Why I’m hooked on the French reality show, ‘L’Agence’
Beyond the property porn and celebrity cameos, it’s the Kretz family’s refined Gallic disposition that sets this series apart.
Netflix’s French reality show, L’Agence, or The Parisian Agency: Exclusive Properties, has returned for its sixth season to follow the (actually Boulogne-Billancourt-based) property dynasty, the Kretz family. The programme covers the Kretz’s lives and work, selling outrageously expensive houses and apartments to defiantly unlikeable wealthy international clients. I can’t get enough.
The property porn is off the scale, of course: in this new season we are treated to a tour of Brigitte Bardot’s astonishing 16th-arrondissement mansion, for instance. But it helps that the Kretz family are genuinely likeable too, with Olivier the strict yet sentimental father, Sandrine the powerful matriarch and their four sons: leonine Martin, charming Valentin (whose hair transplant must have posed considerable continuity challenges in this latest series), non-main-character-energy Louis and the indulged youngest, Raphaël, with occasional stagey cameos from Majo, the redoubtable nonagenarian grandmother; and, for some reason, lots of kite surfing.
But the real reason I watch is my undimmed Francophilia, having lived in Paris many years ago. It is a cliché but true that all involved swan about in such an effortlessly French, chic and sexy way. They dress so well, in linens and silk, in stark contrast to the Manosphere/OnlyFans look of the Selling Sunset crowd. They wear costly yet normal-sized watches, eschewing supercars and Rolls-Royces for scooters and e-bikes. And the effortless flirting between the sons and their female clients of all ages is so well-judged and ineffably French, it’s like watching Matisse paint, Ducasse cook or Zidane score a goal.
Although this is a US-style reality format with all the faux-jeopardy and intimate family moments that entails, as French people they still can’t conceal their awkwardness when asked to stage the set-pieces: everyone involved in the recent gender-reveal party of Valentin’s next child looked suitably embarrassed, for instance. And although the family swims in the Olympic-sized infinity pool of Anglo-Saxon late-stage capitalism – minerals traders complaining that there aren’t enough kitchens in their Mykonos villas, tech bros demanding bigger trainer closets in their Haussmannian apartments – it maintains a defiantly French approach to financial matters too.
Thus, although they do give us an asking price for most properties, often we never hear whether they sell (I can see from their website that the creepy 100-room €100m+ pseudo chateaux southeast of Paris, owned by the King of Morocco, is still for sale), and when they do make a sale, we are never told for how much. We are never privy to the grubby negotiations of a Homes Under the Hammer, for instance. There is no indulging of the viewer’s base fiscal prurience. After six seasons, I have no inkling of how much the family takes from each transaction, let alone how much they earn, or how they are paid.
Similar in its reassuring Frenchness is the respect-bordering-on-anxiety that the sons seem to have towards their father – a reminder that France is still a “wait until your father gets home” society. Olivier’s authority is final. His approval sacred. But it is Sandrine who pulls the strings.
Naturally, I also enjoy the celebrity cameos. Being French celebrities, I have rarely heard of the actress, sports star or artist who is looking for the perfect Cap Ferret bolthole. Nor do I recognise the names of any of the “famous” interior designers who are to blame for the eye-watering marble-and-brass makeovers of the properties. But I enjoy the family’s excitement when they meet someone who plays “basket”, or was once in a film with Depardieu.
But now the Kretzes are stars themselves of course. Last season, two of the boys walked the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival. This season’s big news is that they are opening a high-profile retail space in the 7th arrondissement. I don’t need to know how much they earn, or what happened to Martin’s first wife, but I do hope that through all the success and attention they still preserve their essential Frenchness.
