Oh Paris, you are so dreamy. Here I am, walking through the quaint streets of Île Saint-Louis, peeking into restaurants and storefronts that look like they have been there forever. Cute café here, neighborhood bakery there; so Parisian, so stuck in time. Then, bam! Bright, white storefront glaring at me. Bland walls, gleaming tiles. Is this a public bathroom? No, it’s a frozen yogurt store.

Yesterday, the French Parliament banned religious veils. Please target your ire instead toward the wave of obnoxious yogurt joints that has moved into the city in the past five years. French women don’t get fat? They will if they eat this yogurt, which is usually covered in cookie or candy toppings.

I expected better of Paris. I expected better of a place that gave the world Berthillon’s mind-blowing salted butter caramel ice cream (just down the street from this Western-influenced abomination, in fact). Thanks a lot, Pinkberry and Red Mango. You’ve ruined Paris.

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