🎃 The Only Pumpkin on the Block (as an American in France)

On being the most festive person in a country that doesn’t do festive quite like you do.

When we moved to France, I packed all the essentials: important documents, heirloom books, seasonal clothing, children. Oh, and five enormous bins of Halloween decorations.

You know, the basics.

I wasn’t ready to let go of the magic. The bats, the twinkle lights, the little glittery pumpkins that serve no functional purpose but make you feel like you’re in a Tim Burton film directed by Anthropologie. I brought it all - a little haunted house joy, one pumpkin-shaped candle at a time.

And good thing, too.

Because if you go looking for Halloween décor in France, you’ll find…a pumpkin.

Maybe two.

Possibly a subtle wreath. And that’s about it.

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The Great Fall Frenzy (American Edition)

Let’s rewind.

In America, autumn is a brand. A lifestyle. A state of being.

The moment the calendar even thinks about turning to September, we break out the cinnamon brooms and fall-la-la ourselves into oblivion.

-Halloween arrives in stores sometime in…July.

-Pumpkin spice infiltrates the national bloodstream.

-Front yards begin sprouting inflatable ghouls, glowing skeletons, and 12-foot Home Depot demons with red LED eyes.

We don’t just like Halloween - we approach it with the same seriousness the French reserve for cheese.

And honestly? I think it’s (mostly) lovely. (I could do without the 12-foot Home Depot demons, but to each his own)

There’s something beautiful about going all in for the seasons. About creating memory-laced rituals and decorating your home like the set of a movie. It’s nostalgic, theatrical, communal. It turns the everyday into something enchanted.

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A Different Kind of Magic

Here in France, it’s…different.

Halloween is a whisper, not a scream. It’s a side note, not a headline.

Some children trick-or-treat - usually in organized pockets of the village - but the holiday itself hasn’t embedded itself deeply into the cultural rhythm. There’s no Target aisle bursting with glittering skulls and potion bottles. No scented pinecones flanking every supermarket checkout line. No rows of themed mugs that say things like Hocus Focus or Witch Better Have My Coffee.

Instead, the French approach is simple:

Buy a pumpkin.

Set it outside the door.

Voilà - you’ve decorated.

Maybe there’s a garland. Maybe.

It’s not that they dislike holidays. It’s just that the culture here leans toward understated beauty. Holiday spirit is often experienced outside the home - in town squares, in bakeries, and especially at the world-famous Christmas markets, which are anything but subtle.

Perhaps that’s why French families don’t feel the same pressure to transform their houses - the festivities are already woven into the fabric of public life. Why cover your windows in cobwebs when there’s a 200-year-old château down the street that already looks a bit haunted?

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That One House in the Village

Still, I decorate.

I always will.

I put up my string lights and velvet pumpkins and little ghost tealights, even if I’m the only house in the village doing it. (I might be.) One mother from my kids’ school even texted me last year asking for a photo of my Halloween decorations, because, apparently, word had spread. Part of me was flattered. The other part worried she was gathering evidence to submit to a secret French committee on Tasteful Living.

But that’s probably just my insecurity talking.

The truth is, I love it. I love being festive. I love marking the seasons with intentionality and imagination. I love inviting wonder into the everyday, even if it means being the only house with a glowing pumpkin candle in the window.

This is part of my Americanness I’m not letting go of.

Even if I’m the Halloween outlier in a village of tasteful restraint, I’ll still be here - watching Practical Magic on repeat, lighting woodland fire candles, and joyfully overdoing it.

Because a little magic never hurt anybody. Even the French.

À bientôt,
Kamille

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A note for new readers: we’re an American family living in rural France, restoring a small château, and writing it all down here. Subscribe so the next chapter finds you.

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