'What line of work are you in, Ian'?
My reply was the standard 'Leisurologist'. I fleshed the answer out by stating that I basically walked the sidewalks of Toronto observing people, art, architecture, etc. 'I'm a sidewalk philosopher', I added.
'You're a flâneur'!, my questioner added with an excitedly impish grin. 'Your type was once the darling of Parisian society and highly regarded', he elaborated. I liked what I heard. The next day I did a little research on the term 'flâneur' and I was gobsmacked. In New Brunswick I am a Leisurologist, no question. In Toronto, I'm really not a Leisurologist. Far from it, in fact. I really have had no idea who or what I am in Toronto, until now.
There is no question that I am at least 90% flâneur!. So, what exactly is a flaneur? From Wikipedia:
Flâneur (pronounced: [flɑnœʁ]), from the French noun flâneur, means "stroller", "lounger", "saunterer", or "loafer". Flânerie refers to the act of strolling, with all of its accompanying associations.
The flâneur was, first of all, a literary type from 19th century France, essential to any picture of the streets of Paris. The word carried a set of rich associations: the man of leisure, the idler, the urban explorer, the connoisseur of the street. It was Walter Benjamin, drawing on the poetry of Charles Baudelaire, who made this figure the object of scholarly interest in the 20th century, as an emblematic archetype of urban, modern experience. Following Benjamin, the flâneur has become an important symbol for scholars, artists and writers.
Shockingly apt, wouldn't you say? Here's what Baudelaire said on the subject:
The crowd is his element, as the air is that of birds and water of fishes. His passion and his profession are to become one flesh with the crowd. For the perfect flâneur, for the passionate spectator, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow of movement, in the midst of the fugitive and the infinite. To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito. The lover of life makes the whole world his family, just like the lover of the fair sex who builds up his family from all the beautiful women that he has ever found, or that are or are not—to be found; or the lover of pictures who lives in a magical society of dreams painted on canvas. Thus the lover of universal life enters into the crowd as though it were an immense reservoir of electrical energy. Or we might liken him to a mirror as vast as the crowd itself; or to a kaleidoscope gifted with consciousness, responding to each one of its movements and reproducing the multiplicity of life and the flickering grace of all the elements of life.
If you'd like to read more about the life and times of the flâneur, then you can read the entire Wikipedia entry here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fl%C3%A2neur
There is the odd reference to being a dandy which worries me. I live in a dandy condo building, that's as close as I'll get to being one!
Have you seen how Ian dresses himself? Not gay. He likes motocross for God's sake!
It's also worth pointing out that I haven't been "the lover of the fair sex who builds up his family from all the beautiful women that he has ever found". Shucks.
I do consider myself to be 90% flâneur while living in Toronto and I've already changed my business card to reflect my new found status. It's official....I'm a seasonal flâneur. I love it!
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