Bringing it back - "Flâner".

The French have a verb for a very specific pastime. The dictionary has it as - Flâner… (v) to wander about with no particular purpose.

Pronounced - flan - as in pan and ay - as in hay. She (or indeed he - Le Flâneur) was an individual who elegantly ambled the streets and squares with no desire to get anywhere specific, but simply to be there. To observe. To absorb. To walk with no agenda other than the call of curiosity.

In 19th-century Paris, flâneurs strolled the boulevards in their Sunday best, hands clasped behind their backs, or tightly to a parasol, watching the swirl of city life like it was a personal, performance of living theatre. They were neither bored, nor lonely. They were connoisseurs of the everyday — collectors of sights, overheard chatter, and the social interactions of others. The English called it “promenading”, which although it carries some of the same meaning, is ultimately more formal. The England, one would typically go up and down in practiced straight lines, as if parading or attending a very formal dance, strolling not to notice, but to be the setter of standards. For the English, it was an excercise in judgement - of course it was.. The French on the other hand, as is their tilt, did it with discernment rather than evaulation, and of course, more perspective and panache.

It must be a custom worth reviving, especially now, when we march through our days, with fit-bits and step counters, trackers and to-do lists strapped to us like life-support systems. The flâneur’s walk is not about kilometers and calories, but serendipity. The flâneur asks nothing more than: “What might I notice today if I simply wandered around a bit?”

Take one in your own town or village. Leave your phone at home. Dress a little for the occasion — not in sweatpants or a hoodie, but something with a swish and a brim. Stroll slowly enough to notice the crooked shutters on a neighbour’s house, the cat stretched like royalty in a shop window, the way sunlight falls through a row of plane trees. Smile at strangers. Pause without guilt. Know that you are enough. Pretend the world is a novel and every page is a walking, talking diorama. Is it practical? Not really. Does it achieve anything? Only delight, which might be more than sufficient. We are not obliged to have a permission slip or a specific destination, just to leave the house.

So here’s to reclaiming the flâneur’s walk: a gentle rebellion against hurry. A reminder that the urban crescents and cart-paths that criss-cross our everyday, are not just things we pass through, but living platforms on which life unfolds — often more beautifully than we expect. And when met by a neighbour, who asks if we are on our way to the shops, or the cinema, or the bus, we simply respond... "Non, non...je flâne."

Platform 13’s dress tips to channel your inner “Flâneur”…

Dress the Part - A brimmed hat, a scarf, and at least a coat with pockets — strolling deserves a little ceremony.

Walk Without Purpose - No errands, no Fitbit goals, no destination. The flâneur wanders. That’s the whole point.

Observe Like a Poet - Notice what hides in Palin sight, the dog on the doorstep, the gossip of the café, the looks of the lovers. Collect details as if they were treasures.

Pause Guilt-Free - Sit on a bench. Lean against a lamppost. Pretend you’re waiting for someone mysterious. You’re not — you’re just living slowly.

Finish with a flourish - The true flâneur often ends with a coffee, a pastry, or a glass of wine. Careful observation deserves appropriate reward.