Carte blanche to Olivier Niquet | A man from Florida

With their unique pen and their own sensitivity, artists present their vision of the world around us. This week, we are giving carte blanche to Olivier Niquet.

I love Florida. I’ve been going there regularly since I was little (regularly like once every five years). I was there again recently, for Christmas. Florida is both comfortable and fascinating. The hub of the cushy retirement industry and a hub of the systemic grotesque. Heaven and Hell.

It’s not for nothing that the most astounding news items often begin with ” Florida Man… “. Florida men have become a meme, on the internet. “Florida Man Arrested After Throwing Alligator Out of Wendy’s Drive-Through Window.” “Florida Man Tries To Steal Chainsaw By Hiding It In His Pants.” “Florida Man Calls 911 Because His Cat Has Been Denied Entry To A Strip Club.” These are real newspaper headlines. No one but a man from Florida could have invented that.

And it also works with women. Driving down a six-lane highway with my rented red Mustang (think big), I passed a woman with no helmet who was zigzagging on her moped because she was trying to get her hand on the bag of liquorice wedged between her legs, while holding her phone in the other hand. Your calculations are correct: that doesn’t leave many hands left to hold the handlebars. For a moment, I imagined the headline of the Miami Herald “A Florida woman strangles the salt-and-pepper-haired driver of a red Mustang with black licorice after he nearly rams her. »

The Florida man distils absurdity on all scales, which makes Florida sometimes flirt with dystopia.

In the past year, Governor Ron DeSantis ordered the banning of several textbooks that allegedly promoted anti-racist concepts dangerous to children. He also waged war on drag queens who are said to be a bad influence on young people these days and banned the teaching of concepts related to sexual orientation and gender identity in schools. Our exegetes of freedom of expression who explode their jugular in front of the slightest international anecdote linked to the culture of cancellation will perhaps be interested in the thing one day. May be.

Hurricanes are increasingly violent in Florida, and the Gulf of Mexico is periodically inaccessible due to red tides, which have increased in frequency since industrial agriculture confuses rivers with chemical toilets. Invasive species like pythons, iguanas, and watercraft riders are wreaking havoc in Florida’s natural environments. Despite everything, Florida is made of highways lined with a myriad of small soulless shopping centers where it is good to park. A toxic urbanism (I just made that up). So much for diversity, refinement and sea air.

At the same time, the men and women (Ron DeSantis doesn’t want me to tell you about the others) of Florida are affable, generous and kind. Except maybe the guy who threw an alligator out a Wendy’s window. When you meet them on the shuffleboard court (it seems to say “shuffleboard” in French) or on their giant tricycle between two rounds of pickleball (it seems to say “light tennis” in French, even if “pickle ball” appeals to me more), they don’t hesitate to start a conversation about the rain and the good weather. Lacking a social safety net, they have developed an inspiring mutual aid reflex and their exchanges exude empathy.

In Florida, my Costco card works, my driver’s license is accepted and my cultural references are not so upset.

I know all the characters of the Florida dystopia since they are on a daily basis in our media. Politicians, celebrities and criminals. They are our influencers. And if I’m lucky, I can even attend a Michèle Richard show in Hallandale. Just if I’m lucky. Above all that, there is the beach, the golf course and the “outlets”. The dystopia is familiar and air-conditioned, which makes it even cozier.

Accustomed as we are to seeing America’s worst make the news, it’s easy to forget that the average Florida man is charming. His carelessness in front of the environment, which is getting the hell out of the way, is no doubt voluntary. Worries don’t make you happy. But I tend to be optimistic. One day, millennials, more sensitive to these issues, will also retire and go play pickle ball in an electric tricycle.

Above all, Florida reminds me that there is a lot to be done to protect the specificity of our region. We recently learned that the opossums, these critters that are described as rats as big as cats, would settle quietly in our regions which have become mild in weather. A drag queen who reads to children almost had to cancel her performances under pressure from some elected officials. Social networks bypass our culture because of their unilingual and arbitrary algorithms. That’s a lot of threatened ecosystems.

I love Florida, but I also love leaving it to return to my own indifferent comfort. With us too, we sometimes retire from reality to avoid being bothered and it is not easy to resist the desire to disconnect completely. Momentarily stalling by becoming a Florida man is a nice way to put things into perspective.