A nice high ceiling? Absolutely!

Two approaches to real estate reality TV are colliding in the corridors of Netflix. The one made in France, relaxed, chic and verbose, as evidenced by the series The agency for four seasons.

The one machined in the United States, flashy, aggressive and overexcited, that the novelty offers Conquer Manhattan (Owning Manhattan), which is part of the same glossy catalog as Sunshine to spare (Selling Sunset), but in New York.

Both methods come with hidden defects, which must be inspected carefully before moving in. Let’s start with The agencywhich many of you frequent. It’s not bad, a very jaded Parisian would say, even if the episodes, always too long, could do with a solid tightening. Too much chatter, not enough images, you get it? Absolutely, yes.

This is the “tribal” side of The agency which seduces and differentiates it from its sisters stuck in the real estate docusoap format. This Parisian agency belongs to Olivier and Sandrine Kretz, two friendly sixty-somethings who are gradually handing over control to their four grown-up children, Martin, Valentin, Louis and Raphaël.

The charming 90-year-old grandmother Majo lives a stone’s throw away and is a constant visitor to the Boulogne-Billancourt mansion, which serves as the Kretz family’s main residence and headquarters.

The Kretzes are honest, close-knit and not very argumentative. The fourth season evokes “tensions” between the two oldest, Martin and Valentin, extra-soft tensions that never explode at the atomic level – and artificial, it’s obvious – of Sunshine to spare.

We connect on The agency to rummage through magnificent Parisian apartments, with beautiful high ceilings, and to spy on the dynamics of the Kretz, who project the image of a united and warm clan. Which is in total contrast to the 100% dysfunctional professional families of Sunshine to spare or of Conquer Manhattan.

That’s when The agency try to imitate Sunshine to spare that it becomes archbad. Why all this generic pop music only in English? Aren’t there urban music songs in French that would be more suited to the City of Lights? Even Emily in Paris understood it with his indecipherable accent.

Also, it is Paris that captivates us in The agency. Not Costa Rica, Marrakech or Barcelona. When Valentin goes to New York to find a loft for his two best friends, it’s boring, it’s déjà vu.

What stands out is when Martin, the lookalike of American actor Scott Foley, accompanies the extravagant “singer” Hélène in Paris on a tour of luxury “real estate” on Rue de Rivoli or Place Vendôme. Show us more of these places inaccessible to us poor beggars!

In the second episode, the all-white cabin apartment of interior designer Zoé de Las Cases, in the Bourse district of 2^e district, almost comes out of the pages of a decoration magazine. That’s what we like about The agency, the discovery of these nuggets buried in the heart of Paris.

Let’s say it’s more entertaining than the filming of a music video for rapper Dadju in Saint-Machin-les-Bains-en-Laye. That’s crap, as they say in the 16th arrondissement.^e borough.

Unlike their American compatriots, the Kretz brothers do not resemble emotionless plastic robots controlled by the smell of money. The brokers of The agency wear unbuttoned Oxford shirts, simple chinos and even denim, yes, yes. Their clothes do not display any garish logos. They often appear disheveled, very natural, their complexions a little dull.

You won’t see anything curling up in Conquer Manhattan Netflix, a sort of competition for the tightest jacket or the tightest dress that is too tight. This very average docuseries takes us to the Serhant agency, in the Soho district, which is run by Ryan Serhant, 40, a regular in the cameras of American television, including those of Million Dollar Listing New York.

Despite its repetitive and unoriginal formula, I obviously devoured it in one go. Conquer Manhattangood evening. No one will be surprised. Like Céline, we don’t change, eh?

In Conquer Manhattanimpeccably coiffed and dressed, Ryan Serhant knows how to talk to the camera: in short, punchy sentences. But he lacks naturalness. And wears way too many bracelets. And his ego constantly spills out of the frame.

Its employees take on the traditional roles of the real estate docusoap: the beginner blonde, the bad boy Scandinavian (the worst!), the Broadway actress retrained as a broker (terribly intense), the gossip obsessed with Instagram and the veteran pushed to his limits.

These people, who never sweat, drag their dogs around in handbags and spend at least three hours in the makeup chair before opening the doors to the world’s most expensive penthouse at $250 million.

Jealousy, envy, greed, knife in the back, the scenario of Conquer Manhattan resembles that of all other clone shows of the same type. This dramatic tension, even if it was manufactured from scratch, gives momentum to the eight episodes, something lacking in The agency.

And once again, Conquer Manhattan proves to us that money doesn’t buy good taste or class. Zoe de Las Cases’ cabin apartment in The agency is a thousand times more beautiful – and ten times cheaper – than all the glass cubes stacked in a Brooklyn scrap yard.

Most unbearable is Ryan Serhant’s cheap pseudo-philosophy about hard work being a sure way to succeed. “This city will give you everything, but it could also take everything away from you,” he says, in the tone of someone reciting Shakespeare in a church basement production.

Calm down, condo Gandhi. Marie Kondo would surely say to purify this much too heavy and cluttered speech.