Two countries.
One marriage.
A note from Sacha
This started with Elizabeth, not with me.
After our third boy was born, she wanted something that was hers. She loves being a mom, but she had never really taken the time to do something just for herself. And knowing he was our last, she made a point of it. A creative outlet. Somewhere to put her ideas, her humor, and a little bit of herself outside of being a mom.
It started as a home decor account.
Then one day she pointed the camera at her husband, who is, I am told, ridiculously French.
It took off.
My first thought was: this could actually be something.
My second was: do I have to?
What most people don’t know about Elizabeth is how funny she is. Behind the good looks, there is an actual clown. Most of what you see here starts with her noticing something ridiculous about me, which apparently happens quite often.
So why do we keep doing it?
Because it’s fun. After three kids, it gives us something to do together that isn’t about diapers, bedtime, or what someone will or will not eat.
And somewhere along the way, it became something we’re building together.
Something that’s ours.
Sacha
Three values. One mission.
A little more France in your home, a little more laughter in your day, and one good idea to try with your family.
Humour
We laugh at the gap, never at anyone.Most of it starts with her noticing something ridiculous about him. Both countries are in on the joke.
Watch the episodesEducation
Every joke has a fact behind it.Why the snack is at four and dinner at eight. Short, checked, and one thing to try this week.
Read the JournalRelationships
Family first. Then all of you.A family before it is a show, so you will never see the boys’ faces. Your replies decide what we make next.
Join Le BulletinShe is Elizabeth. American, born and raised, fluent in iced coffee and dinner at 5:30. She holds the camera and writes the narration.
He is Sacha. French, from Paris. He dresses for the supermarket the way other men dress for court, and he thinks this is casual. He likes it here. He just occasionally meets a gallon of mayonnaise and needs a moment.
He was built in three places. Paris gave him the opinions. His grandmother’s Bordeaux gave him summers at Cap Ferret and four forks at dinner. His father, who worked in fashion, gave him New York. So when he moved to the New England coast, the harbors, the oysters and the old houses felt familiar. The bread is a separate conversation.
There are three boys. Owen is four and the household’s leading authority on which foods are “correct.” Harry is two and runs the chaos department. Wells is five months old, the newest correspondent.
They met in New York City. She brought him home to New England, where he now takes the diaper pail to the curb in loafers. He has not noticed that this is remarkable. She started filming. Her side of it: My French Boyfriend.
The show started in July 2026 with one trip to Market Basket, edited like a horror film. Now both countries argue in the comments about creamer, cheese and dinner times. Nobody is wrong; everybody is documented. The unglamorous version, the phone, the free editor and the hand-built site, is all here.
And then, there's Loulou.
Russian Blue, eleven years old. With us since 2015: New York, California, Florida, now Massachusetts. She approved of none of it.
She is named after Sacha. His mother calls him “mon Loulou.”
It is her house. We only live in it.
Write to us at info@myfrenchhusband.com. We read every reply.
Now you know us
Ask him something.
A short ruling in a few seconds. Written by AI from our Journal, in his voice.