The Real-Life Amanda Woods: Swapping My NYC Apartment For Paris
I’m writing this article in Paris, from a desk in a studio apartment belonging to someone I’ve never met. It’s late afternoon, and I’ve had two cappuccinos (and counting), picked up from a hole-in-the-wall café on my walk to the Seine this morning.
Back home in New York, the tenant of this apartment is sitting at my desk, maybe just one cappuccino in, her day just getting started. Two girls, both in their late twenties, both in flexible jobs, both a little unfulfilled with their current lives, decided to trade apartments for six weeks. Yep—just like The Holiday. The only difference: instead of swapping sunny LA and charming London, we traded energetic New York for romantic Paris.
Let me back up a bit and explain how I got here.
Like many people, I watch The Holiday every year at Christmas. It’s a Hall of Fame Christmas movie in my family—especially for my mom and me. I love the story, the soundtrack (one of Hans Zimmer’s best, in my opinion), and of course, I love Jude Law in glasses.
I feel similar to Amanda Woods in many ways, except for the inability to cry. While Amanda hasn’t cried since she was 15, I will cry at anything from the last scene in Normal People to seeing a city dog with little shoes on. I’m pretty sure one time I teared up at a travel-size Vaseline.
But the fast-paced, career-driven, burned-out, emotionally unavailable (who said that?), twenty- or thirty-something woman living in a big American city, itching to get on a plane and leave her life behind for a little bit? I can relate.
Like many girls in New York, I’ve always been pretty career-focused. I worked in fashion for three years doing in-house photography and graphic design, then completely pivoted to an art director position at J.P. Morgan, where I spent three more years working the experiential design of Paris Olympics, F1, and the US Open. I loved both jobs equally for different reasons, but I knew neither was where I was supposed to be.
In February of this year, I had a slightly delayed quarter-life crisis (yes, you guessed it—a lot of crying was involved) and quit my job to become a full-time artist. It was a lifelong dream and a leap of faith. I had, and have, no backup plan, but I read somewhere, “Leap and the net will appear.” So I did.
On my official last day of work, I was sitting in my apartment questioning my life choices when my friend sent me a Facebook post. It was a listing for an apartment swap: trading Paris for New York.
There are very few times in my life when I’ve felt a true eureka moment, and this was one of them.
“This is f*king genius,” I thought, and immediately started messaging the lister.
Life happens, and that swap fell through (though the original lister is in Paris now, and we plan to get a drink while I’m here!). But by then it was too late—mentally, I was already going to Paris for the spring, and now I just had to figure out how.
For anyone reading this and interested in finding a swap of your own, my biggest tip is: don’t underestimate your own network. One rainy New York Sunday in February, I started messaging friends, family, random classmates from college—anyone who maybe knew anyone who knew anyone who wanted to swap apartments for the spring. The only criterion was that it had to be in Paris. I would’ve slept on the sidewalk if someone made the right case.
Enter Brigitte.
If I fit the mold for Amanda Woods, Brigitte is the perfect Iris Simpkins counterpart. I had a good feeling about her immediately (using the word serendipitous in a text? So Iris.) After a FaceTime call that was supposed to be 15 minutes and turned into two hours—talking about our jobs, boys, and life stories—we booked our flights. Six weeks in Paris for me, and six weeks in New York for her.
“Wait, so what are you doing in Paris?” was the first question anyone would ask when I told them about my upcoming travel. It was a completely valid and normal question, and I simply did not have an answer.
When I quit my job, I was burned TF out: physically, creatively, and emotionally. My last job was a true 9-to-5, but I was the cliché of “my 5-to-9 after my 9-to-5.” I would spend my mornings and nights throwing everything into art, and that word covered many different genres. I was doing weekly event photography on the side for LVMH, freelance graphic design projects, a ten-piece painting series in August, and five days after my last day at J.P. Morgan, I launched a renter-friendly wallpaper collection.
When all was said and done, I looked around and had no idea what I was going to do next.
Paris is the perfect city to have zero plan. A flâneur (n.) is defined as “someone who walks around not doing anything in particular but watching people and society. She wanders around with her camera—a flâneur with a keen eye.” I’ve become a professional in my field.
The two jobs I’ve given myself in these fleeting weeks are to:
enjoy myself
document this rare time in my life
In New York, it’s hustle, hustle, hustle. And here, I feel out of place even walking with my AirPods in. I have to say… I think Paris has it right.
I have a checklist of things I do each day. Some items include a daily sketch, a daily photograph, and three journal pages, required by the book The Artist’s Way—a 12-week course I’m condensing into six to fit it in during my time here. (Also, remember that quote, “Leap and the net will appear”? Turns out it was from this very book.) If you’re an artist of any kind experiencing a creative rut or complete lack of inspiration, I couldn’t recommend it more.
As far as my hopes and dreams go for this swap, they aren’t grand in nature. I want to sit outside at as many cafes as I can, have classic steak frites, and make whatever art feels right in the moment. That could mean sketching, designing a new pattern, dabbling in different styles of photography—anything. The point of me being here is to have new experiences and meet as many people as I can. I’ve met a few of Brigitte’s friends so far, and they are incredible. Whoever said French people are rude met the wrong ones. I’ve had nothing but great encounters, and they’ve tolerated my horrible attempts at speaking French flawlessly.
Brigitte and I talk almost daily, and making a new friend out of this whole swap has also been a highlight. I’ve sent her my favorite bodega, wash-and-fold, and coffee shop. In turn, she’s sent me her go-to cafés, brasseries, and parks off the beaten path. We both surely have shopping addictions, and I’ve found no shortage of vintage stores—I’m sure she’d say the same. Overall, I think we’re just both trying to fully immerse ourselves in the cities we’re in.
It’s not lost on me for a second how incredibly lucky I am to be doing this. Two months ago, I was sitting at a desk in Hudson Yards wondering WTF I was doing with my life. Now I’m sitting at this desk in Paris, turning 28 in three days, feeling like I have my entire life ahead of me.
If you see a blonde girl wandering around Paris with googly eyes, a sketchbook in one hand and a takeaway coffee in the other, it’s probably me. Lucy White [Art]: professional flâneur.
And for anyone wondering... so far, there hasn’t been a Jude Law. But hey, I’m open.