Now that SNL UK is a thing, I have a pitch.
I’m no comedy writer. But I have lived in Paris long enough to know that this city has material for at least a few good seasons. Consider this my (in)formal submission.
Sketch 1: The Sirens
A split screen.
Left side: emergencies — building on fire, bank robbery in progress, drunken dude falls into the Seine.
Right side: also sirens — a bored officer rolling through stoplights… another speeding to his local boulangerie… another on a joyride while his girlfriend films for Instagram.
The sirens are identical. The urgency is identical. All sirens are equal.
Final beat:
Left — chaos escalates. Fire spreading. More sirens.
Right — the officer screeches to a halt, leaves the car blocking the entire street, and walks into a café.
Doesn’t look back.
Sketch 2: The Evolution of the Beret
A timeline.
Old men in the Basque Country, at the foot of the Pyrénées, playing pétanque. Dignity.
Soldiers. Handsome.
Children. Adorable.
Cut to: a woman stepping off the Eurostar at Gare du Nord. Beret at a precise angle. Guidebook. Purpose.
Final evolution:
An influencer films a reel: “How to Dress Like Emily in Paris (But Better)”
She stands directly in front of the “Emily in Paris” office building, blocking the entrance.
Cut to the Basque men watching this on a café television.
Silence.
One finally says: “C’est fini.”
They return to their pétanque.
Sketch 3: Barbie on Mont-Saint-Michel
Barbie arrives in medieval garb at Mont-Saint-Michel for a girls’ night.
“Where’s the elevator?”
There isn’t one.
They begin the climb. Heels. Laughter. Commitment.
Cut to: still climbing.
Cut to: less laughter.
Cut to: monks. Silence.
Barbie (breathless): “Okay but where’s the DJ?”
Music starts. They dance. The monks are not amused.
Medieval ships appear. Arrows. Then cannons.
The party dissolves. Barbie runs all the way down to her pink convertible—only to find the tide is in. The causeway is gone.
She sits in the car. The monks resume their day. Quietly… they begin tapping their toes.
Arrows continue to fly. Barbie calmly puts the roof up.
Final beat:
A tour guide walks by, explaining the tidal schedule in three languages as arrows whiz past.
Barbie nods. Takes notes. A canonball lands nearby. Barbie adjusts her glasses.
Sketch 4: How to Spot the Native
A nature documentary. Hushed. Reverential.
A Parisian woman in August. It is 34 degrees. She wears a silk scarf knotted at the throat. Red lipstick. Effortless.
A man passes with a beautifully structured leather satchel. Completely unbothered.
A woman in four-inch heels walks across cobblestones without looking down. Smoking.
The narrator: this is not performance. This is simply Tuesday.
An American couple enters frame. Baseball cap. Alma mater jacket. Sneakers. Puffy jacket. Leggings. Skechers.
They pause. Observe.
Cut to: a tourist boutique.
The cap comes off. The beret goes on.
The jacket becomes a marinière.
Scarves are knotted.
They emerge. Transformed. Confident.
They walk into a café.
Final beat:
The waiter approaches, looks at them, and—without hesitation—hands them the English menu.
The narrator, quietly:
A failed courtship display.
Sketch 5: The Baguette Purse
A fashion evolution.
A baguette sticking out of a grocery cart, as God intended.
A tote bag. The end already eaten.
A yoga mat bag, retrofitted. A designer notices. Stops. Watches. Takes notes.
Cut to: atelier. Months pass.
A grand debut: a leather satchel with a dedicated baguette slot. External loops for cigarettes. A small pocket for lipstick.
Close-up: climate-controlled interior. Crust preservation.
The designer takes his bow.
Cut to: a Paris street.
Everyone is wearing it.
A subtitle appears: The Baguettin.
Lorne, je t’en supplie. Call.
(Photo is AI generated. The baguette insisted on being included.)
