American Men, Please Desist


Editor’s Note: Today, we reverse the M.O. of this blog by offering you a fresh and fascinating European perspective on dating in the good ol’ US and A. Annabella Hochschild is a young Franco-British expat living in New York City, exploring the land of red plastic cups, Soul Cycle obsession and the frat boy quid pro quo! 

I wanted New York. I wanted the energy of the city. I wanted the mania of the yellow cab drivers, the Chinese Laundromats, the Korean delis, the Greek diners and the street ramblers. My wish got granted, and today, I am a skeptical New Yorker. I very much like the number of places where you can get a margarita. I very much dislike this far from temperate climate. When it comes to dating, I still don’t get it. That said, a brief and vague companion on what European women do not expect in the dating game – well, at least I didn’t.

1. Why are you wasting my time with frat house games?

This interest in flipping coins or throwing little Ping-Pong balls into red plastic cups (otherwise known as “beer pong”) is terribly dull. Also, how can you expect me to take you seriously if winning these games against your friends makes you whipee with joy? If I wanted to watch children play, I would expect to be paid for it.

2. I do not give a damn about your sneakers.

I won’t bore you about my shoes, even though they might be just wonderful. Hence, you shouldn’t bore me about yours. Compliments should be received graciously and promptly; no more needs to be said, unless explicitly asked.

3. If I wanted to hear about your job, I would have asked.

You might earn more than me. Your boss might have a better art collection than mine. You might be so creative that you only wear clothes that you have made yourself. And yet, the number of screens you have as part of your Bloomberg terminal has nothing to do with your worth as a person. The sooner you realize this, the better.

4. Why are you telling me about your exercise regime?

Quite frankly. I don’t care. In the abstract, your push-ups are simply not that interesting, nor is your devotion to Soul Cycle. However, in practicality, your ability to lift me up whilst we dance may prove to be great fun. Show, don’t tell. (Except in the case of your member, do not show nor tell – if it needs to reveal itself, it shall do so in a natural fashion. Snapchat is not the place.)

5. A plant is NOT a replacement for a bouquet of flowers.

Simple flowers are chic enough. Do not try to be fashionable. No woman I know wants a palm, even if it is the plant of choice in the art world. (Editor’s note: I’ll take it! I’m decorating!)

6. I do not want to watch sports with you.

I am not your college girlfriend. I do not want to watch hockey and eat wings with you, unless that sounds like fun to me. (Which it doesn’t.) My time is my time, and I’d rather spend it by myself, rather than doing something I don’t enjoy, just to be around you. You do you, I’ll do me.

7. You have a human to talk to, ignore the goddamn phone.

I recently asked a wonderful human I was in bed with what the weather was like – a perfectly reasonable question whilst debating whether to wear suede shoes. I received no answer. I asked exactly the same question two minutes later and was met with the response “Oh, I thought you were talking to Siri.” Interact as humans. Siri is overrated. E-mails are to be kept for work hours.

8. Dinner is NOT a trade-off for anything, even if foie gras is included.

Sure, dinner at the Carlyle is expensive. Does that allow you to be outraged when I don’t come home with you? Certainly not. The frat-boy mentality really doesn’t hold up if you have any interest in women who respect themselves. (Editor’s note: Where are you finding these guy? Send em’ over. My self-respect levels are flexible.)

9. When you ask me out for brunch, you are just asking me out for daytime drinking.

Cut the romantics. Brunch is just lunch with the added effect of excessive daytime alcohol consumption. You ain’t foolin’ no one.

10. Aren’t you a little old to have a roommate?

French men, oh how I miss you. How I miss your not caring about errant hairs and lack of makeup. How I miss your tiny, messy, garret-like apartments that are inhabited only by you. I want to walk to the bathroom at six in the morning unclothed. I want to lay on your floor in the morning, drinking coffee and listening to records, wearing nothing but your shirt from the evening before. I do not care in the slightest about how one’s roommate stayed at Union Pool until four in the morning and did not find anyone to bring home. Let me subjectively men here, but allow me not to listen to the subjectification of women.

One Comment

  • It sounds like you are an idiot. New York is insufferable enough without rich foreigners. If you like French men so much, you know where to find them.

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