The reason perfume is so popular in France

Cultural Lesson 11: French Hygiene 

So I'd say that a pretty big American perception of French people is a general lack of hygiene. Jokes about hairy armpits and infrequent bathing abound. While this cultural difference is exaggerated, I'd say there is  the teensiest bit of truth behind it.

1. Foul odors are a lot more acceptable in France. You rarely hear anyone complaining about bad smells.
2. There seems to be a gap in between generations. When I encounter body odor, it's usually older people. This may be the remnants of a culture of hygiene that is dying out with younger generations. My host mother washes her hair once a week on Thursdays (but she does not smell in any way), where as most of my friends from university are anal about taking daily showers. 
3. There is an undeniable abundance of smells. I have to be honest and say that my nose has definitely been subjected to some new foul odors in France. And it's mostly body odor. But, cities are always smellier than the 'burbs, so I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that I'm in France or that I'm living in a big city (other than DC) for the first time in my life. 

A fun anecdote!

I generally have my encounters with foul odors in enclosed spaces where it's hard to escape (the tram, the bus, church, etc.) The worst encounter I've ever had with body odor was on the tram during rush hour (of course). I noticed the smell just as I had gotten on the tram for my 10 minute tram ride over to Sainte Bernadette, my church. It quickly became overpowering; we're talking watering-eyes and gag reflexes. What was even worse was that no one else was reacting (see #1). Stoic and stone-faced, the French people around me in the tram carried on with their quotidian tram business. I felt like this stench was my personal purgatory.

So I fled to the next tram car. But, in heading away from the person I believed to be the culprit, I ended up even closer to the source of the odor. Pinned into a corner of the tram, I became feverish.  Attempting to use my coat as a filter, I was breathing through my mouth into my elbow. My head was swimming and I was contemplating barreling through a horde of people to get off at the next stop in order to wait for a new tram despite the fact that I was running late. I managed to make it to my stop and literally breathed a sigh of relief.

Clearly, I'm alive. But what I like to call "the funk" is one thing I will not miss about France.