In a plot twist that would make Voltaire spit-take his espresso, French companies now borrow more cheaply than France itself. Markets have decided that couture margins beat civic virtue, and the tricolor is slightly less investable than a leather goods conglomerate with a yacht habit. It’s the first time the Fifth Republic has been priced like a sequel.

Think of it as the bond market’s tasting menu: a vintage corporate cuvée with notes of EBITDA and a state budget decanted through a sieve labeled “oops.” The sommelier recommends pairing government paper with a brave face and a long lie-down.

Investors surveyed the nation’s fiscal plan like a group project where one partner promises to “do the conclusion” at 3 a.m. Meanwhile, corporate CFOs arrived with color-coded binders, a PowerPoint that doesn’t crash, and collateral that smells faintly of dividends and competence.

“Spreads are widening,” analysts sighed, which is finance for “people are nervous and our hats shrank in the rain.” Rating prophets gazed into spreadsheets and saw a future where luxury handbags cradle the social contract like a very chic life raft.

So institutional money did what it always does when democracy clears its throat: it searched for yield with the focus of a truffle pig. Browser histories glinted with BBB corporate bond screener Europe, which is the 2025 equivalent of whispering sweet nothings to a spreadsheet.

Corporate France, having overtaken its own country in trustworthiness, is now offering bonds with loyalty points. Buy two tranches, get a tote. Hospitals may soon be funded by a capsule collection called “Fiscal Prudence.” Even the Eiffel Tower is rumored to accept coupon payments in the form of premium keychains and earnest promises not to wobble.

The government held a press conference to insist everything is fine and the word “debt” actually means “investment in vibrancy” if you say it while rotating a baguette ceremonially. Officials presented a budget “adjusted for optimism,” which is like calling a croissant a kale smoothie if you eat it zealously enough.

On the streets, bakers confirmed they now extend better financing than the Treasury. “For an éclair, three years at zero percent,” one said, tapping a calculator with the gravitas of a central banker who moonlights as a frosting artist. “For the nation, variable rate, inflation-linked to vibes.”

A professor of economics explained that capitalism is a snake that sometimes eats its parliament and then asks for dessert. She paused to note her students now bring corporate prospectuses to class for comfort, along with a eurozone bond ladder planner tucked inside the syllabus like a pressed flower.

At the central bank, officials reassured everyone by announcing they would heroically continue to interpret the laws of physics as guidelines. “We will support market functioning,” they said, which historically means buying everything in sight except common sense and reusable tote bags.

This is the French paradox updated: a nation famous for turning butter into architecture is being priced as riskier than the butter factory. Investors insist they’re not panicking; they’re simply practicing a form of mindfulness where your mind is full of coupons and your heart is a modest risk premium.

As a reporter who keeps one eyebrow naturally cocked for miracles that repeat each quarter, I’ll translate: markets trust predictable cash flows over unpredictable politics, and nothing cash-flows like a purse with a waiting list. If you need me, I’ll be refinancing my conscience through a perfume house, because apparently that’s cheaper than believing in the Republic—with a tote included if I apply for the store card.