Your Guide To A Perfectly Lazy French Sunday

Sunday is a strange day. Depending on your level of enlightenment or burnout, it’s either sacred or swallowed whole by errands, emails, and grocery runs. Somehow, the one day meant for rest has become a competition of how much I can get done before Monday? The modern Sunday is capitalism’s consolation prize — a 24-hour window to optimize our leisure.

But in France, that idea borders on blasphemy.

The French Sunday is protected — culturally, legally, socially. It’s a day built around not doing much at all, and somehow that has evolved into its own national art form. Many French women say that as kids, they found Sundays long or even boring. But over time, that enforced stillness became something to look forward to.

“There was a heist at the Louvre — on a Sunday morning, while the country was still asleep,” says Céline Kaplan, co-founder of OOFF (Out of Office Forever) and PR force for a roster of luxury French clients in New York City. “That’s how sacred Sundays are. Even protests in France happen every day except Sunday.”

That collective stillness is almost eerie if you’re used to the weekend churn of many American cities. Streets empty, shutters close, and bakeries become the only source of life. Even Cheval d’Or, one of Paris’ hottest restaurants du jour, closes on weekends. At the height of its popularity, the team stayed loyal to the belief that food is for pleasure, and pleasure only exists when it isn’t rushed.

How The French Protect Their Sundays

“A perfect Sunday really starts on Saturday — it makes [Sunday] last longer,” Kaplan says. “The key is having no firm agenda... except for reading the FT Weekend, a slow yoga class, no alarm, an early dinner, and a bit of fresh air.” For her, rest takes preparation, but not in the way most people think. It’s about avoiding a rigid schedule, brunch reservations, and multitasking.

That quiet rebellion against busyness and against constant doing is rooted in a uniquely French way of moving through the world, says Vanessa Grall, the Paris-based writer and founder of Messy Nessy Chic and Messy Nessy’s Cabinet boutique. “Parisian Sundays are the day of the flaneur; the idle wanderer; for ‘doing nothing’ in particular, but moving through the city, observing all it has to offer that we perhaps don’t have time to notice during the week,” she explains.

For Grall, the French Sunday isn’t about staying still. It’s about staying unhurried. With two young children, hers usually revolve around bringing them to the Jardin de Luxembourg to see the puppet show, ride the ponies, and a spin on the old merry-go-round.

A Tradition That Lives On

“We were taught that Sunday isn’t about doing, it’s about being,” explain Flore des Robert and Pauline Laurent, founders of La Bonne Brosse, the cult favorite French hair brush. “It’s a rhythm you don’t question. The table is set, the roast is in the oven, and the day unfolds on its own. We might wear soft denim and a white shirt, hair loosely tied, because French women don’t really do ‘pajama days.’ Even at home, there’s a quiet elegance we hold onto.”

Even in stillness, there’s structure, and a few unspoken rules: start late, avoid plans, skip brunch (and preferably don’t call it that), and never, ever wear yoga pants to eat out.

“In Paris, you don’t ever wear your yoga leggings to brunch, ever,” confirms Laure Guilbault, Paris-based fashion journalist and founder of the podcast Sunday Night Live.

Guilbault grew up in a traditional French household in the 1980s, when brunch simply didn’t exist. “It was lunch — and more specifically roasted chicken,” she says. “It’s changed now, but that Sunday rhythm hasn’t disappeared.” And if you’re not cooking, Kaplan recommends Poulet Sans Tête in New York for a proper French-style roast.

A Sunday Reset

As a kid, Guilbault dreaded le blues du dimanche, that mix of melancholy and Monday anxiety that creeps in by late afternoon. During the Covid lockdown in Paris, she decided to rewire it.

She started doing a live show on Instagram every Sunday night. “It felt like throwing a party with my fashion and creative friends,” she recalls. “Over the years, only a few people turned me down, saying they don’t work on Sundays — and naturally, they were French.”

Now, Sunday Night Live is a full-fledged podcast, and her relationship to the day has shifted. “Preparing for the show became a ritual,” she says. “I’d spend Saturday reading everything about my guest, writing my outline. Sunday was about connecting — maybe not rest, but a kind of creative ease.”

The Intentional Ease

Across every version — Kaplan’s minimalist structure, Grall’s flânerie, Flore and Pauline’s family table, Guilbault’s creative salon — the French Sunday is deliberate. It isn’t lazy. It’s intentional leisure.

“In France, Sunday is a little rebellion against productivity,” say Flore and Pauline. “There’s beauty in that collective stillness — in choosing not to chase, not to optimize. It’s as if the entire country agrees to take a deep breath together.”

Grall notes that the feeling intensifies once you leave the cities. “Forget the busy brunch spot and try strolling through a quiet neighborhood, a park, or a market if you can find one. Wander, observe, sit down to eat somewhere on your own, and just find the space to listen to your own thoughts. That feels true to a French Sunday. Maybe have a croissant.”

That mindset of stillness without idleness and elegance without effort might be the most French thing of all. Even as French businesses modernize to catch up with global productivity culture and more stores open on Sundays, the idea persists.

“France is evolving,” Grall admits, “but we’ll still take that long holiday in August and after Christmas. Those are sacred.”

And perhaps that’s the secret: sacred doesn’t have to mean serious. It means boundaries, reverence, rhythm. It’s knowing when to stop. It’s being able to say: the world can wait until Monday.

The Elements Of A Truly French Sunday

If you’re looking to Frenchify your Sunday, the recipe is simple. Because, in the end, a French Sunday doesn’t ask you to do nothing; it simply asks you to be.

1. Wake up late (and maybe buy a croissant).
2. Ditch the to-do list.
3. Enjoy some gentle self-care — brush your hair slowly, put on moisturizer, stretch.
4. Take off the pajamas and leggings, unless they’re Eres, says Kaplan.
5. Have a proper Sunday chicken roast (and forget about brunch, forever).
6. Flânez — wander aimlessly, on purpose.
7. Pretend all establishments are closed.
8. Read a book.
9. Make love.
10. Pause.