The charming Parisian district of Montmartre, known for its picturesque streets, artistic history, and stunning views of the city, has become a magnet for tourists in recent years. This surge in visitor numbers has been significantly fueled by the popularity of the Netflix series Emily in Paris and, to some extent, the enduring influence of the 2001 French film Amélie. While these works of art have brought global attention to the neighborhood, they have also sparked frustration among long-time residents, who feel overwhelmed and pushed out by the influx of visitors. The once-quaint area, which was historically a haven for artists and locals alike, is now struggling to maintain its charm and sense of community in the face of mass tourism.
The Netflix series Emily in Paris, starring Lily Collins as an American marketing executive navigating life in the French capital, has become a cultural phenomenon. Its portrayal of Montmartre as a whimsical and romantic hub has inspired fans worldwide to flock to the area, creating what locals have dubbed the "Emily effect." The show’s impact is evident in the overcrowded streets, where tourists armed with smartphones and selfie sticks swarm iconic landmarks like the Sacré-Cœur Basilica and the cobblestone lanes of Rue de l’Abreuvoir. While some might view this as a positive boost to tourism, residents have been vocal about the challenges it presents. "We’ll be left with places selling crêpes and tacos to tourists and nothing for locals," one protester lamented, highlighting fears that small, family-run businesses such as bakeries and butchers may be displaced by overpriced souvenir shops catering solely to visitors.
The backlash against Emily in Paris has been particularly strong in France, where the series has been criticized for its portrayal of French culture and its perceived acceleration of gentrification in Montmartre. Angry graffiti scrawled across café shutters—such as "Emily get lost, South Paris is not yours"—reflects the frustration of locals who feel their neighborhood is being taken over. An editorial in Le Monde, a prominent French newspaper, even went so far as to declare, "They think they own the neighborhood! Emily in Paris—an invasive neighbor." These reactions underscore the tension between the economic benefits of tourism and the desire to preserve the area’s authenticity and livability for its residents.
Montmartre’s struggles with overcrowding predate Emily in Paris, however, as the neighborhood has been a tourist hotspot since the release of Amélie over two decades ago. The film, starring Audrey Tautou as the quirky and charming title character, brought international acclaim to Montmartre, drawing fans to sites like the Café des Deux Moulins, where key scenes were filmed. Even today, visitors flock to the area to relive moments from the movie, creating a lasting legacy that continues to shape the neighborhood’s identity. Anne Renaudie, the head of the local advocacy group Vivre à Montmartre (Montmartre Living), has noted that the area has effectively been "cursed twice"—first by Amélie and then by Emily in Paris. While tourism is not inherently unwelcome, Renaudie and others argue that the sheer volume of visitors has made daily life increasingly difficult for those who call Montmartre home.
The statistics are striking. Montmartre, which is home to approximately 26,000 residents, attracts an astounding 11 million visitors annually. This imbalance is exacerbated by the fact that many of these tourists are drawn to specific sites featured in Emily in Paris, such as the restaurant La Maison Rose, which has become a pilgrimage point for fans. Walking tours of the neighborhood now follow an "Emily in Paris pilgrimage" route, guiding visitors to every location that appears in the series. While this influx of tourism has brought economic opportunities for some businesses, it has also driven up rents, pushed out long-standing local establishments, and transformed once-quiet streets into chaotic hubs of activity. Residents say they are not against tourism but want their home to remain a place where they can live, work, and thrive without being overshadowed by the constant flow of outsiders.
In response to these challenges, the community has banded together to advocate for change. Banners hanging from balconies in Montmartre now carry slogans like "Montmartre under threat. Residents forgotten," some written in English to ensure that tourists understand the message. These efforts reflect a broader desire to find a balance between embracing tourism and preserving the neighborhood’s character. As one resident put it, "We’re not against tourists, but we need a city that is still habitable for us." While the allure of Montmartre as a destination is undeniable, the community’s fight to reclaim its identity highlights the complex and often fraught relationship between cultural representation, tourism, and the lives of everyday people.
