaze me when “il n'y a pas de quoi” or “je vous en prie” trips effortlessly off her tongue.

In previous jobs, where I was the only native English speaker in my office, I often found it frustrating being my polite, too nice French self all day long.  I longed to let down my guard and relax into my English personality, to have honest dialogue with my bosses and inject a touch of humour now and then.  Eventually I made the move to an English firm where I really could be me all day long: the sarcastic, occasionally subversive, mercilessly piss-taking and smutty (after a beer-or two) version of me.  It was the best move I ever made.  My very mental well-being depended on it.

Recently I substituted the French boyfriend (formerly known as Mr Frog) for an English model.  I don’t think this was because I wasn’t able to communicate well enough with Mr Frog – as his English was very good and our sense of humour was in perfect harmony – but I certainly don’t think I could have ever had a meaningful relationship with someone who only understood French.  They wouldn’t be dating me, only the watered down French version.

At the end of the day, although I did move to this country with the aim of becoming fluent in the language, and to live a French life, I am adamant that I don't want to lose touch with the English me within.  My French personality doesn’t feel quite genuine: it's more like a mask I wear sometimes. 

And it gets a little uncomfortable after a few hours, rather like my contact lenses.

Petite Anglaise

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