In this sense, Gaga’s position at an imported highlight of Paris 24 perfectly illustrates a conundrum of modern France: its cultural clichés are all still intact and usable, but they rely on foreigners to sell them. Céline Dion is the Canadian queen of power ballads and it was her — rather than a local — who was chosen to sing Hymne à l’amour, Édith Piaf’s stirring ode to a lost lover.

It’s all part of the Emily in Paris syndrome: the eponymous heroine of the hit TV series doesn’t speak a word of French, and her beret is the wrong colour — red instead of black — yet she has arguably done more to put the city of love and light on the map in recent years than any other living person.

President Emmanuel Macron, ever the disruptive centrist, accepts the dominance of such interlopers, and this is why so many of his fellow citizens detest him. They view the former merchant banker as an ally of the so-called “Anglo-Saxons” — the dreaded globalists whose liberal economics and transnational lifestyles are slowly destroying traditional Frenchness. Macron is notoriously fickle — he is often accused of supporting whichever side he happens to be speaking to — and such an approach prevailed at Thomas Jolly’s Olympic ceremony.

Thus, there were plenty of accordions and can-can girls, but it was household names who would appeal to a billion-strong TV audience of mostly non-French people which dominated. Eurovision song contest kitsch, and multiple woke references to diversity and sisterhood, also topped the bill.

These are troubled times for France. A massive arson attack on the country’s rail network preceded the Olympics opener, and there are ongoing fears about policing the rest of the sporting extravaganza. Macron is not well-placed to deal with such problems, because he has only been able to muster a provisional government since his own coalition came third in parliamentary elections held earlier this month.

Meanwhile, more inward-looking parties such as Marine Le Pen’s National Rally go from strength to strength, as they hark back to a lost France full of farms and robust countryfolk. Such nostalgists would certainly have liked to have seen a blue-eyed diva from Brittany or Champagne wowing on the world stage, rather than ones from North America.

The opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics was dominated by English icons, including former Beatle Paul McCartney and Elizabeth II herself. Republican France could not hope to compete with such fame, instead evoking memories of Marie Antoinette, the beheaded queen consort, and the long-dead Piaf.

It all reinforced the feeling that Paris is now something of a museum. More, it confirmed that France itself is rapidly being overrun by more dynamic cultural forces from across the Atlantic.

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Peter Allen is a journalist and author based in Paris.

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