Diplomacy is just a performance for people who can afford better tailors.

Emmanuel Macron knows this. The French President has spent the better part of a decade trying to convince the world that France isn’t just a theme park for people who like expensive cheese and labor strikes. He wants it to be a tech hub, a military powerhouse, and the ultimate arbiter of "cool" in the Global South. So, when he recently sat down and named Anil Kapoor as his favorite Bollywood actor, he wasn’t just talking about movies. He was running an algorithm.

It’s a calculated play. You don't pick Shah Rukh Khan if you’re trying to look like you’ve done your homework. SRK is too easy; he’s the global default setting for "Indian Star." You don't pick Amitabh Bachchan unless you want to sound like you’re stuck in a museum. You pick Anil Kapoor. You pick the "evergreen" man. The guy who managed to bridge the gap between 1980s masala kitsch and the slick, high-gloss world of Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol.

Macron isn’t just watching Ram Lakhan in his spare time. He’s looking for a specific kind of friction.

There is a multi-billion dollar price tag attached to this kind of cultural flattery. France is currently desperate to secure the next phase of the Indian defense "Make in India" initiative. We’re talking about more than just Rafale jets this time. We’re talking about the Scorpène-class submarine deals and the frantic race to provide the engines for India’s next-gen fighter jets. The competition is ugly. The Americans are hovering with their F-15EX pitches, and the Brits are desperate for a post-Brexit win.

Macron’s move is the political equivalent of a "How do you do, fellow kids?" meme, but with better lighting. By choosing Kapoor, he’s signaling a very specific brand of longevity. Kapoor is the actor who doesn’t age, who stays relevant by sheer force of will and a legendary skincare routine. It’s exactly how Macron wants the French Republic to be seen: ancient, yet somehow still in the room when the tech IPOs are happening.

Let’s be real. This is the "Coffee Shop" version of geopolitics. It’s breezy. It’s loud. It’s meant to be overheard. Macron knows that a clip of him praising a Bollywood icon will travel further on WhatsApp than any joint statement on maritime security in the Indo-Pacific.

But there’s a trade-off. Every time a Western leader leans into this kind of curated fan-boying, the cringe factor hits a fever pitch. It feels transactional because it is. France needs India to be its gateway to the East, especially as the old EU alliances feel increasingly like a group chat that everyone has muted. India, meanwhile, is happy to play the field. They’ll take the French engines, the American chips, and the Russian oil, all while smiling at Macron’s sudden interest in 90s cinema.

The friction here isn't just about trade balances; it’s about the death of the "Serious Statesman." We’ve traded white papers for TikTok-friendly soundbites. Macron isn't a president so much as he is a Chief Brand Officer. He understands that in the current attention economy, being "in the know" is worth more than being right. He’s betting that the Indian middle class—a demographic larger than the entire population of the EU—will find his Kapoor shout-out charming enough to ignore the complexities of French protectionism.

It’s slick. It’s cynical. It’s classic Manu.

He’s playing to a gallery that stretches from the tech parks of Bengaluru to the suburbs of Paris. And honestly? It works. It works because we’re all so exhausted by the grim reality of global supply chains that we’ll settle for a French guy talking about Mr. India if it means we don't have to think about the looming trade wars for five minutes.

Macron has realized that if you want to sell a submarine, you don't start with the specifications of the hull. You start by proving you know who the guy with the most "jhakaas" energy in Mumbai is. It’s a weird, desperate, and oddly effective way to run a country.

One has to wonder if Anil Kapoor’s agent is currently drafting a proposal for a "French Connection" remake, or if Macron is just waiting for the right moment to ask for a cameo in a sequel. After all, why bother with traditional diplomacy when you can just try to break the internet?

Does Macron actually own a copy of Slumdog Millionaire, or did a twenty-something intern in the Elysée Palace just hand him a Post-it note five minutes before the cameras rolled?