So, what brought you to Japan this time?

My wife, Béatrice—she’s a lawyer—is attending a UN conference here in Tokyo. So I took the chance to travel with her.

How are you finding Japan so far? I heard you also went to Kyoto?

I’m really enjoying it. But I have to say, there’s something else I’ve felt, too… which I think connects to what we’ll talk about today.

Oh? What kind of feeling?

Well, this is my first time in Japan, and for someone from Europe, it really does feel like another world. Everything is different. And since not many people speak English, it’s surprisingly hard to communicate.

Did that feel a bit lonly maybe?

I don’t know if “lonly” is the right word, but it’s... a particular feeling. You know, I really like talking to people—anyone, anywhere. But here in Japan, even casual small talk is difficult. I’m sure it’s different for Japanese people talking among themselves.

Yes, it’s true. It’s not so common here to strike up a conversation with strangers.

Exactly. No one really tries to make eye contact. Maybe it’s part of the culture—this value of not disturbing others. But for me, it’s the first time I’ve ever felt kind of... invisible. It’s the complete opposite of what I'm doing in Paris.

As if you don’t exist in the city?

Yes, exactly. When I walk through the city, I make a point to look at people, smile, and say “hi” when our eyes meet. I do that all the time. Maybe that’s why this difference catches me off guard—but it also fascinates me. And in a way, I quite like it.

Tokyo especially can feel that way.

I believe so. I imagine smaller towns might be different. In my experience, the more densely populated a city is, the more people tend to behave in a reserved way.

That makes sense. Fukuoka, where I live, feels different compared to Tokyo or Kyoto.

Tokyo has what, about 19 million people? Paris, even if you count all 20 arrondissements, is under 2.5 million. It’s really quite small when you compare it to Japan’s major cities.

I didn’t realize that.

Kyoto’s population is even smaller, around 1.5 million, but I think its area is larger than Paris. Paris is compact and dense. That density might be one of the ingredients that allows convivialité to emerge.

I read in another interview that you described conviviality as “the joy of autonomous people living together.”

Yes—people being physically close. Always near someone, even if you don’t know them. I think that kind of closeness is one of the key recipes for nurturing a sense of warmth and connection in urban life.

Closeness—that's the word.

Exactly. Closeness. I’m quite convinced of it. What I’ve done in Paris—what I call “urban engineering”—probably wouldn’t work in more spread-out cities like Cincinnati, for instance. The population density just isn’t there. That’s the limit of my approach.

So Patrick, can you tell me about Hyper Voisins? We first discovered your project through that long-table breakfast. It really stuck with us—it’s such a powerful image.

Yes, well… That table is actually kind of a marketing tool.

Marketing?

There’s a phrase in French, Tête de Gondole. It refers to the shelf at the end of an aisle in a supermarket—the one that displays the most eye-catching products. Brands actually pay to be there because it grabs people’s attention. The phrase comes from the gondola boats in Venice. So, this table was our Tête de Gondole.

So you set up the long table to draw attention to Hyper Voisins?

Exactly. At the very beginning of the project, we needed something that would catch people’s eye and get them interested.

Neighbors gathering in the middle of the street, sharing food they each brought from home—it really feels like a symbol of the kind of community connection we’ve been losing. How did it all begin?

Before starting the project, I told my wife, Béatrice, that I wanted to quit my job and try something new. At the time, I was a director at a major news group—the largest newspaper company in France. I’d been a journalist, a chief editor, and eventually the head of the news division.

The largest? Bigger than Le Monde?

Yes, we had 15 newspapers under the group, producing 50 editions every single day.

Wow. So when did you leave journalism?

About ten years ago, which means I was 55. I’m 65 now. Working in such a massive organization had drained me—physically and mentally. I knew I couldn’t go back to the business world.

And that’s when this project started?

I launched the project eight years ago. But the two years before that were like a sabbatical. I traveled the world for myself—went to Cambodia with my son, met Béatrice in Brazil. It was a time for reflection.

So the idea took shape while you were traveling?

Yes. The first year was just about stepping away and doing something completely different. Then I decided: I’m going to start a nonprofit, a social project. I told Béatrice, “Let me try this for three years. I’ll use my own savings. I won’t depend on government support. I want it to be fully independent.”

So you actually set a time limit—three years?

That was our deal. But of course, now it’s been four, five… and here we are. [laughs] Still, setting that three-year deadline created a kind of pressure. When I first spoke to neighbors about the idea—this was in March 2017—I told them, “We need to move fast.” That’s why the long table felt like the perfect thing to start with.

In what sense was it the perfect fit?

It allowed us to bring in a large number of people. It was highly visible, something the media could easily pick up on. I needed something that would instantly convince people: “This is a real project.” To earn trust, I knew I had to make the idea visible—symbolic and concrete.

So you gave it shape, right from the beginning.

Exactly. We held the first long table event, called La Table d’Aude, in September 2017. We spent a few months preparing for it.

This was your very first project, wasn’t it? How did you go about launching it?

I started by talking to five neighbors. We met in a little café—somewhere like this—and I said, “I want to propose something a bit unusual, a bit fun.” That’s when I introduced the idea of calling this special area République des Hyper Voisins—The Republic of Hyper Neighbors.

What a unique name! So the name Hyper Voisins was already set at that point?

Yes. We just made it up ourselves—gave a name to this one part of the 14th arrondissement in Paris. It was like a game. The area includes 50 streets and about 15,000 inhabitants. And we defined just one goal for our republic: to turn people who only say hello once a day into neighbors who say hello 50 times a day.

I love how tangible that is—using greetings as a metric.

It might sound silly, but I think it was important to do it by gaming. If you’re too serious from the beginning, people start wondering, “What’s this guy’s angle? Is he running for office?” So we made it playful on purpose. We wanted people to smile first—and trust us second. That was step one. And the long table became the physical tool to turn this playful vision into something real.

So in March 2017, you created the “Republic” with five neighbors, and by September, you had launched the Long Table. How did you find those first five people?

At the time, I had only been living in the neighborhood for about a year. I was still new. One day, I went to the local grocery and asked, “Hey, do you know anyone around here who’s fun and friendly?” And he said, “Oh yeah, I do!” That grocery man—he was actually the first “community tool” in this whole story.

You found exactly the right person to ask.

Exactly. Especially in Paris, when you have the groceries, they are outside on the streets and they know everybody. They know all the kids’ names, and they know their parents too. Those kinds of people are essential for building real connections.

Local intel.

He became the link. At first, he was kind of puzzled by what I was saying, but soon he started telling people about me every day. Like, “There’s this guy Patrick—kind of a weird one—talking about a 'Republic of Hyper Neighbors.' He’s always in the café having meetings. Want to meet him? I’ll take you.” And that’s how he literally brought the first Hyper Neighbors by the hand to meet me. The first five were two older folks, a man in his 30s, and a couple of people in mid-life. And after that, it just took off.

Wow.

It started as simple connections—nothing like a network.

Yeah, that is real connection.

Real connection has real power. I think it’s stronger than Microsoft. [laughs]

Are those five people still involved today?

Absolutely. They've been with us since the beginning. I wouldn’t say they’re co-founders or anything formal like that—but when I first shared the idea with them, their friendly response gave me the confidence to go ahead.

And then came the Long Table—this amazing event that put Paris’s 14th arrondissement on the map. Right there in the middle of the street, neighbors all sitting down and sharing a meal. I’ve never seen anything like it. How long is that table?

350 meters. It seats about 1,000 people. Actually, in the first year we only used one street, so it was around 700 people. Then in the second year, we added a cross street.

Ah, I think I saw a photo of that intersection.

That photo was from the second or maybe third year. Since then, it’s always been around a thousand people. We’ve decided not to go any bigger than that.

Intentionally?

Yeah—1,000 is enough. We only do it once a year, but the preparation takes a lot of effort.

Still, having 700 people show up in the very first year is incredible.

We started with just five people, and six months later, we were having lunch with 700. That’s quite the growth, right? On the day of “La Table d’Aude,” we open the tables at noon, and now people literally run when it starts. [laughs] It’s like those packed Japanese trains—you know, how everyone lines up at the doors waiting to rush in.

So it begins at noon—what time does it end?

The city of Paris gives us permission to use the streets from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m. In the early morning, it’s all about setup. Trucks arrive bringing hundreds of tables and chairs. Many inhabitants help with the unloading. Around 7, more neighbors come to carry supplies. By 8, the women arrive; by 9, the kids are lining up glasses and plates on the tables.

And I noticed there are flowers on the tables, too?

For the flowers, it is a special job with an old lady who is 90 years old. Her name is Mireille. She’s become famous now—she’s even been featured in The New York Times a few times.

Wow, really?

When I first met her, she was an angry old lady. Zero empathy. Honestly, she was a bit intimidating. One time during our weekly “Super Neighbor Café,” I remember the reaction of my neighbor just beside me at the table, and when she saw Mireille, she said “no, don’t talk to her please.” [laughs] She had a reputation in the neighborhood for being very difficult.

Was she living alone?

Yes. She had lost her husband and was really isolated. I think all that frustration built up and came out as hating others.

That’s such a painful cycle.

Exactly. But one day, she started coming to the café regularly. At first, she just complained about everything. But we didn’t push back—we just listened and laughed with her. I remember joking, “Mireille, maybe it’s time to let go of this version of yourself.” I wasn’t being serious—it was just playful. I said, “You’ll change, you’ll see.” And somehow, that tiny moment was the start of a real transformation.

That’s a beautiful story.

Now, Mireille is the one who prepares all the flowers for the Long Table. She even invites strangers into her home to help her with the arrangements. We have 500 flower vases—actually, they’re recycled yogurt jars collected from around the neighborhood. A local florist helps supply the flowers, and then Mireille and her little team fill the jars. On the day of the event, the kids place them along the table.

Wow.

Even someone like Mireille, who had been so isolated, can change. If we’d left her alone, she’d probably still be the same. Her story is just one example.

It really shows how much our behavior is shaped by our surroundings. Is she still living alone at that age?

Yes, she was living alone and quite isolated. Her family tried to convince her to move closer to them, away from Paris. But she told them, “Now I have another family here in Paris. I don’t want to leave.” That actually caused some tension with her family… I think they didn’t like her telling that story to journalists. They were afraid it made them look like the bad guys. [laughs] Here—this is a photo of Mireille.

Wow, she looks so full of life—it’s hard to believe she’s 90! Are all the people who help with preparations volunteers?

Every single one. Adults, kids—everyone who lives in the neighborhood. We also have a small team that handles promotion. They print and hang up hundreds of posters all around the area. It really takes a lot of hands, and it all works because people pitch in.

Hyper Voisins is organized as a nonprofit, right?

Yes, everything is free. There's absolutely no money in hyper neighbors. This is our rule. There are no membership fees. In most associations, even a small one, there’s usually some kind of joining fee, right?

Sure, since there are running costs. But in your case, the whole thing runs on voluntary efforts by local residents?

That’s right. And even though we’re technically a nonprofit, the organization is really just a shell. Legally, you need a minimum of three members to register an association, so we have exactly three. But that’s it—there’s no deeper meaning. I wrote this, “the fourth one will be burned out.” [laughs]

Burned?! [laughs]

Of course, it’s a joke. What we mean is: “There will never be a fourth.” We wanted to emphasize that this organization exists only as a tool. It’s not supposed to grow for the sake of growth. The structure should serve the purpose—not become the purpose. And that switch—from means to end—happens way too often.

I'd also love to hear about what you do beyond the Long Table. You’ve called the broader set of activities “social engineering,” right?

That’s right. Everything we do throughout the year—we refer to it all as social engineering. The Long Table is just one element.

Okay, tell me more. For example—this one? It looks like everyone’s just relaxing on the grass.

Ah, that’s our garden party event. But since “garden party” sounds kind of posh, high-society, you know? So we we call it “Garden Coty.” Coty, as in René Coty—the former president of France.

Oh, by the way—there’s a street called Rue Coty in the Hyper Voisins neighborhood, right? I saw it on Google Maps.

Yes, yes—René Coty. But the funny thing is, even most French people don’t really know who he was. He’s kind of been erased from history. He was around before the 1960s, during the Fourth Republic, when the Prime Minister held more power than the President. Coty’s name lives on as the name of a big street in this neighborhood, but that’s about it—no one actually knows him. So we used his name for the event—“Garden Coty.” It’s just a little joke. [laughs]

Okay, I think I’m starting to get it… So you weren’t using Coty’s name as a kind of symbol?

Exactly, not symbolic at all. But I get that this might not totally make sense in Japan. [laughs] Hmm… where should I even start explaining…

I’m just being so curious! Even if it’s not interview-relevant, I want to hear it. [laughs]

There’s this French film from the 1960s called OSS 117. It’s a parody of James Bond, but the main character isn’t some suave, slick guy like Bond. He’s this ridiculously typical Frenchman who we all hate—sexist, unloving, the kind of man no one would want in your community. He’s played by Jean Dujardin, who’s actually a really famous actor. The movie was a big hit.

Ah, so a very French kind of spy comedy.

Exactly. In the opening scene, the story is set in Cairo, and the main character is handing out photos of René Coty to Egyptian guy—as if he were a saint. He keeps saying, “This is René Coty, a truly great man.” The joke is, outside of France, Coty was supposedly this iconic figure. Inside France? Nobody remembers him.

So his name is barely known at home.

Exactly. It’s absurd and kind of hilarious—and that’s the exact spirit we brought into “Garden Coty.” It’s an outdoor event where we screen the movie. Here—take a look at this clip. I think it captures the tone perfectly, that playful nonsense.

The video is titled Garden Coty 2—so it wasn’t just a one-time event?

We did it twice. The movie has a first and second part, so we followed that idea. The second edition was a huge success. Jean Dujardin himself came. We set up a big screen outdoors, and the film company Gaumont actually covered the cost.

They supported the event?

Yeah, I told them, “If you cover the cost of the screen, 2,000 people will come.” And they did! Even though it’s been ten years since the movie came out, so many young people still know every line by heart. During the screening, they were shouting the lines in unison. It was really incredible.

Wow, that must’ve been a special moment. Something you’d never experience in a movie theater.

Exactly. What I really wanted with this event was to get young people involved. My son’s a big fan of the movie, so I was pretty sure it would work. The long table might be the attention-grabber, but this one really clicked with a different crowd.

Were most of the attendees from the neighborhood?

Some were, but because the film is so popular, people even came from Belgium and Switzerland. Honestly, before the second event I was a little scared—“What if we get thousands more than expected?” But in the end, the weather forecast looked bad, which kind of held things back, and we ended up with just around 2,000 people. It was perfect. And the weather cleared up, too.

That’s lucky!

Yes, you definitely need a bit of luck for things like this! [laughs]

I saw you’ve built something like a flowerbed along the street?

Yes, that’s not an event—it's something we do as part of our everyday activities. The place is called Sarrette, a little triangular square right in the middle of the street. We built it together with local children.

Is there someone who looks after the plants?

Yes, one of the hyper neighbors named Marianne takes care of it. She also asks around and gets help from others—for things like watering. It’s a very small space, but it’s become a symbol for the neighborhood. Originally, it was just an empty plot owned by the city of Paris. There was absolutely nothing there. We spent several weekends digging into the hard ground ourselves.

Your community composting initiative is also quite well-known. I read about it in an article.

Yes, I think what’s unique about the composting project here is that it didn’t come from the city government—it started with the residents. I went to the mayor and said, “Can you lend us eight parking spots?” You know, in Paris, there are designated parking lanes along the roads.

Oh yeah, I didn’t notice that. Those are the parking spaces!

Exactly. We placed compost bins and planters there to create a small shared space. Across Europe, as of January 2024, sorting organic waste has become mandatory. Even before the law came into effect, I told the mayor of Paris, “We’d like to experiment inside the territory of the Hyper Neighbors and find the best way to do this.”

You spoke directly to the mayor?

Yes. We rented the compost boxes from a private company, and the contents are collected twice a week. We’ve created a system that turns the waste into compost. And the residents can actually track where that compost ends up—which farm, which crop. Will it become potatoes? Carrots? The story of our garbage becomes visible.

Did the residents start using it right away?

I told them, “Hey, how about becoming an alchemist?” [laughs] And they were all in! When we installed the first eight bins, I worked with the company to calculate the necessary costs and applied for a subsidy from the City of Paris. What’s unique is that the city didn’t give the money directly to the company—they gave it to us, the residents. And we, in turn, paid the company.

That’s quite an unusual structure.

It’s what we call delegation. The public service delegation that’s delegated by citizens. I think it’s one of the most ideal ways to nurture the commons.

You mean the public service is not a given, we chose to have it.

Exactly. To begin with, I think the sense of “publicness” is very different in France and Japan. From what I’ve seen, Japanese people are very engaged with the public space. The streets are clean. If someone sees trash, they pick it up and put it in a bin. That must come from early education. In France, there is consumer culture. Many people think, “Well, I pay taxes, so cleaning is someone else’s job.” So they don’t hesitate to litter.

So part of your work is about shifting that public mindset.

In Paris—and in much of Europe—there’s a widespread idea that “I pay taxes, so I have no further responsibility.” And I think that is a pity. If we want to change that, we should start with the children. They’re the quickest to adapt and create new habits.

In Japan too, I feel more people are beginning to think of “the public” as something that’s not their responsibility. Motoko Tanaka, who created this café, “Kissa Laundry,” has spoken about this as a concern. She uses the term my public, and her work focuses on designing spaces where public and private intersect.

That’s wonderful. Consumer culture really creates a vicious cycle. We keep producing waste, and no one takes ownership. The philosophy of Hyper Voisins is to turn inhabitants into co-creators—into actors, not consumers. I want each daily action to become part of a good practice.

I like that word—actor. It’s a powerful concept.

I don’t want to push it in a preachy way. I want to achieve it by gaming, by humor, and by charm. That’s how things spread. If you say, “Join this meeting to save the planet,” with a serious face, people will just say, “I don’t have time for that,” and they won’t come [laughs]. But even those same people will join if there’s a playful or funny hook.

That kind of openness seems to invite all kinds of people to participate. Speaking of which—what’s that event where everyone brings cheese?

That was the “Hyper Talking Cheese” event. At first, it was just a small gathering at Marianne’s home—a fairly large apartment for Paris. Sixteen people showed up, and we listened to Diya, who had just written a book.

So it’s a kind of storytelling or lecture event?

Exactly. At Hyper Voisins, we place a lot of value on people sharing what they know—whether it’s knowledge, experience, or skills. Each session has a different theme. One time, Anne, an astrophysicist, explained what black holes are and how stars are born. Another time, a judge talked about how the justice system works. A manga artist once demonstrated how they draw comics. Now we organize around 20 sessions a month.

Wait, that many? That’s amazing! And there’s only one rule, right?

Yes—everyone must bring cheese. [laughs] That’s the only rule. At the end, everyone shares what they brought.

That one rule really makes it sound fun and approachable.

Lately, we’ve also started allowing cake. There were just too many cheeses piling up. [laughs]

That many people are joining?

Yes. The online registration fills up within ten minutes. We just couldn’t fit everyone in neighbors’ living rooms anymore. So now we partner with the Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris—a century-old international student town in the south of Paris. They have a hall that fits 120 people, and we hold two sessions a month there: “Talking Cheese” and “Singing Cheese,” alternating each time.

So Hyper Voisins has grown to a scale where you’re collaborating with entire districts of the city.

By the way—before this interview, didn’t you join one of our online groups?

You mean the WhatsApp community for residents? Yes, I peeked in secretly. [laughs] But honestly, I couldn’t grasp the full picture. How many groups are there now?

We currently have 51 groups, each organized by theme.

Fifty-one? That’s a lot…! Can you tell me a bit more about how WhatsApp works in Hyper Voisins? It seems like an essential part of how the residents stay connected.

Absolutely. Every conversation in the groups must be related to the neighborhood in some way. And new members can only join through an invitation by someone who’s already part of the network. That keeps things intentional. That said, we’ve now passed 2,000 members—so we’ve had to stop accepting new ones. There’s actually a waiting list. [laughs]

Over 2,000 people—that’s incredible.

This isn’t a “network”—it’s a place where encounters are gently prepared. For example, we have a group called Branch Polyglot—it’s a multilingual brunch gathering we do every Sunday for people who want to practice speaking languages. English, Italian, things like that.

Do people pay to join?

Nope, it’s totally free. Someone just says, “I can host about 15 people at my place,” and then we all gather there. Everyone brings food to share, so the table is packed with home-cooked dishes. And I do the presentations just for five minutes, just for who is he, because usually the persons are not knowing each other. That way people can start talking. There are always lots of first-time participants.

Wow, I’m starting to wish I lived there.

Each brunch is held in the chosen language. One week we do English, the next Italian, then Spanish. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll have a Japanese brunch too! [laughs]

That would be fun. How did it all start?

It began with a woman named Violène. She’s a nurse, and she was married with a guy who is living now in the United States—they’d been living apart, but she decided to move to New York for their son living with her in France. But she was really anxious because her English wasn’t great. So I said, “Let’s organize an English brunch through Hyper Voisins!”

That’s such a great story.

From there, it just expanded. Someone said, “Can we do a Spanish brunch too?” Then another asked for Italian. Oh, by the way, this Sunday’s brunch was cancelled. The woman who was going to host it wasn’t feeling well. But it’s no big deal—it’s not an obligation.

That kind of flexibility is really nice.

We also have a group called Hyperjobs. It’s for people looking for work. You just post, “Hey, I’m looking for something right now,” and someone will step in to help. There are students, business owners—all kinds of people in the Hyper Voisins community.

Oh—is that what this flyer means? It says “Recherche", Looking for something?

This message from a member named Sandrine. Looks like she spotted this at a local shop and just posted it to say, “Hey, they might be hiring.”

And what about this one? It says Troc Party?

That’s one of our gifting groups. It’s a space where people give away things they no longer need—clothes, baby chairs, books, even computers. The idea is reuse, so selling is not allowed. But we do have another group called Les Bonnes Affaires, where selling things is permitted. It’s kind of like a community bargain bin.

What kind of things do people sell?

Mostly clothes. Sometimes bigger items too—like bike racks for cars. But always at low prices. Then there’s a group called Hyper Logement—“Hyper Housing”—where people share info about available rooms or apartments. Like, “I’m moving out in two months, happy to introduce you to the landlord,” or “I’d rather sell this place directly to a hyper neighbor before going through a real estate agent.”

So anything from clothes to homes—people are connecting directly via WhatsApp. What about this Fish Club?

Ah, that’s a great one! Every week, a fisherman delivers fresh fish just for the Hyper Voisins community. He comes all the way from Normandy. He’s basically our “official fisherman” now [laughs].

I honestly thought it was a fishing club [laughs].

That would be fun too—but no, this is something else [laughs]. He’s not doing it for profit either. He drives 350 kilometers to Paris each week, and he says, “Coming to see the neighbors—it’s like medicine for me.”

So the interaction itself gives him a sense of purpose.

Exactly. And at Christmas, he even dresses up as Santa Claus for the local kids. That kind of relationship—that’s what makes this community so special. Then there’s Party de Bulls, the pétanque group. Membership spikes whenever the weather’s nice.

You even have playgroups!

Of course! Souris Verte—“Green Mouse”—is the name of a little triangle-shaped park, and it’s where neighbors chat about gardening. Culture Club is our culture group. We even have a professional art guide in the community. So when we visit museums or galleries together, we get private tours and commentary.

That’s amazing. And Hyper Cats and Dogs?

It’s a group where neighbors help each other take care of their pets. It’s really active. People share extra cat food, and if someone posts “My cat’s gone missing!”—everyone starts looking. People even keep an eye out during their walks.

I love that… Like an old-fashioned neighborhood notice board.

Totally. Sometimes there’s so much love for cats that I have to remind people—“okay, don't forget our groups is dedicated to the neighborhood, so if you want to just tell your love for cats and dogs, this is not a good place to chat.” [laughs] There’s also a group for childcare—people offering to watch each other’s kids—and one for sharing restaurant tips. Parisians love food. Then we’ve got the Have a Drink group—basically for spontaneous meetups. Like, “Hey, I feel like going to a bar, but I don’t want to go alone. Anyone wanna join?” Sometimes people post, “I’ll be the one with the red notebook and red hat!” [laughs]

These groups are so real, so quirky—and so fun. Does each group have a leader?

It depends. But most people already know the basic rules, so passing on responsibility is simple. We don’t get the kind of messy fights you often see in social media comment sections.

Yeah, platforms like X are intense these days…

Exactly. So much hate. But in Hyper Voisins, we’ve built a culture of norms. For instance—negativity is not allowed. Everything must be phrased positively. We even have a group for recommending good doctors and dentists—but you’re not allowed to say, “This dentist is terrible.” That’s just not okay.

Wow—is that an official Hyper Voisins rule?

Not exactly a rule—more like a shared mindset. It’s not written down or anything. But within our community, we have a philosophy we call Les Bisounours Radicaux—the Radical Care Bears.

That sounds like the spirit of Hyper Voisins.

Exactly. Bisounours is actually a kids’ cartoon character—a smiling bear who never says anything negative. When we say Bisounours, it’s a bit of a joke—someone who’s dreamy, ridiculously nice, and endlessly positive.

Oh right! I saw so many photos of teddy bears everywhere. I was wondering what that was about.

Ah yes! [laughs] We put 50 teddy bears on the trains running through Paris—just a little playful stunt. Tourists were snapping pictures like crazy. I think it was in February or March.

Wow, that’s wild—and fun! [laughs]

We took the bears around the neighborhood—to shops, restaurants, hair salons… Then two days later, we gathered them all in the park and had a “Chocolate Bear Picnic.” Like a teddy bear demonstration march. [laughs]

That’s adorable. Would you say it’s a kind of marketing too?

Exactly. Humor really works. It catches people’s attention, invites them in—way better than being serious or preachy.

Shall we move to the bench outside for a bit? We've covered so many of your activities today, but what strikes me is your sense of balance—between personal, human-level conversations and a kind of intuitive marketing flair. Do you think that comes from your years in media?

Probably, yes. Being a journalist teaches you that curiosity is key. I’ve always been deeply interested in people. I’ve talked way too much today, I know [laughs], but really, I love listening to people’s stories more than anything.

That came through in the multilingual brunch story too—how it all started just from listening to one woman’s anxiety about moving to New York.

Exactly. What’s important is trying to see things from someone else’s point of view. To really think about what they need. And that’s not as simple as it sounds. But if you’re genuinely attentive to what people are looking for, they naturally gather around you. In French, we call it bon sens—good sense.

Bon sens.

Yeah. Not something you learn at university—it’s more like something every grandma just instinctively knows. I honestly believe that many urban issues can be solved not through politics, but through plain old good sense.

When we spoke over Zoom before this interview, you asked a lot about me too. I felt you were such a good listener.

If you want to cultivate relationships in your neighborhood, what you need is curiosity and empathy. Empathy isn’t something you can learn. You either have it or you don’t. I happen to love people—but there are plenty of folks who don’t. Donald Trump, I don't think he's empathic enough to become a friend of the neighborhood. I would fire him if he’s in hyper voisins. [laughs]

When did you realize you love people?

Gradually. When I was a journalist, I met so many people every single day that by the time I got home, I didn’t want to see another soul. But give it a couple of days, and I’d find myself craving human interaction again. I just love the miracle of human connection. I’ll see a couple on the street and start wondering, “Where did they meet? Why were they drawn to each other?”

You’re drawn to the stories behind relationships.

Just like in a film. Even when I see kids walking home from school holding hands, I can’t help but think, “Why did they hold hands? Why that hand and not the other one?” I’m fascinated by those tiny miracles of connection.

I totally get that.

I remember when we moved to a new place, I told my wife, “If someone knocks on our door asking to borrow butter, let’s pretend we’re not home.” I was seeing so many people at work, I just didn’t want to deal with anyone else. I thought that was how I’d keep balance in my life.

That makes sense. We all feel like that sometimes.

But after just a few days, I’d have new people over at the house. Deep down, I really do want to connect with others. It’s not about protecting myself. I want to approach people with curiosity. I want to hear their stories.

Even someone like you—so socially engaged—has moments of wanting to withdraw. Human beings really are complex.

What fascinates me most is the contradiction we’re living in today.

Contradiction?

We have more tools than ever to connect with each other—thanks to the internet—but people have never felt more isolated. I think it’s because those tools have become the goal itself. But tools are just that: tools. They should never replace the actual purpose of connection.

Using social media has become the goal itself—and people are becoming lonelier.

That’s one reason I can’t agree with the tech evangelists. They say, “This technology will bring people closer together!” But it doesn’t really create human relationships. Quite the opposite, in fact. You might be “connected” to thousands of people, but the question remains: why are you connected in the first place?

What you said earlier really struck me—how you’re using WhatsApp as a tool for very human kinds of connection.

That’s the magic of connection. Why? When? How? There are millions of possible answers to those questions. There’s a kind of science behind it, too. That’s why I’m now working with researchers.

You’re studying human connection?

Yes. Connection creates richness in life. But it requires good tools—because time is limited.

You’ve also developed a strong philosophy around how people should relate to each other—like not allowing negativity. How did that come about?

It’s less a philosophy and more of a practical approach. I realized that networks need rules. Thinking through those rules is the only way to make anything real. Without rules, a small number of angry people will dominate 90% of the space. On social media, it’s only those people who end up talking.

So, it’s about having tools and rules.

Exactly. “Be positive” is not just a message. It’s a tool to help people do something together. Instead of saying, “Let’s all try to be like this,” you invite people to play a game. It’s a powerful tool. Not something spiritual—but an algorithm for living together.

So this approach—you realized it through actual practice?

Yes. Without rules, things inevitably spiral downward. That’s just how it goes. It’s easier for people to slide downhill—it feels more natural. It’s easy to argue, to oppose things. And the result is more conflict. But people inside the Hyper Voisins “bubble” make a decision: they choose to keep certain feelings to themselves. And they choose to laugh.

That’s really interesting—it’s not just about accepting our natural impulses as they are.

Exactly. The Parisian lifestyle is the opposite of ours. In Paris, people argue every day. They’re always against the mayor. They complain about everything, and they don’t get along with their neighbors. So our rules? They feel like a curse to Parisians.

And yet, within that very lifestyle, you brought in new tools—and created something that feels almost miraculous.

Those tools have to be designed within a specific living territory—like, “Where do people live?” “Where’s the bakery?” “Where do they meet?” That’s the framework. I organize events, manage waste, tell stories every day—but unless those stories are grounded in a defined neighborhood, they don’t land. Every story needs an audience. And that audience is in the neighborhood. Just one step outside, and the story stops resonating.

That explains why you play with things like the name René Coty from the local street. Or the way you’ve made the rat a kind of symbol—it all builds stories that make sense in your local sphere.

Right. This area used to be called “Montsouris”—which literally means “mouse hill.” Apparently, it was full of rats! The biggest park in the neighborhood is Parc Montsouris. If you ask someone who lives here, “Where do you live?” they’ll say, “Near Montsouris.”

Ah, I saw Montsouris on the map. So the rat is part of local memory?

Yeah, something like that. We’ve had kids in the area drawing rats for fun. I mean, I wasn’t even born in Paris myself.

Oh, you are not from Paris.

I actually grew up in Bretagne.

And how long have you lived in Paris?

I met my wife Béatrice about 15 years ago, so I guess I’ve been living in Paris full-time for around 12 years. Back when I worked for the newspaper, I used to go back and forth between Bretagne and Paris—three days a week in Paris, the rest in Bretagne. For 15 years.

Do you think your territory already had that potential to have close connection within the neighbor?

That’s a tough question. That’s exactly why we’ve started working with researchers. Personally, I believe something like Hyper Voisins could happen anywhere. But yes, some places are definitely more challenging than others. Paris is small and dense—like a village. That makes it easier to create a sense of community.

Earlier, you mentioned that one of the keys to building “conviviality” is density.

Right. In a city like Tokyo, where everything is neatly divided into districts, you often don’t get public squares or benches where people can gather. In that case, you really need good architecture and urban design to increase the potential for connection. The bigger the area, the fewer chances you have to run into someone again. It’s mathematical.

Mathematical?

Yeah. Let’s say I give something away on our “Troc Party” group. On WhatsApp, someone says, “Hey, I’d love to have that!” Then we move to private chat: “Here’s my address,” “I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” and so on. They come by the next day, pick it up, and say, “Thanks, that really helped.” Then—two or three days later—you bump into them on the street.

And when you do, you’d definitely say something to each other!

Exactly. And that kind of encounter is special. You’ve literally shared something—an object. There’s already a connection. Those kinds of serendipitous moments? They depend entirely on the density of the neighborhood. That’s why if we really want to design connection, we need math.

The relationship between population density and how people connect—it really sounds like a field of study.

I think it’s actually tied to the very purpose of cities. To create a city is to create a way of living together. I’m not a philosopher, so I can’t express it perfectly, but that’s the feeling I got from reading.

What do you mean exactly?

Well, cities originally emerged as a way to protect people from enemies. Back then, some cities were even built just for times of war. But later—around the Industrial Revolution in the 18th century—cities became important in a different way. At that time, the concept of privacy didn’t really exist. Streets and alleyways were shared spaces. It was like everyone was living in the same house. But as cities grew, we started building habits to protect our private lives from our neighbors. That tied into a new economy based on personal ownership—your own home, your own stuff. Now, in just 10 square meters, you might find two or three of the exact same tools.

Like refrigerators, or washing machines. When everyone owns their own, it drives a bigger economy.

Exactly. But it’s the opposite of what cities were originally about. And now, I think we’re seeing a reaction to that lifestyle. People are tired of protecting their privacy. There’s a new desire to be together again. I feel that from deep within.

From within?

Yes, I mean—we’re social creatures. That’s how we’ve always been. And I think the pandemic really proved it. After COVID, lots of people left Paris and bought homes in the countryside. They felt like prisoners in the city. They couldn’t even talk to their neighbors. They felt completely isolated. Something shifted after that.

That reaction against the private, individualistic lifestyle—it’s something I feel in Japan too. COVID really marked a turning point.

Exactly. We need each other. Not in the sense of romantic love or family ties, but in another kind of connection—just the need to be seen and acknowledged by other people.

Listening to you, Patrick, I get the sense that you’re not just a practitioner of connection, but almost a researcher too. Why did you choose neighborhoods as your focus when you left journalism?

Honestly... Hyper Voisins wasn’t something I came up with right away. It was about ten years ago, and I’ve almost forgotten the details now—but at that time I was thinking about a project called La Ferme du Savoir, or “The Farm of Knowledge.” I have this flaw where, when I get really absorbed in something new, I tend to forget what came before.

A farm?

It was metaphorical—a place to cultivate knowledge, like a farm. A bit of wordplay, really.

What kind of project idea was it?

The idea was to buy a large building in central Paris and turn it into a space for sharing knowledge. We’d divide a 1,000 m² space into smaller rooms, each about 50 m², and each room would be dedicated to a particular kind of knowledge. One teacher, ten learners—that was the model.

So it was a place for learning?

Yes, but not academic learning. More like practical, everyday knowledge. For example, I know quite a bit about Japan, so I could teach “What you should know before going to Japan.” Or, say, “How to drill a hole in a wall.” The rule was that the knowledge had to be something that could be transmitted in two hours. That excluded things like language courses. The core idea was that everyone knows something, and everyone can teach something.

That’s a beautiful principle—and the two-hour rule is clever.

The vision was to create a kind of ecosystem, where all these exchanges were happening simultaneously, with child care, shared meals, and communal spaces. The idea of building a public space—that part connects with Hyper Voisins too. But the challenge was: how do you fund it?

The cost of buying a building, right?

Exactly. A 1,000 m² space in central Paris is hugely expensive. Those kinds of properties are usually owned by the city or large corporations. Between the purchase and renovation costs, we were looking at 10 million euros. So I thought about involving companies, using tax incentives.

What do you mean?

In France, companies can receive up to 70% in corporate tax deductions if they donate to a nonprofit. I tried to create a nonprofit framework that could leverage that. But in the end, finding the right location with the right conditions in the city center was extremely difficult.

So the idea was there, but you hit a wall.

I kept at it for three years, but eventually I decided to set it aside and start a new chapter. I had also promised my wife I’d try to live a more grounded life. That’s when the idea for Hyper Voisins started taking shape.

So you initially imagined building something large-scale, but ended up finding your path in something more grassroots.

I guess I’ve always been interested in how people live in cities—how people connect. I’ve always felt that we need to shine a light on invisible value—things like what people know, how neighbors relate, and so on.

Invisible value.

Yes. It’s invisible, but it absolutely exists. I work from the belief that there is value in each person’s life and experience—and that it’s worth sharing. To explore this question, I’ve read a lot about the immaterial economy. How do we handle value that isn’t physical? I still believe that economies based purely on material things will eventually collapse.

So non-material value and economies are what truly matter.

Most people believe that relationships are essential—not just for happiness, but for survival.We’re social beings. Without immaterial interaction, we simply can’t survive.

Patrick, I really believe the work you're doing is vital to society—but at the same time, the value of it must be hard to see. Are you compensated for this work? I heard Hyper Voisins is a nonprofit organization.

I don’t receive a salary. But to be honest, I think work like this should be a profession. If someone is dedicating themselves full-time to this kind of community work, they need proper compensation. That’s what I want to prove to the city administration. That’s why I’m now working on creating something called the Proximity School—a one-year hands-on training program. The goal is to develop social engineers for neighborhoods.

So that’s your next vision?

Yes. If this kind of initiative is to be replicated elsewhere, it needs a structure. My goal is to create 150 “urban villages” within Paris—and then expand to other cities across Europe.

Are you already collaborating with other countries?

Yes, with EU funding. The paperwork is endless though! [laughs] Last year, we worked with Bologna in Italy, Bucharest in Romania, and also London—even though it's no longer in the EU. There, we partnered with a research center called Neighbourhood Lab. We’re also collaborating with Berlin and Oslo. I’m part of a European placemaking group, and two years ago, I gave a talk about Hyper Voisins at their annual conference in Spain. It brought together 500 or 600 people—architects, urban policymakers, city leaders.

That really is all across Europe! And even if population density varies, you believe this can work in any city, right?

If it works in Paris’ 14th arrondissement, it can work elsewhere too. What’s needed is a method—a kind of franchise, if you will. Kindness, positivity, and the ability to spark curiosity—that is the true value of what we’re doing. The next step is to share that with other cities.

That was a long interview, but before we wrap up—just one last question.

Of course—anything!

Listening to everything today… I really felt like if I were in Paris, I’d want to live in your neighborhood. I bet a lot of people feel the same. But when that happens—doesn’t the area get more and more expensive?

That’s a very good question. And a very difficult one, too.

When you make a neighborhood a better place to live, the market reacts, doesn’t it?

Exactly. I once saw a real estate agency putting up a sign in their window that said, “We buy properties in the Hyper Voisins district.” And I immediately told them, “No, you can’t do that.” Because that would mean we ourselves are fueling the rise in property values. That’s not what we want.

So it’s already happening…

Yeah, it’s a very delicate issue. We’re doing all this to make it a good place to live. But the better it gets, the more people want to move in—and prices go up. That’s why the city of Paris decided to introduce rent caps. So prices are now somewhat blocked.

When was that decision made?

Two years ago. Of course, there are loopholes, so it’s not perfect. But still, the idea is to keep things stable. In cities like New York or San Francisco, prices just keep going up—it’s become impossible for ordinary people to live ordinary lives. It’s a very real concern.

So Paris still needs to keep an eye on things.

Yeah, we’ve managed to do it in France… but whether it can be done in other cities or countries—I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t have a good answer to that yet.

It really comes back to bon sens, doesn’t it?

Yes, it does.

Thank you so much for everything today. I hope you enjoy your time in Japan.

Thank you! I really enjoyed our conversation. Let’s meet again in Paris. Ciao!