By Mikayla Hunt

Let me be honest: I didn’t go to Paris to disconnect. I went to be seen in Paris. I had saved outfit inspiration in my camera roll, practiced how I’d say “un pain au chocolat” with that casual-just-woke-up-in-Paris tone, and was fully prepared to live-stream every cobblestone moment of my hot girl European summer.

But Paris had other plans. Specifically: my phone died in the middle of the Marais and decided not to come back to life until 48 hours later. And no, I didn’t have a backup charger. I had a baguette, three lip glosses, and a dying dream. What followed was the most peaceful, grounding, hilarious, slightly chaotic two days of my life. And I wouldn’t trade them for all the aesthetic rooftop pics in the world.

Day 1: The Great Disconnect (a.k.a. My Phone Betrayed Me)

It happened outside a vintage bookstore in the Marais. I had just taken a picture of a crooked little stack of poetry books that looked like they were arranged by a very poetic raccoon. I hit “send to story,” and boom—black screen. I pressed buttons. I whispered threats. I begged.

Nothing. I was phoneless in Paris. Which is basically the modern version of being naked in public. I didn’t even have a paper map. Or a plan. Or enough French to do more than order croissants with wild enthusiasm. Panic set in fast. I thought about all the people I needed to update. The content I was supposed to post. The dinner reservation I might not be able to find. The outfit I had worn specifically for the ‘gram and now no one would even see it. My ego was devastated.

Hour 3: Still Alive, Somehow

But here’s the crazy thing: after the initial 30 minutes of spiraling, I started to… breathe.

Instead of Googling “best coffee in the Marais,” I walked until I smelled something amazing and followed the scent like a cartoon character to Le Loir dans la Théière, a mismatched little café that looked like it had been decorated by your quirky great-aunt who once dated a poet. I ordered a slice of their legendary lemon meringue pie and a tea I couldn’t pronounce, and just… sat. I watched people. Real people. Not stories or reels—actual humans laughing, arguing, kissing dramatically like they were auditioning for a perfume ad. Paris was happening all around me, and for the first time, I wasn’t trying to document it. I was just in it.

Day 2: A Whole New Paris

Without my phone, I became the most curious, unintentional flâneur in the world.

I wandered through the Jardin du Luxembourg with no GPS, no playlist in my ears, just the sound of leaves crunching and children shrieking in French (which is weirdly elegant, somehow). I sat by the Medici Fountain and journaled like I was the main character in a novel where nothing happened—but everything mattered. I stumbled into Chez Janou for lunch—drawn in by the outdoor tables, the happy chaos of clinking glasses, and something that smelled like garlic and heaven. I didn’t check reviews. I didn’t post a single boomerang. I just ordered the pistou pasta and was surprised by the massive spoon of chocolate mousse they plunked down like it was completely normal to eat dessert with a garden tool. No notes.

Later, I got blissfully lost in Montmartre. I found an old man painting the Eiffel Tower in watercolor. He didn’t have a QR code or a TikTok. Just a folding stool, a cigarette, and peace. I didn’t take his photo. I just smiled and watched him work. When I left, he winked like we were both in on some quiet secret.

Where I Stayed (and Why I Didn’t Miss Wi-Fi)

Now, credit where it’s due: part of what made this digital detox survivable was the hotel I booked—Hôtel des Grandes Écoles, a peaceful little garden hideaway in the Latin Quarter. Think floral wallpaper, creaky floors, zero screens, and birds chirping like a cliché. My room didn’t have a TV. I didn’t even miss it. I read an entire book. In two days. I haven’t done that since 2016. And the best part? I didn’t see a single ring light or laptop. Everyone was either quietly journaling, sipping wine under ivy-draped arches, or napping like it was an Olympic sport.

What Happens When No One’s Watching?

The strange thing about a digital detox in Paris is this: it goes against everything you’ve been taught about the city. This is the capital of curated beauty. The birthplace of effortless chic. The city where influencers roam in heels at 8am with professional photographers in tow. But when you remove the need to perform Paris… you start to feel it. You notice the smell of bread baking before sunrise. You hear the clack of a stranger’s heels echoing through a quiet alleyway. You taste your coffee instead of posing with it. You remember who you are without the noise.

Reuniting with My Phone (And My Ego)

When my phone finally came back to life—thanks to an angel of a hotel receptionist with a charger and a prayer—I had 43 messages, 9 DMs, and an email with the subject line: “urgent—but not really.” I didn’t miss any breaking news. Beyoncé didn’t drop anything. The world had kept spinning. But I had changed. I realized I didn’t need to document everything for it to matter. That some experiences are too rich, too layered, too deeply human to fit into a square. And Paris—unfiltered, uncurated Paris—was more magical than I ever imagined.

If You Want to Try It (You Should)

Here’s how to do a Digital Detox in Paris—on purpose:

Stay:

Hôtel des Grandes Écoles – Storybook gardens and no TV. Feels like a secret garden.
Hôtel Particulier Montmartre – Only five suites and hidden behind a gate. Ideal for dramatic solitude.
Hôtel Henriette – Vintage décor, cozy and romantic. Wi-Fi technically exists, but you’ll forget it’s there.
Le Pavillon – Eco-friendly, EMF-free, and a short walk from the Eiffel Tower.

Eat:

Le Loir dans la Théière (Marais) – Quirky, cat-included café with the best pie in town.
Chez Janou (3rd Arr.) – That Provençal vibe with portions that’ll make you grateful your jeans have stretch.
Clamato (11th Arr.) – No reservations, fresh seafood, and natural wine. You’ll make friends with your neighbors.
L’Avant Comptoir de la Terre (6th Arr.) – Standing tapas bar with butter so good it should be illegal.
La Fontaine de Belleville (10th Arr.) – Café culture at its finest. Order a coffee and just exist for a while.

Final Thoughts: Paris Is Better When It's Just for You

It’s ironic that in the most photographed city in the world, my most memorable experience was the one I didn’t document. No filters. No likes. Just me, in my little Parisian bubble, soaking it all in like a baguette in onion soup.

So if you’re ever in Paris—and you’re brave enough—try putting your phone away. Or let it die. Walk until your feet ache, sit until the sun moves, and fall in love with being invisible for a moment. After all, Paris doesn’t need your Instagram to be real.
But you might need Paris to remember that you are.

Offline in the City of Likes: My Accidental Digital Detox in Paris