My first years in France were a whirlwind — the kind of blur that comes from living in a new culture while raising tiny children. More than twenty-five years ago, my husband and I went from two fast-paced careers to suddenly becoming parents of two babies less than two years apart. Life was beautiful, messy, and exhausting. Once our youngest arrived a few years later, the pace only increased.
Before children, wellbeing meant choosing which restaurant to try when we both happened to land in Paris on the same evening. After children, wellbeing meant simply getting through the day: early mornings, stroller logistics across cobblestones, sleep deprivation, and feeding schedules. Eventually, when the fog lifted just enough, I realized I didn’t feel like myself — stretched thin, low energy, running on adrenaline. I still had some lingering baby weight, but more than that, I felt off: depleted, puffy, and not quite in my own skin.
My Type A instinct was to do more: restrict my eating, wake before dawn to run laps around the Champ de Mars, push through fatigue. It didn’t help. It only made me more depleted.
Around that time, thanks to some well-connected Paris girlfriends, I ended up in the cabinet of a chic, very well-known nutritionist near Avenue Montaigne. This was long before wellness was something people discussed openly. I had never been to a nutritionist in my life, and I was intimidated before I even walked through the door.
Dr. K was warm and charming… until I stepped behind a curtain so he could weigh and measure me. I still remember wishing I’d chosen my undergarments with more foresight. He asked about my routine: eating, sleep, exercise, stress. I told him how hard I was trying — the restrictive meals, the early morning runs, the constant feeling of not keeping up. And how baffling it was that French women looked effortlessly pulled together while still eating real food at actual restaurants.
He listened, smiled, and then said the most French sentence I had ever heard:
“Madame Plantier, you are trying too hard. There is nothing amusing about your path. You must include pleasure in your day, or you will give up.”
His “plan” was equally unremarkable: plenty of vegetables, enough protein, minimal processed food, a glass of wine if I wanted it, yogurt whenever I liked it, easy on the bread and cheese, and most importantly, enjoy meals out without guilt. And the next day?
Just return to balance. No drama.
Then he added one last instruction — the one that surprised me most:
stop running and walk instead. Not power walking, not tracking steps — simply walking. The long, natural kind the French do everywhere, every day.
He told me to keep a detailed journal for two weeks and come back. During the first week, I stubbornly kept running at dawn. By the second week, I finally listened and switched to walking. I wrote everything down except the cocktail party, because nibbling endlessly is impossible to quantify.
When I returned, Dr. K barely glanced at the numbers before declaring, “You look wonderful. Continue like this.” And honestly, that was the end of my “wellness plan.”
Years later, I realized that meeting with Dr. K — and the decades of observation that followed — distilled something essential about French wellbeing. His advice wasn’t magic. It wasn’t trendy. Nor was it glamorous. It was simply the French approach to living well:
Eat real food.
Indulge occasionally.
Move your body but don’t punish it.
And bring pleasure into your day.
What struck me most over time is that, in France, this isn’t a “plan” at all. It’s not a January 1st resolution or a 30-day reset. It’s simply how people live. These habits are woven into the culture from the very beginning — from the way children eat at the school cafeteria to the way adults structure their days. The consistency isn’t forced; it’s learned. And because it’s learned early, it becomes instinctive.
Over the years, I’ve collected stories, noticed countless tiny rituals, and learned so much from my French girlfriends — how they eat, move, and care for themselves in ways that feel both grounded and joyful. What I share below are some of the broader themes I’ve observed: the everyday French habits that support wellbeing, gently and consistently, without perfection or pressure. It is the key to the notion of French wellbeing.
A Note Before We Begin
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Before we dive in, I want to be clear about something: none of this is exclusive to France. This French wellbeing mindset can be adapted anywhere. The difference is simply cultural — these habits are woven into daily life here, taught early, and repeated often. But the principles themselves aren’t uniquely French. They can be adapted anywhere, in any family, in any environment. And that’s the encouraging part. What I’ve learned from living in France isn’t a set of rules, but a mindset — one that anyone can borrow from in small, manageable ways.
PART ONE — FOOD: The French Way of Eating Well
1. The French Mindset Toward Food
The first pillar of French wellbeing starts with how people think about food. One of the first things I noticed in France was how relaxed people seemed around food. There were no forbidden categories, no dramatic elimination plans, no moralizing. Food was food — real, pleasurable, and part of life. Nothing was vilified completely… unless it was industrialized food. “C’est pas bon,” people say with a shrug, meaning not that it tastes bad, but that the quality simply isn’t there.
Seeing how central the baguette is to daily life, the idea of “low carb” — or gasp, no carbs — is not a thing. And chocolate, desserts, full-fat cheeses? They belong here. They’re part of the cultural landscape, threaded into normal life rather than reserved for a cheat day.
And here’s something else I learned quickly: moderation isn’t just about frequency — it’s also about quantity.Portions in France are naturally smaller. Desserts don’t arrive in bowls the size of your face. A few bites of something delicious — a square of chocolate, a little slice of tart, a scoop of yogurt with fruit — is considered enough. Pleasure comes from taste, not volume. This is a huge cultural difference.
It’s not that anything goes. It’s that moderation is instinctive, pleasure is central, and guilt isn’t part of the conversation. French women don’t fear food; they fold it gently into the rhythm of their day. They balance things out without making it an all-or-nothing performance.
2. Rhythm and Structure
The French live by a certain rhythm with food — not rigid, but steady and deeply cultural. Meals happen at mealtimes. Snacks are limited. Lunch is real. Dinner is simple. And meals are eaten sitting down, even the quick ones.
Even the clock reinforces this rhythm. If you ever find yourself on a TGV at noon, you’ll hear the soft chorus of crinkling paper as people pull out their little piquenique lunches. It’s midi in France — lunch time.
And at 4:00 or 4:30 on the dot, children pour out of school into the arms of parents and grandparents for goûter, the sacred afternoon snack. Another word for it is quatre heures — literally “four o’clock” — because that is when it happens. To this day, 4pm goûter feels like an unwritten national rule.
You can see how central lunch is when you spot a menu ouvrier (workers’ menu) chalked on a sidewalk board. Even construction workers — though yes, some do eat a sandwich on-site — will often head to a simple restaurant for a proper sit-down meal before returning to work. It’s not just about food; it’s about a real pause in the day. There is before lunch and after lunch. Two distinct chapters.
The flip side? Outside the big cities, shops, bakeries, and even the post office may shut down for a long lunch break. It can be maddeningly impractical (I’ve been caught out more than once). But you take the good with the bad.
Once you adapt, this structure doesn’t feel restrictive — it feels grounding. And the longer I lived here, the more I understood how supportive it truly is. French wellbeing isn’t a struggle, it flows easily throughout the day.
3. What They Actually Eat (In Broad Strokes)
French meals tend to be made of real food — vegetables, cheese, soups, raw salads, simple desserts, fresh bread, and some kind of meat or protein. Nothing complicated. Nothing engineered. Just variety, balance, and pleasure.
A friend of mine can turn a handful of leftover vegetables, a knob of butter, and some herbs into a soup that tastes like pure comfort. Another will pull out leftover eggs, vegetables, and cheese and make a simple omelette for dinner — maybe with some baby potatoes roasted in the oven. Satisfying but not heavy.
The magic isn’t in the recipes. It’s in the ease. The confidence. The lack of fuss.
And above all, it’s in using real ingredients — basic products prepared simply.
4. The Atmosphere Around Food
Meals in France aren’t rushed. They aren’t eaten standing up or while doing three other things. Even a quick salad is eaten sitting down, with a napkin, with a tiny sense of pause.
A friend once told me, “If you don’t have time to sit, you don’t have time to eat,” and she said it so matter-of-factly that it stuck with me. In France, creating a moment around food — even a small one — feels like a form of respect for the day. Respect for the food. Respect for the people around you.
Eating together is a moment partagé — a shared moment — and the French believe that sharing is part of the meal itself. Again, it’s not just about what’s on the plate. It’s about the setting, the atmosphere, the experience, and the pleasure woven into it. French wellbeing is not just about calories and fitness, it’s about how we feel and the atmosphere around us.
PART TWO – MOVEMENT: The French Approach to Staying Active
1. Movement as Lifestyle
In France, movement is not a special event. It’s the default mode: walking to do errands, taking stairs without thinking, strolling after meals, cycling to work, going to markets by foot. Of course this varies from region to region, but the baseline is the same — people simply move more. After food, movement is the second pillar of French wellbeing.
Now that I live in Annecy, the sports capital of the country, that baseline expands to include hiking or skiing on the weekends, long bike rides up into the mountains, or leisurely ebike loops around the lake. What strikes me is how naturally movement fits into daily life — but also how deliberately it appears on weekends.
Walk along the car-free left bank between the Musée d’Orsay and Pont de l’Alma in Paris, or wander through the Bois de Boulogne on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and you’ll see the myriads of Paris joggers, fast walkers, cyclists, yogis, and Zumba groups. There is absolutely room for planned exercise.
But equally important — maybe even more important — are the small, consistent movements of everyday life.
One of my girlfriends wears heels most days — real heels — and still walks everywhere in Paris. “Habitude,” she shrugs. Habit. No drama. Nor athletic wear. Not even tracking apps. She seems fit as a fiddle, and aside from one Pilates class a week, her go-to is simply walking through her day.
It’s not exercise; it’s life.
2. Fitness at Any Age
Contrary to stereotypes, French fitness is not just for the young. I know women in their sixties who hike every weekend and neighbors who swim weekly. And where I live now — in Annecy, where movement is practically a regional identity — it’s completely normal to see older adults practicing the same sports as younger ones: hiking, nordic walking, skiing, swimming, rowing, cycling, and yes, plenty of tennis.
One friend’s mother even started yoga at sixty-eight and now goes twice a week. Not to “stay young,” not to “get toned,” but because it makes her feel good. That’s the French approach in a nutshell: remove the pressure, and consistency follows. There’s no obsession with strict regimes — no “30 minutes of strength training three times a week or else.” But you will see people in their seventies and eighties carrying groceries up apartment staircases or biking into town.
Whatever the sport, the generations blend.
And my ninety-plus-year-old neighbor? He still has a regular Friday tennis date with his pals.
3. The French Attitude Toward Fitness
And just as with food, the French approach to movement is not about deprivation or punishment. It’s not about forcing the body into a mold it was never meant to fit. There is no “New Year, New Me” pressure, no guilt-driven resolutions, no punishment after indulgence.
Pleasure comes first.
And because pleasure comes first, consistency follows.
The French understand that exercise only works if it feels good — if it fits naturally into daily life, brings joy, or at the very least feels pleasant enough to repeat. Consistency, not intensity, is what carries them through the decades.
PART THREE — FAMILY: How French Households Build Wellbeing
1. The Family Meal
Family meals are the anchor of French daily life. Not fancy. Not complicated. Just eaten together, seated, with real food. Sitting down together is a cultural foundation. The French simply don’t do it any other way. These family rituals might be the most underrated part of French wellbeing.
Of course, life gets busier once children reach middle school and high school (and the cultural differences between France and other countries around extracurriculars, sports, and school schedules could be an entire article on its own). Some weeknights aren’t perfect. But come the weekend — at lunch, at dinner, often both — families sit down together.
And one major point about family meals in France: I have yet to meet a French parent who is a short-order cook for a picky child. Perhaps they exist somewhere, but I’ve never met them. French children are taught early — basically as soon as they transition away from milk — to eat all kinds of foods, not just “kids’ foods.” Parents would never dream of cooking separate meals for separate children.
There is no “Can I have pizza, but no tomato sauce?”
No “He doesn’t eat vegetables.”
And my personal favorite, spoken with equal parts horror and fascination:
“She only eats pasta plain with a tiny bit of butter, no oil, no sauce.”
Meals, the French believe, are a shared pleasure and a shared moment — not a battle.
2. Teaching Children to Love Real Food
French children learn about food early: tasting things at the market, cooking with parents, eating simple meals at school. It’s not unheard of for elementary schools to serve mussels, or a beet salad, or a fish brandade. Everything goes in France. Children are exposed to a wide range of foods early and often.
They aren’t expected to love everything — but they are expected to try everything. And because choices are limited (there is one menu at school, one family meal at home), parents rarely fall into the short-order cook trap. Or perhaps it’s the other way around: because parents don’t offer other options, kids learn to eat what’s served.
There is no adult food versus child food.
There is simply food — of good quality or poor quality. And the French, when possible, choose good quality.
A friend’s son once proudly explained to me which cheese he liked and why. He was six. This kind of confidence around real food isn’t rare here; it’s cultivated from the beginning.
3. A Note About Electronics
Teenagers in France are teenagers everywhere — let’s not be naïve. But one thing I’ve noticed consistently here is the minimal use of electronics at the table. I won’t pretend that phones never appear, but because mealtimes and conversation are so deeply rooted in the culture, screens naturally take a back seat.
You notice it in cafés and restaurants, too. Rarely will you see two people sitting together, each buried in their own screen. It happens — of course it happens — but it’s far less common than in many other places.
In France, the table still holds its place: a moment shared, voices exchanged, food enjoyed together.
A Way of Living, Not a System
After so many years in France, one thing has become clear to me: none of this is about perfection, discipline, or rigid lifestyle rules. And it’s certainly not about following some idealized “French way” in order to be well. What I’ve observed here isn’t a secret program or a set of steps — it’s simply how people live. Ease over pressure. Real food over engineered food. Movement woven into the day. Shared meals. Pleasure without guilt. Consistency without obsession. What’s more, these are at the heart of the French wellbeing mindset.
But these principles aren’t locked inside French borders. They aren’t exclusive to this culture, even if this culture happens to practice them instinctively. Anyone, anywhere, can borrow from this mindset — gently, gradually, in ways that fit real life. You don’t have to move to Paris or Annecy to sit down for meals, to walk more, to add a bit of pleasure back into your day, or to remove the drama and guilt around eating.
Thus, the beauty of wellbeing, as I’ve learned it here, is that it’s not a separate project. It’s not another item on the to-do list. It’s life itself — lived with a bit more intention, a bit more calm, and a bit more joy.
Over the years, I’ve gathered stories, noted down rituals, and paid attention to what truly supports wellbeing in a sustainable, enjoyable way. I’m putting together a simple guide that brings these ideas together — something practical and gentle for anyone who wants to bring a little more French ease and balance into their everyday life. More on that soon.
In the meantime, I hope these reflections help you feel that wellbeing doesn’t have to be stressful, complicated, or extreme. It can be simple. It can be satisfying.
And, it can even be pleasurable.
And finally, it can start right where you are.
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So, if you’re curious about how France nurtures healthy habits – from school lunch traditions to everyday food, movement and lifestyle – I share practical tips, stories and plenty of insider photos and videos from my corner of France. You can sign up for the free newsletter below. Merci!
