I was born and brought up in France by British parents, and never really knew what day-to-day life was like in Britain until I started university. One of the things about the country which fascinated me – and which strangely endeared me to it – was the tabloid press. Whenever I was having enough of France’s tendency to constantly intellectualise things I felt relieved by those capital letters that adorned British front pages. When I saw The Sun beaming in newstands, I knew I was home.

But times seemed to change with Nicolas Sarkozy as president, advertising his fluctuating love life with the help of French tabloid-style magazine Closer. François Hollande has had to suffer the consequences of Sarko’s legacy, as he was recently the protagonist, along with actress Julie Gayet, of a scandal fuelled by the same Closer. At his usual biyearly press conference, which happened to be held a few days later, he declared that his "indignation is total", referring to the magazine’s publishing of photos of his affair with Gayet.

But then, what were French people’s views on the matter after it happened? A poll published at the time revealed that seventy-seven per cent of those interviewed felt that it was a private matter that concerns only François Hollande. As The Huffington Post rightly pointed out, Hollande’s image has not suffered from the affair. The street view is that he is considered more ‘human’. 

Can you envisage how such a story might be covered in Britain if David Cameron were caught in similar circumstances? Christian Fraser, the BBC's Paris correspondent, claimed that deference was the reason behind the respect shown to President Hollande: "He is the head of state, the figurehead of the nation, and in office he will always be afforded a greater level of respect by the French media."

So is this the reason why Hollande got off so lightly? How would Cameron endure the revelation of an extramarital relationship?

Perhaps Hollande can thank something more culturally ingrained for his escape that Cameron wouldn’t be able to count on. It is as if the whole affair touched on a way of being which the French are quietly proud of embodying: a carefree, sexy attitude.

In fact I feel, as a Franco-Brit, that there is a fundamental difference between British and French people's attitudes to sex. The latter are much more relaxed about it. For example, back in France, many of my parents’s friends are divorced but still on friendly terms. While living there, I often heard of extra-marital affairs. The Brits, on the other hand, are more extreme in their approach – I don’t think Channel 4’s What Happens in Kavos would go down too well in France. It seems like a far cry from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, an eighteenth century novel by Choderlos de Laclos about a dual between two manipulative and libertine aristocrats, which plays on the subtlety and ambiguity of words. It is considered as one of the greatest and most influential French works of all time. What Happens in Kavos is a classic example of the ‘in your face’ way of dealing with sex that is so particular to Britain.

Had Cameron been the protagonist of such an affair, it wouldn’t have unfolded in such a ‘cool’ manner. That’s not how the British would see it. They seem to love making a scandal of things, and are especially titillated by anything relating to sex. The tabloid press sees the world in capital letters: it has to grab as much attention as possible.

But then let’s not forget Hollande’s official partner Valérie Trierweiler, without whom the scandal wouldn’t have been a scandal. She happens to be extremely unpopular with the French, especially since she tweeted in support of an opponent of Hollande’s ex-partner, Ségolène Royal, during the 2012 legislative elections. ‘Tweetweiler’, as her nickname goes, has also been criticised for costing the French state a considerable amount. Indeed, before she was recently ‘evicted’ from the presidential residence, she had five people working in her own office at the Elysée Palace, where she spent three to four hours a day in order to represent France abroad, costing €19,742 a week. It is possible that the French feel she deserves the blow, and are just glad that her relationship with Hollande has ended.

This is, of course, mere speculation. Why Hollande’s image remains intact is really still a mystery to me. But I am certain that our floppy-haired mayor of London – evicted from the Conservative front bench for an affair in 2004 – must be feeling rather envious of the French president right now.