Back in 2001, Paris had a very different rhythm. Most white-collar workers, myself included, stayed in the office until 10 or even 11 p.m. After work, we’d head out to restaurants, then bars or clubs. Weekends were for sleeping off the excesses. It wasn’t exactly the environment for family men, but we were lucky to witness one of the most dramatic shifts in the city’s nightlife and dining culture: the rise of the “Lounge.”
Half the restaurants, bars, and clubs suddenly turned “Lounge.” That meant restaurants with dim lighting, open kitchens (a novelty at the time), a hostess in high heels selling cigarettes inside the restaurant, where smoking was still allowed, and of course, the signature “Lounge” furniture. Upstairs, a “Lounge” bar played chilled electro, served overpriced wine and cocktails, and offered low couches and tables where people half-danced, half-posed. For the truly committed, the real party kicked off downstairs in the club, after 2 a.m.
This shift came at the expense of traditional bars and brasseries—the kind that served hearty food and real atmosphere. It’s ironic that what tourists now crave as “authentic Paris” was still very much alive then. It was normal in those days to see white-collar and blue-collar workers finishing lunch at the same counter, chatting over coffee, even discussing politics. The blue collars were literally in paint- or cement-stained uniforms. That shared space might be part of why political extremes didn’t feel so present—everyone still inhabited the same world, and we understood each other a little better.
“Lounge” culture changed that. Politically, not for the better. But food-wise, things got more refined. The presentation improved, even if the portions shrank and the prices soared. Musically, there was also a silver lining: “Lounge” gave a platform to French electro—the famed French Touch—with acts like Daft Punk, Cassius, Justice, and Air gaining global recognition.
But as punk rock goths at heart, The Cure for me and Joy Division for my wife, our personal revelation came from Miss Kittin & The Hacker. They brought something else entirely: the aesthetic, the attitude, the darkness, and the sound. They were more than music—they were a statement.
Tracks like “Life on MTV” or “Frank Sinatra” hit like a sonic bulldozer at the Mezzanine—the bar on the first floor of Alcazar, one of our regular “afterwork” haunts. For us, that duo’s work was far more mind-blowing than the official French Touch. They weren’t slick or polished. They were raw, ironic, and dark. And that’s exactly what we needed.
Could Miss Kittin & The Hacker make it today? I’m not so sure. That infamous photo of The Hacker pointing a gun at Miss Kittin dressed as a nurse would probably get banned from social media. Lyrics like “suck my ****, kiss my ass” would raise all the wrong flags. Their tracks satirized a lifestyle of excess: strip clubs (“my girlfriend is a stripper, in a Swiss peep show, dancing on a carousel”), alcohol excess, drugs, corporate numbness, masculine bravado. To say it ended in the ’60s or ’80s would be dishonest. That world was still very much alive in the 2000s. Maybe it lingered until 2010, then faded. Perhaps it’s a generational thing—our Generation X, now in leadership, started shifting away from the macho posturing that once fuelled their coldwave, dark electro aesthetic.
But what an era it was. Their First Album brought the edge, the spice, the danger. Without it, those “Lounge” nights would’ve bored us to death. And maybe, just maybe, they were the peak of French goth-electro—though today’s scene is far from over. We now hear haunting echoes of that spirit in newer acts like Essaie Pas, Peine Perdue, or Automelodi.
Goth is not dead. Not even close.
