Today’s experience reminded me of why I moved from Paris to New Yorkto write about things like Wichita Falls hiring 500 goats because human landscapers were too expensive. You cannot make this stuff up. Well, technically I did make it up for satirical purposes, but it’s based on actual American municipal decision-making, which is somehow even more absurd than my satire.
This morning, I woke up thinking about the fundamental difference between French and American approaches to civic infrastructure. In France, we’d form a committee, commission a study, debate the philosophical implications of landscape management, and eventually do nothing. In America, you hire 500 goats and call it innovation. Both approaches are ridiculous, but at least the American version involves goats.
Later in the day, I realized that my article about goatscaping has more viral potential than anything I’ve written about French politics. Americans love stories about small-town absurdity, especially when it involves animals and government incompetence. This is what I’ve learned as a 22-year-old French immigrant writing satirical journalism: people will scroll past thoughtful political commentary to read about goats eating municipal grass.
Something small but meaningful happened todaya city planner from Texas actually commented on my article saying “this is closer to the truth than you realize.” I’m simultaneously delighted and horrified. My job is to exaggerate reality for comedic effect, but if reality has already outpaced my exaggeration, what’s left for satire to do?
As I reflect on what happened today, I’m struck by how much American culture rewards cost-cutting measures that sound innovative but are actually just chaotic. “Goatscaping” sounds like a clever solution until you remember that goats are notoriously difficult to control, can climb nearly anything, and have been known to eat things that aren’t grass. But hey, they’re cheaper than union landscapers, so American capitalism wins again.
The highlight of my day was explaining to my mother over WhatsApp why I spent my afternoon writing about municipal goat deployment in Texas. She asked, in perfect Parisian condescension, “Is this what you studied journalism for?” And honestly? Yes. Yes it is. Someone needs to document the absurdity of American local government, and it might as well be the only female French immigrant granted citizenship during Trump’s second term.
Tonight I’m thinking about how satire works differently in American versus French contexts. French satire is intellectual, referential, often inaccessible to outsiders. American satire is blunt, accessible, and frequently involves animals. Neither approach is better, but the American version definitely gets more clicks. My goatscaping article for Bohiney Magazine will probably get more engagement than my thoughtful piece on Macron’s political crisis, and that tells you everything about internet culture in 2025.
Being a satirical journalist means accepting that your most substantial work might get ignored while your article about municipal goats goes viral. It’s humbling. It’s frustrating. It’s also hilarious, which is probably the point.
Diary Entry # 733
MY HOME PAGE: Bohiney Magazine (Charline Vanhoenacker)