Accent or Identity Crisis? You Decide.

Hi, I’m Soline! For 14 years, I’ve split my time between California and France. Join me on my adventures as I rediscover my beloved France—its culture, curiosities, and hidden corners in my weekly newsletter!

I’ve been living in Southern California for 14 years, but I spend several months each year in France. I was born in the North of France, where people are known to be the warmest in the country (not just biased—it’s a fact!). My family moved south when I was about 10 to be closer to the Pyrénées, where we would hike and spend our summer vacations. My father is a Pyrénées mountain lover, my mother fell in love with them too, and that’s where I spent my childhood—in a small region of the South West, surrounded by nature and local produce.

Moving between regions meant I was constantly navigating different ways of speaking. The accent I grew up with in the North became a source of amusement for others when I moved in the South. Something I’m sure many of you have experienced too (feel free to leave a comment to share your personal experience!) In that new small village, the kids laughed at the absence of an accent, (some kids in my new classroom asked "Why don't you have any accent?!) and when I adopted the South West accent, I got laughed at in other parts of France, lol.

Accents and belonging

Even after 14 years in the US, my French accent when speaking English is still strong. I’ve never been able to get rid of it, and whenever I try, I sound like a Southern California reality TV girl! I’ve realized that trying to change it makes me feel like I’m impersonating someone—not being myself. In my 20s I tried; now, in my 30s, I don’t.

Sometimes, I even slip into an Australian accent (one of my best friends is Australian, and we talk for hours every month). Or, after spending time in the Italian mountains with an Irish friend, people noticed my accent changing mid-sentence. It can be annoying, and I get it—just imagine someone switching accents every sentence! Going from French Quebec accent to France from France accent. It would make my ears cringe. 

Now, I try to stay neutral, keep it natural, and not let my overseas friends influence me too much. A friend once pointed out that it’s hard to take seriously someone who constantly switches accents versus someone with a consistent tone, which sounds more authentic. That’s why I make an effort to stay neutral—though it’s hard because my natural way of speaking often jumps between accents depending on the subject. For example, if I discuss a certain topic only with my Australian friend for the first time, I might unintentionally mimic her accent because I’ve only heard certain words from her.

The better you speak, the more confident you appear, and your personality feels reliable. In the workplace, if you speak with an accent, you better be very good at what you do—because compared to someone with the same skills but an “accepted” accent, that person will often be chosen over you. (Let’s not even start talking about DEI here.)

Living in California, I’ve heard all kinds of accents. It’s fascinating how accents shape identity and a sense of belonging. Watching and listening to people born to non-US parents trying to match the accents of their schoolmates reminds me of when I worked so hard to adopt the South French accent as a child.

Another story comes to mind: I had another Australian friend, and we were talking about accents while in an international friend group. When I asked her if she could hear different accents among my friends, she said yes and described the differences—which I found fascinating because I could barely notice them myself. I can distinguish a Texan accent, a SoCal accent, and maybe a slight New York accent here in the US—but that’s it. She, as a native English speaker, could distinguish many more accents I would never notice (just as she couldn’t tell the difference between Quebec French and French from France).

She also pointed out that our friend, whose parents are from Latin America, actually had a subtle Latin American accent—not easy to notice, but there. I had always thought she spoke with a SoCal Valley accent. When I mentioned this to her, she seemed a bit surprised. It reminded me of my own experience trying to adopt the South French accent, coming from the North of France, just to fit in—the norm often being the majority accent of the group.

You also have things like “vocal fry,” characterized by low, creaky vibrations. I’m not sure if it became famous with TV reality shows, but I remember learning in university, in a linguistics class, that women with higher-pitched voices started using vocal fry to be taken more seriously by men and to be seen as equal. I hear a lot of vocal fry from men in SoCal too—maybe coming from lower-pitched voices and for similar reasons. Although nowadays, it feels almost like the norm, at least in SoCal. 

In France, having no accent in some places literally signals high social class. If you move between villages, cities, or regions and stick with the same accent—or come from a higher social class whose parents didn’t allow you to adopt local accents and jargon—you are trained to speak the way your parents or educators feel is proper. Alternatively, you might refuse to adapt, either out of pride in where you come from or because you don’t feel the need to fit in, thus creating social distance.

I guess the Parisian accent is considered the “standard” for Parisians and is often used in the news (I’ve never heard a strong Southern French accent used on national TV —could we call that discriminatory?). Other accents carry strong stereotypes, like countryside or farmer accents, implying less education or sophistication—just like in the US, where a General American accent is considered the “norm.”

Accents are fascinating. I’ve noticed that European friends who date Australians pick up a bit of their accent. The human ear is so adaptable—we instinctively adjust to belong. Even within France, I watched myself adopt the South French accent successfully, while my siblings kept their Northern accent. This has always been super interesting to me. 

There’s also the influence of immigration on accents, particularly among second- or third-generation families. Urban accents have become more prominent in recent years, as urban culture has taken center stage in entertainment and fashion. You’ll often hear younger French people—whether from families long established in France, from small villages, or from more privileged backgrounds—adapting urban speech styles to fit in with their generation and the latest trends in lifestyle and culture. I find these trends fascinating and could spend hours simply observing people and how they live. If you’ve ever been to Paris or France in general, you know that people-watching is practically a national pastime.

A friend recently teased me: “Trying to get rid of your South French accent?” In France, your accent tells everyone where you’re from—and people judge. Small-town kids often work hard to erase theirs when they leave home for university or a new job.

Me? I’m not sure where mine comes from. Maybe my Northern-accented mum. Maybe because I haven’t spoken much with old friends. I naturally pick up the accents of the people I spend the most time with—my mum, my sister (who lives in Corsica and sometimes slips into a Corsican accent!). At first, I thought she did it on purpose—it used to annoy me because her speech melody is so different.

Three weeks in Corsica changed me. After talking with my godson, my sister’s little sister, and their relatives, I noticed myself subtly shifting my own speech to match theirs.

And then I thought about my friend’s joke: how come her accent hasn’t changed at all after leaving her hometown? Probably because everyone she talks to has the same accent. She never tried to change it—and maybe she didn’t need to. Changing an accent is hard, and for many, it’s also about pride in where you come from—even if outsiders think it sounds a little “French-ridiculous.”

AAAAh, the French arrogance

You’ve probably heard about it. It’s subtle in daily life, but after living abroad and returning, it hits you: we all think we know everything—the culture, literature, fashion, gastronomy. Expatriates often feel even more knowledgeable than those who stayed, benefiting from both worlds while enjoying the French system. Not everyone is like this, but you’ll hear hilarious stories. You probably do know some yourself.

On bilingual kids

At university, I remember a case study in a linguistics class about toddlers learning their mother tongue versus the host country’s language. Children under 3 or 4, if exposed daily to their mother tongue in a foreign country, can become fluent bilinguals with no accent—especially if they are spoken to only in French and required to answer in French.

After that age, though, they usually start thinking in the language they’re most comfortable with and then translate into the other—a fascinating process. So if you miss that early stage (and it goes by fast!), your toddler will begin this transcription phenomenon. It’s actually super hard to do, as even adults have to adapt to the host country’s culture and tend to use both languages—our “proper” French starts to deteriorate!

I remember talking to my mum one time and she shouted: “Omg, Soline, you sound like a 12-year-old French kid!” I had started talking about a subject I knew only in English and couldn’t get a French sentence right. She told me to read, and read, and read in French. So I started revisiting French classics. The richness of the vocabulary and the precision of the words comforted me—it’s like we no longer truly know how to speak and write today. Classic authors feel like a balm for modern language; I re-read sentences that feel like poetry even when they aren’t. Proper French with rich descriptions makes feelings alive, relatable, and understood.

Most French kids born abroad to French parents understand French perfectly well, but often respond in English. You’ll always hear an accent that’s not considered “proper French.”

Does it really matter? In the end, not much. Just like expatriates, you become the “Frenchie” in your host country, and the “American” in France.

Accents tell stories — about where we come from, who we are, and how we connect with the world. Whether you’re in Paris, Provence, Corsica, or beyond, every word you try and every mistake you make builds confidence and brings you closer to truly experiencing France. Speak your way, embrace your accent, and let it be part of your journey. Most importantly, forget the nerves, speak freely, and fully enjoy what it’s like to be in another country — otherwise, what’s the point?

Anyway, this was Soline—your French host with way too many accents.

By the way, when I’m not switching accents mid-sentence, I’m guiding small French adventures (just 6 guests at a time) through different regions of France—8 to 11 days of culture, food, and hidden corners. Tailored journeys too.

Now, since we’ve been talking accents: where do you come from? Have you ever had to change yours when moving away from home? Any stories—funny, awkward, positive, or not-so-great—where your accent played a role? Was it the “norm,” or did you have to adjust? And have you ever felt bad for someone whose accent was stronger than yours? What is the cool-least cool accent in your area? (comment section is under the photo below!)

I’d love to hear your stories. And next week, we’ll tackle another favorite topic of mine ;)