 | When we moved to Paris, I was very excited about the flea markets. I love old furniture with character (except upholstered furniture--I’m sure there are bodily fluids in there), I love reusing things instead buying new, and I love getting in the communities where real people do their stuff. Moving to Paris with no furniture was the perfect time for me to start flea market shopping. |
However, I’ve never been good at bargaining. I have a lot of trust in the merchant class, and I feel that they have priced their goods appropriately. Also, I’m an introvert and don’t like asking people for favors.
That had to change.
My only previous experience with bargaining was with my kids’ curfew. It’s a time-tested method that my mother taught me, and, used appropriately, it works well. Here’s how it goes.
Kid: I’m going out.
Me: Be home by 11.
Kid: Maybe 12?
Me: 11
Kid: Well, how about 11:30?
Me: 10:30.
Kid: Please, just 11:15?
Me: 10
Kid: Ok, ok, 11!
Yes, I am well aware that I am abusing my position of authority, but I find it works in this case if administered with humor. Besides, I’m up to Kid 3 now, and most rules have flown out the window. He’ll probably be giving me a curfew.
I have watched my husband bargain at the Chinese night markets, but that’s different from the Paris flea markets. First of all, the Chinese night markets are full of plastic junk from China (duh), not high-quality antiques, and second, the Chinese market system counts on selling high volumes of that junk very cheaply. They price everything at about five times what it’s worth, so the bargaining is completely different.
Here’s my husband, Sam, bargaining for a plastic wallet in a Chinese night market.
(First, Sam walks by the stall, fingers the wallet, then tosses it back onto the pile. He looks bored and disdainful.)
Merchant: Ten dollars! Real leather!
Sam: That’s not leather, it’s plastic!
Merchant: Smells like leather! Nine dollars!
Sam: It smells like leather, but it’s not! I’ll give you two dollars!
Merchant: That’s crazy! Seven dollars!
Sam: Cheh!
(Explanatory note: “cheh” in Chinese comes out of one side of the mouth, is accompanied by your eyes darting in that same direction, and means “I am tired of your stupidity, and I regret entering into this deal with you. It taxes me to continue talking to you, but I’m in too far and must keep going. I hate everything.”)
Sam starts to walk away. Merchant rolls his eyes.
Merchant: Fine! Five dollars!
Sam: No way! Three dollars or no deal!
Merchant: That’s robbery! I’ll give you five wallets for four dollars each!
Sam: I only need one! Three dollars!
Merchant: OK, three wallets for three dollars each!
Sam: If you can sell three for nine, you can sell one for three!
Merchant: Cheh! Fine!
The deal is done.
They weren’t shouting. Cantonese is just generally spoken loudly. To Westerners, it sounds like shouting. But it’s not.
I have tried this kind of bargaining, but I’m terrible at it. I just can’t act like I hate something I’d like to buy, I’m too soft spoken to use exclamation marks, and I really don’t want to bother them asking to knock the price down. Me and my kind were not made for Chinese night markets.
My first visits to French flea markets were with our realtor Tycen and his assistant, Lukey. Lukey is a Jack Russell terrier, and he plays a major part in negotiating. French antique dealers love their merchandise like their own flesh and blood, and they will usually only knock off about ten or twenty percent, so it’s a totally different ballgame than with the Chinese.
Here’s Tycen, trying to get me a couple of end tables. My French isn’t good enough to pick up all the details yet, so I’ll use “bluh bluh” as filler. (Hey, I’m working on it.)
Tycen: Those tables are beautiful.
Merchant: Yes, they are original 1950’s Scandanavian bluh bluh, in excellent condition and fully bluh bluh. See how these doors bluh bluh bluh? (opens and closes little doors)
Tycen: That’s bluh bluh! Do you have a cigarette?
Merchant: Sure! Bluh bluh bluh.
They both light up and stare silently at the tables.
Tycen: My client here just got an apartment and she has no furniture. She’s looking for bluh bluh bluh. Bluh bluh American.
I fiddle with my purse zipper and look longingly at the tables.
Merchant: Is she bluh bluh?
Tycen: No.
Merchant: Oh.
Lukey sniffs the tables. The merchant smiles.
Merchant: Your dog is bluh bluh. Really bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: Thank you! He’s a real bluh bluh. Are those tables eighty Euros for the pair, or eighty each?
Merchant: Eighty for the pair because bluh bluh. I would have bluh bluh ninety but the bluh bluh wasn’t original but I cleaned it up so it looks bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: They are beautiful. Too bad about the bluh bluh.
Merchant: They are still a deal! Bluh bluh isn’t important.
Tycen: Oh, I completely agree. A similar table at another stall was thirty but it had bluh bluh.
Merchant: You never know. His bluh bluh probably wasn’t original.
Tycen: Maybe so.
They grind their cigarettes into the ground. Lukey strains at his leash when a Yorkie goes by. I glance in the direction of the other stall with similar tables and look indecisive. I sigh.
Tycen: Is delivery included in the eighty?
Merchant: I don’t deliver.
Tycen: My client has no car. How about ninety plus delivery?
Merchant: Does she live in Paris?
Tycen: Yes, near bluh bluh.
Merchant: I can only deliver after six. And I’ll only bring it to the bluh bluh, she’ll have to meet me there and take them upstairs herself.
Tycen: She can do that. Bluh bluh husband and teenage son.
Merchant: They’re really worth eighty and delivery really costs me forty so it should be a hundred and twenty.
Tycen: Of course, I can see that your bluh bluh is bluh bluh. But the tables are beautiful and my client loves them. They would go well in her living room. And you have to put them back in the truck anyway, so you might as well take them to her.
Everybody chuckles.
Merchant: Does she have cash?
Tycen: No, but she has a check.
Merchant: Bluh
Tycen: If you let them go for eighty including delivery, that would be bluh bluh.
Merchant: Bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: Great! Thank you so much! Yvonne, write the check for eighty.
Done!
Note: If at any time during the negotiations the prospective buyer drops the price too low, or looks uninterested, or does not seem to respect the dealer and his/her goods, the dealer may exhale with a “Pffffff” sound and half-closed eyes. “Pffffff” means “You have gone too far, and I wash my hands of you and your stupid proposition. Get out, worm.” If they say “Pffffff,” it’s over. Move on. This is unlike the Chinese “cheh” which means the negotiations will continue, but the dealer is unhappy. “Pffffff” is final.
Tycen got me some great pieces of furniture, and I observed his methods. I had two disadvantages, besides my high school French and my introversion. Ok, four disadvantages. Well, my other two disadvantages are that I don’t smoke and I don’t have a dog. How could I kill time standing around with the merchants?
That had to change.
My only previous experience with bargaining was with my kids’ curfew. It’s a time-tested method that my mother taught me, and, used appropriately, it works well. Here’s how it goes.
Kid: I’m going out.
Me: Be home by 11.
Kid: Maybe 12?
Me: 11
Kid: Well, how about 11:30?
Me: 10:30.
Kid: Please, just 11:15?
Me: 10
Kid: Ok, ok, 11!
Yes, I am well aware that I am abusing my position of authority, but I find it works in this case if administered with humor. Besides, I’m up to Kid 3 now, and most rules have flown out the window. He’ll probably be giving me a curfew.
I have watched my husband bargain at the Chinese night markets, but that’s different from the Paris flea markets. First of all, the Chinese night markets are full of plastic junk from China (duh), not high-quality antiques, and second, the Chinese market system counts on selling high volumes of that junk very cheaply. They price everything at about five times what it’s worth, so the bargaining is completely different.
Here’s my husband, Sam, bargaining for a plastic wallet in a Chinese night market.
(First, Sam walks by the stall, fingers the wallet, then tosses it back onto the pile. He looks bored and disdainful.)
Merchant: Ten dollars! Real leather!
Sam: That’s not leather, it’s plastic!
Merchant: Smells like leather! Nine dollars!
Sam: It smells like leather, but it’s not! I’ll give you two dollars!
Merchant: That’s crazy! Seven dollars!
Sam: Cheh!
(Explanatory note: “cheh” in Chinese comes out of one side of the mouth, is accompanied by your eyes darting in that same direction, and means “I am tired of your stupidity, and I regret entering into this deal with you. It taxes me to continue talking to you, but I’m in too far and must keep going. I hate everything.”)
Sam starts to walk away. Merchant rolls his eyes.
Merchant: Fine! Five dollars!
Sam: No way! Three dollars or no deal!
Merchant: That’s robbery! I’ll give you five wallets for four dollars each!
Sam: I only need one! Three dollars!
Merchant: OK, three wallets for three dollars each!
Sam: If you can sell three for nine, you can sell one for three!
Merchant: Cheh! Fine!
The deal is done.
They weren’t shouting. Cantonese is just generally spoken loudly. To Westerners, it sounds like shouting. But it’s not.
I have tried this kind of bargaining, but I’m terrible at it. I just can’t act like I hate something I’d like to buy, I’m too soft spoken to use exclamation marks, and I really don’t want to bother them asking to knock the price down. Me and my kind were not made for Chinese night markets.
My first visits to French flea markets were with our realtor Tycen and his assistant, Lukey. Lukey is a Jack Russell terrier, and he plays a major part in negotiating. French antique dealers love their merchandise like their own flesh and blood, and they will usually only knock off about ten or twenty percent, so it’s a totally different ballgame than with the Chinese.
Here’s Tycen, trying to get me a couple of end tables. My French isn’t good enough to pick up all the details yet, so I’ll use “bluh bluh” as filler. (Hey, I’m working on it.)
Tycen: Those tables are beautiful.
Merchant: Yes, they are original 1950’s Scandanavian bluh bluh, in excellent condition and fully bluh bluh. See how these doors bluh bluh bluh? (opens and closes little doors)
Tycen: That’s bluh bluh! Do you have a cigarette?
Merchant: Sure! Bluh bluh bluh.
They both light up and stare silently at the tables.
Tycen: My client here just got an apartment and she has no furniture. She’s looking for bluh bluh bluh. Bluh bluh American.
I fiddle with my purse zipper and look longingly at the tables.
Merchant: Is she bluh bluh?
Tycen: No.
Merchant: Oh.
Lukey sniffs the tables. The merchant smiles.
Merchant: Your dog is bluh bluh. Really bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: Thank you! He’s a real bluh bluh. Are those tables eighty Euros for the pair, or eighty each?
Merchant: Eighty for the pair because bluh bluh. I would have bluh bluh ninety but the bluh bluh wasn’t original but I cleaned it up so it looks bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: They are beautiful. Too bad about the bluh bluh.
Merchant: They are still a deal! Bluh bluh isn’t important.
Tycen: Oh, I completely agree. A similar table at another stall was thirty but it had bluh bluh.
Merchant: You never know. His bluh bluh probably wasn’t original.
Tycen: Maybe so.
They grind their cigarettes into the ground. Lukey strains at his leash when a Yorkie goes by. I glance in the direction of the other stall with similar tables and look indecisive. I sigh.
Tycen: Is delivery included in the eighty?
Merchant: I don’t deliver.
Tycen: My client has no car. How about ninety plus delivery?
Merchant: Does she live in Paris?
Tycen: Yes, near bluh bluh.
Merchant: I can only deliver after six. And I’ll only bring it to the bluh bluh, she’ll have to meet me there and take them upstairs herself.
Tycen: She can do that. Bluh bluh husband and teenage son.
Merchant: They’re really worth eighty and delivery really costs me forty so it should be a hundred and twenty.
Tycen: Of course, I can see that your bluh bluh is bluh bluh. But the tables are beautiful and my client loves them. They would go well in her living room. And you have to put them back in the truck anyway, so you might as well take them to her.
Everybody chuckles.
Merchant: Does she have cash?
Tycen: No, but she has a check.
Merchant: Bluh
Tycen: If you let them go for eighty including delivery, that would be bluh bluh.
Merchant: Bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh bluh.
Tycen: Great! Thank you so much! Yvonne, write the check for eighty.
Done!
Note: If at any time during the negotiations the prospective buyer drops the price too low, or looks uninterested, or does not seem to respect the dealer and his/her goods, the dealer may exhale with a “Pffffff” sound and half-closed eyes. “Pffffff” means “You have gone too far, and I wash my hands of you and your stupid proposition. Get out, worm.” If they say “Pffffff,” it’s over. Move on. This is unlike the Chinese “cheh” which means the negotiations will continue, but the dealer is unhappy. “Pffffff” is final.
Tycen got me some great pieces of furniture, and I observed his methods. I had two disadvantages, besides my high school French and my introversion. Ok, four disadvantages. Well, my other two disadvantages are that I don’t smoke and I don’t have a dog. How could I kill time standing around with the merchants?
| I decided to throw caution to the wind and give it a try. My first conquest was this chicken trash can. I had been using a plastic bag hung on the bedroom door for a month, and Sam really wanted a trash can. However, I wasn’t ready to settle for some factory-produced run-of-the-mill trash can. Also, all French trash cans have a lid with foot pedal and that’s just way too involved for dental floss and tissues. I wanted something special. Then I saw the chicken. Here’s how the negotiations went. Me: How much for the trash can? Merchant: Ten euros! Me: (gulp) How about eight? Merchant: OK, but you could get this Marilyn Monroe trash can instead! It’s bluh bluh, and that’s better than the chicken! Me: For me, the chicken is better than Marilyn. Merchant: OK, take the chicken. I did it! I got twenty percent off something that I really loved! I was on top of the world. No smoking, no dog, just me. I forked over the eight Euros, put the chicken in my rolling shopping cart and looked for my next conquest. |  |
In quick order, I bought three trays that needed to go under the pretty white candles I had on the mantle pieces. Yes, we have three mantles. Two are over real working (but forbidden) fireplaces, and one is just a mantle leaning on the wall. It still looks beautiful.
I got the glass tray on the left for ten Euros, down nothing from ten Euros. The merchant explained to me that she could not go lower because it was in such good condition. I agreed and paid ten euros. No great deal, but I was happy with my purchase.
Then I got this green glass tray on the right for ten Euros, down from fifteen. Terrific! I think the merchant was ready to go home and just wanted a little more jingle in her purse.
I got the glass tray on the left for ten Euros, down nothing from ten Euros. The merchant explained to me that she could not go lower because it was in such good condition. I agreed and paid ten euros. No great deal, but I was happy with my purchase.
Then I got this green glass tray on the right for ten Euros, down from fifteen. Terrific! I think the merchant was ready to go home and just wanted a little more jingle in her purse.
 |  |
| Then my big accomplishment: a Christofle tray. Christofle is a French silver company, and there is a lot of it for sale in the flea markets. I had checked prices, and none of it was cheap. This tray was very pretty, but I wasn’t going to pay too much. It may be Christofle, but Target still runs strong in my veins. Also, it was near closing time and that works to the buyer’s advantage. Me: How much for this-here tray here? (My French isn’t improving grammatically, but it’s getting faster.) Merchant: Thirty-five Euros. It’s Christofle. Me: I know it’s Christofle. I see the name on bottom. It’s beautiful. Then I thoughtfully stroked the surface, which was a bit scratched. Me: Maybe twenty-five? Merchant: (Scowls and laughs) No! It’s Christofle! Me: (stroking the tray) It’s beautiful, but (pointing at scratches). Merchant: Oh, well. I could bluh bluh for thirty. Me: (putting tray down on table and shrugging) Thank you! I turn to walk off. Merchant: (pause) Bluh bluh twenty-eight? Me: Yes! Score! I don’t math often, but when I do I math hard. |  |
Somewhere between the green glass tray and the Christofle tray, I got the “Pfffffff” from a dealer. My shaky French and a flashback to a Chinese night market paralyzed me, and I didn’t look eager enough. Those trays are on somebody else’s mantle now. Lesson learned.
Here are the things I’ve bought at flea markets so far, over about six weeks.
Here are the things I’ve bought at flea markets so far, over about six weeks.
Six dining chairs. I paid only seven Euros and fifty cents each for these chairs, and spent about sixty Euros each getting them strengthened and painted, pickup and delivery included. Not bad for two Napoleon IIIs (yes, from the nineteenth century), two Bentwoods from the 1920s, and two 1950s Scandanavian school chairs. I’ll get the yellow upholstery redone later, in case somebody gave birth on it.
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In this picture, you can see the end table Tycen got for forty Euros, my 1950s desk, and the floor lamp. Tycen suggested the big bulb instead of a lampshade, and I really love it.
I bought this set of dishes. There are more, but I didn’t think you’d want to see the ones in the dishwasher with spaghetti sauce and yogurt stuck to them.
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This wooden box and its brother are my bathroom storage. I still need to buy a shelf to put this one on. Toilet paper looks so much more attractive when lovingly displayed in a box. (Thanks, Pinterest!)
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Here’s my dining table, from a boutique, surrounded by my awesome chairs. The blue hutch is something Sam and I just fell for at the flea market at Saint-Ouen, the big one you see in movies and guide books. We hadn’t planned on blue, but love is love. Don’t judge.
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| This little table is the other one that Tycen got me for forty Euros. All four sides open up to let you store things underneath. We put the Wifi contraption in there. | This is the one that got away. I took its picture, but got too tired to go back and buy it and wrestle it home. It would have been a great end table and TV tray! |
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I got this rug and vintage movie poster for Kid 3’s room. All his other furniture came from Ikea, so these add some personality. Did you know Pinocchio used to be a blond?
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I bought most of these things at the Vanves Flea Market. It doesn’t sell large furniture, just dishes, lamps, chairs, anything you could put in a van. It’s not a permanent setup like at Saint-Ouen, the dealers bring all their goodies in vans every time. It’s a very cosy environment, compete with this traveling piano player (there’s a phrase you don’t hear every day.)
You can get real deals at the flea markets, or you can get priceless antiques (well, they aren’t really priceless because you do pay actual money for them, but you get what I mean). I love talking to the dealers, stopping for coffee and a pastry, listening to the music, and coming home fifty Euros poorer but with something I love. This is one of the best parts of living in Paris!
