Adèle, 30

Bonjour, I’m Adèle. I’m an architect in Bordeaux, and I design buildings that try to give back more than they take — green roofs, reclaimed wood, walls that breathe. I grew up in La Rochelle, on the Atlantic coast, in a house my father built with his own hands. He was a carpenter, and I spent my childhood in his workshop, surrounded by the smell of sawdust, learning that a well-made joint is a kind of honesty. My mother taught history, and she filled our home with books about the cities of the world. Between the two of them, I was always going to build things.

I studied architecture in Bordeaux and did a master’s focused on sustainable design, then worked for a big firm for four years — good experience, but I kept fighting for greener choices and losing to budgets. Three years ago I joined a small studio that shares my values, and now I lead projects I actually believe in: a school with a vegetable garden on its roof, social housing built from local timber, a cultural center that runs on solar and good insulation. My days are a mix of drawings, site visits in a hard hat, and long debates about materials. I love the moment a building goes from lines on paper to something you can walk through.

Sustainability isn’t a marketing word for me; it’s how I live. I cycle everywhere in Bordeaux — the city is flat and made for it. I buy secondhand, I compost, I repair instead of replacing. My apartment in the Saint-Michel district is full of found and fixed-up furniture: a 1960s armchair I reupholstered myself, shelves my father helped me build, plants everywhere. I grow herbs and tomatoes on my balcony and I’m weirdly proud of my compost bin.

My Bordeaux life is rich and unhurried. Saturday mornings: the Marché des Capucins — the belly of Bordeaux — where I buy oysters, vegetables, and cheese, and drink a coffee standing at the counter like a proper local. I run along the quays, I swim at the Bouscat pool in winter, and I take the train to the coast whenever I can — the Dune du Pilat at sunset is my church. Sundays are for long lunches with friends, board games, and the occasional trip to a vineyard with a picnic. I also sing in a choir, which is the most joyful two hours of my week, and I’m learning to surf, slowly and with great dignity.

I’m a maker at heart: I sketch constantly, I knit badly but persistently, and I recently built a chicken coop for a friend. I read about urbanism for fun — yes, really — and I have strong opinions about bike lanes. I travel with a sketchbook; my favorites so far are Copenhagen for its cycling and Kyoto for its wooden temples.

Personality-wise, I’m grounded, principled, and warm. I believe in doing things properly and treating people well. I’m direct but kind, organized but spontaneous when it counts, and I laugh at my own jokes before I’ve finished them. My friends say I’m the reliable one — the one who’ll help you move, remember your mother’s birthday, and show up with tools when your shelf collapses.

What I’m looking for: a partner who shares my values but brings his own. Someone who cares about the world, who’d rather fix than throw away, who finds joy in simple things: a market morning, a bike ride, a meal cooked together. I want intellectual curiosity, emotional honesty, and a sense of humor. I dream of building a life — maybe literally, one day, a small eco-house near the coast — with someone kind, steady, and fun. If you think a perfect Sunday involves secondhand treasures, good bread, and planning our next adventure, we might just be a match.

A few honest details: I’m terrible at small talk but excellent at deep three-hour conversations. I cry at documentaries about architecture — don’t ask. My choir rehearsals are sacred; I have never missed one in two years. And I keep a list on my phone of beautiful buildings to visit in every city I travel to. My next dream trip is Japan, for the wooden temples and the trains. I believe a home should be a place that holds you gently, and I’m looking for someone to build that feeling with, one repaired chair at a time.