If you walked into a Parisian boulangerie in 1998, you weren't fumbling for sleek, identical coins used from Dublin to Athens. You were holding history. Specifically, you were holding the French franc, a currency that felt deeply, sometimes stubbornly, Gallic.
People talk about the euro like it was just a technical swap. It wasn't. For the French, ditching french money before the euro was a massive cultural divorce. The franc wasn't just paper; it was a vibe. It had these oversized, colorful banknotes that looked more like Impressionist watercolors than legal tender. Honestly, if you grew up with them, the euro still feels a bit sterile by comparison.
The weird, colorful world of the "New Franc"
Most people today don't realize that the "old" franc actually died way back in 1960. Charles de Gaulle, ever the lover of grand gestures, decided the currency had become too "heavy" with zeros. He lopped two zeros off. Suddenly, 100 old francs became 1 "new" franc.
Even thirty years later, my grandmother would still quote prices in "old francs." If something cost 10 francs, she’d call it 1,000. It was confusing as hell for kids. But that's the thing about french money before the euro—it carried the weight of several different eras at once.
The banknotes were the real stars. You had the 50-franc note featuring Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and his Little Prince. It was bright blue and gorgeous. Then there was the 100-franc note with Cézanne, or the 200-franc one featuring Gustave Eiffel. They didn't just put politicians on money; they put the people who made France feel like France. It sent a message: our value comes from our art and our engineering, not just our central bank.
Why the 1990s felt so different at the checkout
By the mid-90s, the exchange rate was roughly 6.56 francs to one euro. But back then, you didn't think in euros. You thought in "pièces."
The 10-franc coin was a masterpiece of design—a bimetallic circle with a gold-colored center and a silver-colored rim. It felt substantial. Heavy. You could buy a decent baguette and still have change for a piece of gum with just a few coins. Today, a baguette in Paris might run you 1.20€, which sounds small, but that’s nearly 8 francs. Inflation happens, sure, but there’s a persistent "francs-to-euros" nostalgia in France that blames the currency switch for making daily life more expensive.
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Economists like Jean-Paul Fitoussi have spent years dissecting whether the euro actually caused the "feeling" of price hikes. The data usually says no—inflation stayed relatively low. But the psychology of it? That's a different story. When the price of a coffee jumped from 5 francs to 1 euro, it didn't feel like a fair trade. It felt like a 30% tax on living.
The transition that broke everyone's brain
The "Double Display" era was peak chaos. From 1999 to 2002, every price tag in France had two numbers. You’d see a pair of jeans for 300 FF and then, in tiny print underneath, 45.73€.
It was a nightmare for mental math.
I remember people carrying these little plastic electronic converters. They looked like oversized calculators. You’d punch in the franc amount, and it would spit out the euro equivalent. Everyone used them. The government even mailed them out to households. It was a national obsession. We were all collectively relearning how to value our labor and our time.
Then came February 17, 2002. That was the day the franc officially ceased to be legal tender. You could still trade them in at the Banque de France for a while, but the shops were done. The colorful Saint-Exupéry notes became souvenirs. People tucked them into drawers or framed them.
What we lost when the franc died
There is a specific nuance to french money before the euro that disappeared: regional pride.
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The franc was tied to the identity of the Republic. The "Semeuse" (the Sower)—that iconic woman sowing grain wearing a Phrygian cap—was on the coins. She represented the French spirit. Moving to the euro meant sharing symbols. While each country gets their own "national side" on euro coins, the notes are the same everywhere. Bridges and windows. Generic architectural styles that don't actually exist so that no one country feels left out.
It’s efficient. It’s great for travel. But it’s a bit soulless.
Hard numbers and forgotten denominations
- The 500-franc "Pierre and Marie Curie" note: This was the big one. If you had one of these in your wallet, you were either rich or you’d just hit the ATM for rent money. It was a beautiful lime-green color.
- The 20-franc "Debussy" note: Brownish and slightly smaller. It was the workhorse of the French economy.
- Centimes: We had tiny 5, 10, and 20 centime coins. They were light, made of aluminum or bronze-aluminum, and felt almost like toy money.
Real-world legacy of the franc
If you find a stash of old francs in a dusty attic today, you're mostly looking at collectibles. The deadline to exchange notes for euros has long since passed (the last window for the "highest" value notes closed in 2012).
However, the "franc" name hasn't totally vanished from the globe. The CFP franc is still used in French overseas territories like French Polynesia and New Caledonia. And then there's the CFA franc used in parts of Africa, though that’s a whole different geopolitical conversation involving decolonization and monetary sovereignty.
For the average person in mainland France, the franc is a ghost. It's a way for older generations to measure how much the world has changed. "In my day, a movie ticket was 35 francs!"
It’s more than just currency; it’s a timestamp.
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Moving forward with your collection
If you’re interested in the history of french money before the euro, don't just look at it as dead currency. Look at it as art.
First, check the "L’Atelier du Billet" (the workshop of the note). Collectors specifically look for notes from the final series designed by Roger Pfund. These are the ones with the high-tech security features and the vibrant colors.
Second, look for the 10-franc "Genie de la Bastille" coins from 1988 to 2001. They are incredibly common but represent the peak of French minting technology before the transition.
Third, if you want to understand the true value, use an inflation calculator that accounts for the "Nouveau Franc" era. Comparing a 1970 price to a 2026 price requires more than just a 6.56 divisor; you have to account for the massive shifts in purchasing power over half a century.
The franc is gone, but the way it shaped the French psyche—and the way people still grumble about the "expensive" euro—proves that money is never just about math. It's about how we see our place in the world.
Practical Next Steps for Collectors and Travelers
- Identify your finds: Use the "Numista" database to look up the specific year and mint mark of any old French coins you have. Some "Semeuse" coins from the early 1900s are made of silver and are worth significantly more than their face value.
- Check for "Fleur de Coin": This is the French term for "mint condition." If you have a Cézanne 100-franc note that has never been folded, it can fetch a high price on the collector's market, far exceeding its original value of 15 euros.
- Visit the Monnaie de Paris: If you're ever in Paris, go to the museum at 11 Quai de Conti. It’s the oldest continuously running institution in France and explains the transition from the livre to the franc to the euro with incredible depth.