Let’s face it: the moment Zoë steps onto that stage in her Disney-princess-pink gown, I am helpless. It’s like being hypnotised by a pastel marshmallow that sings in French, even though Austria has roughly as much French heritage as a schnitzel has ballet training. But do I care? Absolutely not. I am transported — not to Paris, but to a delirious Alpine meadow where yodellers and unicorns dance together under disco balls.
The song Loin d’Ici itself is a sugar rush that never crashes. It’s not complex; it’s basically the musical equivalent of cotton candy on a stick — dissolving instantly, leaving me with nothing but sticky fingers and a grin. Yet every “loin d’ici, loin d’ici” sends me spinning through the air like Julie Andrews on an espresso high. My rational brain screams: “This is nonsense!” But my heart? It’s galloping through fields of linguistic chaos, thrilled that the French lyrics mean almost nothing, yet sound like poetry read by a poodle.
And then there’s Zoë herself — a vision of sincerity so unbreakable it could melt granite. She sells every note as if she’s singing for world peace, world cake, and world glitter all at once. Do I hide my love for it? Sometimes. But when no one’s watching, I blast it at full volume, twirl dramatically in the kitchen, and pretend Austria has singlehandedly reinvented French chanson, and honestly, I regret nothing.