It’s no secret - the French can be hard to please. I once worked in an office in Paris with a coffee machine that must have dated from the 1960s. The coffee was unsurprisingly terrible – jus de chaussette (sock juice) as my colleagues called it. When finally relentless complaints persuaded the management to replace the old machine with a new model, outrage over the modest price increase brought work to a standstill. Needless to say, change can often be complicated in France.
France’s current driving permit, a flimsy, pink, trifold document too that seems to be a direct descendent of the first national identification cards printed in the 1800s, is finally being replaced with a sleek new model. Recently unveiled, the new card will feature enhanced security features such as lamination, not to mention holograms and a security chip. The design is based on a European-wide model, which will be deployed in all Member States by the end of the decade.
The flimsy document, which currently deteriorates in the wallets of 38 million French citizens, has long been an object of ridicule. Unless you lose it, you most likely have an embarrassing photo from 25 years ago. Inside, pages feature pictograms of various types of vehicles, from scooters to lories, with stamps and signatures to denote which you have authorisation to operate. A friend once presented it to a police officer in the United States and he promptly began laughing.
Security is a defining feature of the new permits, addressing one of the major drawbacks of the current - tens of thousands of fakes are discovered every year. It will also help law enforcement officers from all 28 Member States to more easily spot fakes. The French generally seem to recognise the inherent flaws of the current document, but, in true form, are quickly proving to be highly nostalgic of the papier rose (pink paper), as it is known. Odes commemorating the passing of this administrative document have been written in most major publications. In an effort to limit public uproar, the Ministry of the Interior has said that the old permits will be valid until 2033.
This is just one of many examples of banal things with powerful cultural symbolism, which are being swept away and replaced with streamlined European versions. Whether it be license plates, currency or driving permits, many find these pieces of our quotidian experience difficult to part with. The implications for everyday life are minuscule (and overwhelmingly positive in this case), especially compared to the sweeping uniformisation of national laws and regulations that often seems to go unnoticed by the public. Nonetheless, these small things are powerful tangible reminders of a part of France that the next generation will never know.
