Part 1: The Cloak of Invisibility
Last Monday morning, like almost every day for the past five years, I was headed to the nearby café in Montel*, the French town where I live. The café is just a short walk from my rented apartment in the town center, the most “animated” part of Montel. Like every Monday, when shops are closed to make up for staying open on Saturdays, the streets were empty, as though the town had paused, suspended in a state of perpetual numbness. Caught between the vibrancy of Paris and the picturesque beauty of the Brittany coast, Montel feels like a deserted train station… a brief, unavoidable stop on the way to somewhere better.
I remember my first visit to Montel’s town center, almost by chance, on a sunny spring Saturday in 2018. At the time, I was preparing to relocate to France, a country I knew only from a handful of brief tourist trips to Paris.
In Montel’s compact main square, right in front of the historic city hall, or La Mairie, shops bustled, café terraces were filled with customers enjoying the start of warmer days, and vibrant flower baskets decorated the lampposts. What truly caught my eye were the 18th-century-style buildings, with tall windows and ornate cornices, lining the square. At the square’s edge, a small public garden showcased three spectacular blooming cherry blossom trees. I was sold, pleased to have found such a charming place to call home. Little did I know, my rose-colored glasses were in full swing that day, blinding me to the reality beneath Montel’s fleeting charm, which would soon fade, lost to an obvious lack of care.
Fast forward six years, and the cherry blossom trees were gone and the public garden had been concealed beneath towering cranes, piles of building materials, and scattered scaffolding. A sprawling food center, dressed up as a fine gourmet destination, was emerging. As I stopped to examine the large posters of the architectural renderings proudly displayed by the Mairie, the new structure loomed over the historic buildings and seemed set to crowd the already compact square.
What I find most intriguing is how such a massive investment is being made while more shops and restaurants continue to go out of business. In recent years, available real estate has become front and center. Large red signs boasting “Locaux disponibles” (Available premises) have appeared on nearly every corner. The fine gourmet destination struck me as an overly inflated endeavor, one the town didn’t seem to need.
Wrapped in my own thoughts, I made my way to café Marianne and sat at a table… the same one, actually.
When I first relocated to Montel, and after a few attempts at securing an in-person job in advertising (none of which were ever acknowledged), I began working from home to sustain an income. Before I knew it, I was spending most of my time in my apartment, with pajamas quickly becoming my go-to work uniform. Contact with other human beings was reduced to work emails and WhatsApp calls with my family back in Casablanca. Sometimes, I would stay home for a fortnight without stepping outside, except for grocery shopping and my solo visits to café ‘Marianne’.
A new way of life crept up on me.
Slowly, I grew comfortable in my own company. What had initially felt unusual and, at times, lonely began to feel familiar and sufficient. But with this new way of life, something else became a thing of the past… my social skills. Any real-world social interaction, even small talk, would spark a tiny, yet destabilizing, anxiety attack.
However, my new solo way of life doesn’t sustain itself. No, far from it. This isolated way of living requires conscious effort to maintain. For those interested, I feel I’ve mastered the art of being anti-social, even in social settings. I don’t mind sharing my valuable insights. So, I’ve put together the five rules for successfully deploying a cloak of invisibility:
Rule One: The Dress Code. I avoid anything fashionable or expressive of individuality. Instead, I opt for the good old plain sweatshirt, paired with straight-cut blue jeans and white Adidas sneakers, a staple in Montel’s fashion scene. I blend into the background so well, I might as well be part of it. And with an endless supply of sweatshirts, there’s no risk of running out… Montel’s 40,000 residents could wear them tenfold.
Rule Two: My seat is tucked away on a makeshift terrace in the least popular corner of the café. This “terrace” is really just a narrow corridor in a tiny shopping center, so small I can cross it, even at my laziest pace, in exactly eight steps. Customers hurry past, eager to cram themselves into the indoor room, where the tables are packed uncomfortably close together. My setup ensures minimal risk of sitting next to anyone and, heaven forbid, making eye contact with other customers. Check and check!
Rule Three: Supporting Rule Two, my table is partially hidden by a towering display of overpriced Roger Federer-branded coffee machines, which, as far as I can tell, have been gathering dust for at least a couple of years. Not a buyer in sight!
Rule Four: I’m always armed with my human interaction cancellation device — my wireless earphones, practically glued to my ears and blasting music. But as my planning skills are well developed by now, I’m always ready for any bold soul daring enough to approach me. I come prepared with books, notebooks, and pens, making sure to look engrossed in writing something, whether I’m actually working on a story or just doodling nonsense.
Rule Five: I stick to ordering the same drink every time: a hot latte macchiato, no syrup, no sugar, served in a tall glass with a straw (I’m still baffled by the purpose of the straw). I never change my order, because any deviation could spark an unwanted conversation with the waitress. I stick to a few brief and well-rehearsed niceties.
That Monday morning, with my cloak of invisibility fully deployed, I opened my notebook and grabbed my pen, ready to fake-enjoy my macchiato and scribble something profound, when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall figure slowly making her way toward the café entrance. Surely, like all the others, she was heading inside to join the packed assembly, I thought. With a sigh of relief, I was just about to resume my best “busy” face when, without warning, she retraced her steps, and headed straight for me. The Princess sat at the table next to mine.
God Damn it!
*I changed the town’s name to keep things anonymous, but trust me, everything else is real and happening as described.
