Tu and Vous | Little French Subject Pronouns That Pack a Big Punch

Tu or vous? That is the question. Even after 3 years of living in France, AND after having studied French in school, I still don’t completely understand which one to use sometimes. I sigh and think about how much easier it is to teach ‘you’ in English. My students here always look amazed. That’s it? they say. Just one ‘you’? Yes, c’est tout. You for singular, you for plural, for informal, formal, n’importe quoi! - whatever!

Ah, but the French language is très sophistiquée. Add to that, the French have a tendency to complicate the simplest of things. Alors, let me give you a glimpse into my world here in France; tell you about the uses of tu and vous, and how I’ve stumbled along the way.

Tu and Vous both mean “you.” That’s the easy part. They're just subject pronouns, so what’s the big deal? Ah, les règles - the rules.

Vous is used : to show someone respect, in a formal setting, when you’re speaking to more than one person, and when speaking with our elders.

Tu is used : informally, with friends, family (not always) and good acquaintances (not always), when you’re speaking with one person, and it can also be used as a way to disrespect someone.

I suppose that one easy way to go about all this is to be like my friend Brige, who simplifies things by using tu with everyone…and she doesn’t really give a hoot what you think about it!

Tu Offend : With tu, it’s easy to offend someone. One of our French teachers here, Cornelia, told our class an interesting story about this. She knew this girl who one day walked into a store in Cannes. The girl used tu with la vendeuse. La vendeuse-the saleswoman even corrected her, but the girl continued the innocent verbal assault. Quel horreur! The saleswoman demanded that the customer use vous. The girl either didn’t understand or chose to ignore the firm request. La vendeuse was so offended that she refused to assist the young customer, and if memory serves me right, I believe the girl was asked to leave the store. All because she used tu instead of vous! One part of me sides with the saleswoman but the other part of me says, Oh gimme a break, get off your high horse and help the girl.

Co-workers : My husband, Pascal, has a colleague who is older than him. They have worked together for some time now, meriting the use of tu between them. Even though she is Pascal’s elder, she’s also his co-worker, now a friend. So naturally, tu is used. But she’s funny, this French woman. She will only use vous when speaking with my husband. Why? Couldn’t tell ya. She is why there’s always an exception to the rule.

Friends : One day, Pascal had a friend over for coffee. When I met his friend, Ludovic, for the first time, I used vous with him. God it just sounds too formal! Ludovic gave me a warm smile and instantly corrected me. Tu, he said. Later, I asked Pascal about this. I said, So when I meet a friend of yours, like the day that I met Ludovic, was it wrong to use vous? No, he said. OK, I said…But if I’d just started in with tu, would that have been OK? Yes, he replied. It wouldn’t have been a little disrespectful? Well, he said, not really. So how do I know which to use?

For this question I got the classic French response which means either ‘I don’t know’ (like in this situation) or it means the more offensive ‘it’s not my concern, why should I care.’ How this is done is by simultaneously shrugging the shoulders, jutting out the lower lip and at the same time puffing out a tiny burst of air...which makes a teeny tiny popping sound. It’s undeniably French and always makes me chuckle a little!

Family : It took me a long time to ease into tu with my in-laws. They’re family and super sweet, but I felt I couldn’t just jump into tu with them. They deserved my respect. Eventually I chose moments to drop in tu here and there, and started changing the ‘Comment allez-vous?’-How are you (formal) to the much more informal way to say that: ‘Ca va?’

Acquaintances : Arlène is a very kind retiree who lives in my building. She spends four hours a day, every day, two hours in the morning and two in the evening, feeding a group of beautiful, homeless cats who live at our residence; she’s not the only one. There are in fact two or three other women who also perform this labor of love every day in other parts of our complex, which is enormous. They also ensure that the cats are spayed or neutered which is why we never see kittens. I see Arlène quite often, and I’ve even helped her out a few times, like when she was laid up with an injury. So, I’m comfortable around her.  
Warning: comfortable does not mean you can feel free to use tu instead of vous. She is an elder and unless she tells me to use tu, I have to continue to use vous with her, even if I’ve spoken to her 100 times. But hey, I’m human – and what do we humans do? Make mistakes. Just the other day, right in the middle of the conversation I let a tu slip right out of my mouth. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a quick, sharp look from her. Oopsie.

Americans in general, we’re a pretty relaxed, laid back, easy-going and friendly bunch. All this tu and vous business is tiring and we already work 40+ hours a week! But I think the French never tire. (Could have something to do with 35 hour work weeks and 5 weeks paid vacation each year!) And the French, they can really live it up. They out-last me at every party. At 1:00am I’m like - stick a fork in me, I am DONE! But the French, they’ll dance and dazzle till 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning. And I’m talking parents and grandparents! Joie de vivre...

Though engaged in a lively (if it sounds like a debate, that’s OK, c’est normal!), friendly conversation involving elaborate bodily gestures, and a multitude of facial expressions, the French will often maintain that je ne sais quoi, that composure and air of elegance…that I just don’t possess. They’re so dignified. Even two older ladies, who have been neighbors for years and have spoken a thousand times, will still use vous with each other. I sense an air of elegance as I pass them by…

Like with learning the ins and outs of anything, especially a language, experience is key! The road to perfection is paved with bumps and holes, as well as the occasional patch of black ice, leaving you to sometimes skid out of control. Accidents will happen. But most French people will be resilient to your grammatical mistakes and social faux pas. I mean, hey, we at least get points for trying, right?

French Lessons: for many nationalities

“It’s a new law,” my jovial, French father-in-law said to us over the phone; a new French law that would now require all immigrants to take free, government paid French lessons. This was good news! The number of lessons would reflect your current level of French. Advanced, only get 100 hours. Débutante, you get the max, 400 hours. I took 4 years of French in high school with Mrs. Ryder and although that was over 20 years ago, I knew I’d at least remember the basics if not more. She was a wonderful teacher, very charismatic and jovial herself.

We spread the news about the new law at our going away party. Our friends and family were impressed that France was so bold. Yes, America could stand to take a few pointers on this subject. Imagine if the US required all immigrants to learn English. It sends quite a message, don’t you think?

In France you will hopefully never hear this when making a phone call: Press 1 for French, 2 for English, 3 for Arabic… France wants to hold on to their identity, and rightly so. I can’t blame them. Remember when you didn’t have to press 1 for English in the States? That was a long time ago. 

Turkey and her stuffed animal in the Sherpa bag

Two weeks after our party, we were gone; boarded the plane in Boston with a mix of emotions, a few suitcases and one Sherpa bag containing one Turkey. She rode in the cabin with us of course.

The immigration office is located at the préfecture. You are told to arrive at 7:30am, only to end up waiting outside for an hour and a half with 100 other people until the place actually opens at 9 o’clock. Baa, we resembled a herd of sheep I thought, all facing the same direction, cramming toward the gate waiting for the door to open, where you then have to haul a$$ to then wait in yet another line, where you are then given 2 minutes of someone’s time to explain your needs, and she gives you a number and you wait yet again for 1-3 hours. Good times. 

At the préfecture I was given an oral French exam to determine my niveau de français. I quickly learned that the poorer my responses were during the exam, the more hours I could rack up in free French lessons. So, I purposely botched a few answers. Et voila! I managed to get myself 300 hours.

As a side note, and completely unrelated…I was also given a chest x-ray. Standard procedure for les étrangers. What’s NOT standard procedure to me however is doing this type of exam buck naked. Well, I was naked from the waist up. I asked for a johnny, a drape, two napkins for pete’s sake, something! Eh beh non, Madame, c’est juste comme ça…

holiday party, had to dress in our country's colors - USA!

“You must be the other American!!” she excitedly boasted from her seat at the big classroom table. She was Brigid, another blonde, blue-eyed, uber-friendly American. We would soon become each other’s BFFs (best friends in France). I smiled and sat next to her, and with total disregard for the fact that this was my first day of French class, I immediately started chatting with her in our fun, native tongue. Ah, American English, so refreshing. So popular! ALL eyes were on us. Our teacher entered the room, however, and quickly put an end to that. En français, les filles… Oui, madame,  désolée.

Several French classes were offered during the week, with a variety of profs, and I attended class about twice a week. Each class was 3.5 hours long. The teachers used the direct method with us. Ohlalalalala. This is where the teacher refrains from using the student’s native language and only speaks in the target language. Most of the profs spoke English, but they refused to do any translating for us. Well, except for one. She was really cool. It wasn’t just me and Brige that spoke English. It was the 2^nd language for many other students as well. 

a motley crew

So in addition to Brige from Florida, I made other friends through this course. I met a cornucopia of interesting people! We were such a motley crew. I wondered how hard that must’ve been for the teachers. I was truly surprised to realize just how many different nationalities were represented. Here are just some of the people that I met: Laila from Portugal, young Amadou from Senegal, Christian from Chile, out-spoken Sanye and soft-spoken Sadye from Turkey, sassy Anya, Katia, and a slew of others from Russia, Svetlana and many more from the Ukraine, Neno from Georgia (which I am embarrassed to say that I never knew was a country), Tanya from Ecuador, Terri from New Zealand, Marco from Brasil, Gianna from Italy, a bunch of very nice chatty-cathy’s from the Philippines, Nathamon from Thailand, Oh and Jung from Vietnam, Fatima and others from Tunisia, Susan from Norway, Mel from The Netherlands, Tomoko and Midori from Japan (two very cool chicks), Mike from The Big Apple, Mara the California girl, a young boy from Iraq, Ali and Temirlan of Chechnya, and our oldest student, a grandmother, age 75ish but sharp as a tack, named Alla from Russia. 

I got to know a lot of people and Brige was always amazed at how I could remember all the names. She calls me Rainman for that. I’m not shy and can strike up a conversation with anyone. Other than the Americans, I most enjoyed talking to the Japanese women and the Muslim women wearing the headscarves. Or rather, these Muslim women seemed to really enjoy talking to me. But I remember one though who always looked at me with contempt. I was friendly with her just the same. I don’t think they’d ever had much opportunity to speak with a woman from the west. 

Once even, when I was turned talking to Brige, I felt something on my hair (long, blond hair). I turned and it was the sweet-faced Fatima from Turkey. She had touched my hair and apologized for doing so. She said she’d never really seen blonde hair up close, or touched it. Did she think it would feel differently? She commented that it was so pretty and soft. I asked her about her hair, if it was brown or black, wavy or straight, and how she likes to wear it at home when she’s allowed to take off the scarf. And there we were, two women from completely different cultures, backgrounds and religious beliefs, just chatting about hairstyles, make-up, etc. It was a completely different kind of lesson; the type that opens the eyes and mind, and introduces similarities in a world full of differences.