“The way I am working is not without risk," Araud says, letting out a spontaneous giggle and crossing his legs on a coffee table in front of him, on which a yellow toy car is parked. "From time to time, I am sweating.” About social media in particular, Araud says, “It can be dangerous. From time to time, I’ve tiptoed the red line." . . . . People on one side are saying that diplomats should be much more open, should behave as normal people, but then the moment we do it, people ask why.”

It’s been nearly three decades since Araud’s first stint in Washington, as a counselor on Middle East issues in the late eighties, and he does concede that its culture has come a long way. “The city has developed and it’s more sophisticated. In the eighties the city was basically only government. Everyone was sleeping, eating, loving, talking government. It was not a real city in a sense," he says. "Now it’s a real city.” He recently discovered a sushi bar in Georgetown that he likes, and dined at a French restaurant on Washington’s newly trendy Fourteenth Street, aptly called Le Diplomate.

Araud is doing his part to update his corner of the city, with the official French residence undergoing what he describes as a “gut renovation.” A Tudor Revival mansion built in 1910, the home that comes with the French ambassadorship is one of the most admired in Washington’s tony Kalorama neighborhood. An invitation to the house, where Vanity Fair holds its lavish annual after-party following the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, is among the most coveted in town, perhaps second only to the White House.

“Most of the people, even before saying hello, ask me when the residence will reopen,” says Araud, who is currently living in a temporary house in the Foxhall neighborhood, or what he describes as “the middle of nowhere.” “I have concluded not only that people don’t really care about me, but more seriously, that they consider that the house is something that matters in Washington, D.C.” The home will reopen in February, and Araud plans to have several parties to inaugurate its new look.

The fashion situation in his profession is another matter altogether, Araud says. He decries what he calls “the boxy suit” and “being a prisoner” to what people expect an ambassador to wear. “The clothing of the man is so sad,” he says. “It’s always a dark suit. I’m always looking for details to try to enhance it.” In New York, Araud explains, he made a habit of advising his French colleagues on their suits. “They were obliged because I was the boss. We had real male vanity discussions in the corridors of the UN.” The situation in New York has improved dramatically, he says. “You see less and less of these oversize suits, giving the impression that they are three sizes too big," he says. "In Washington, it’s still the case.” (This reporter couldn’t help but notice an orange Hermès box on his desk, where it serves as a chic depository for business cards.)

Araud has a longtime partner, photographer Pascal Blondeau, with whom he shares homes in New York, Paris, and Greece. Though they’ve been together for nineteen years, they have no plans to marry. “I am not interested at this moment in marriage for myself," Araud says, "but I don’t see any reason why anyone should be denied this right.” He adds that the fight for marriage equality in France rattled him. “I thought my country was very enlightened, especially on sexual matters. I was totally astonished by the violence of the reaction of the opposition.”

Blondeau will not act as an official host at embassy functions because “he’s deadly bored by diplomatic niceties," Araud says. "He accepted only one invitation last year, by Susan Rice, because Susan was begging to meet him.” As Araud carves out his new role in D.C., there’s one thing he is sure of: He doesn’t want to be known as the gay ambassador. “I don’t want to be reduced to one dimension.” Or as Araud likes to say: “Never insult a man’s vanity. Especially a Frenchman’s.”