- Why is dating in Brussels so hard? I ask that question as a recently married man, and from that lordly position on the heights of Mount Marriage I cast down my scorn and pity upon you all.
- For me, dating in Brussels is like trying to hook up in an airport. Just when you think you’ve grabbed someone, they fly away.
- Also, Covid.
- Also, middle-aged men with decent paychecks pretending they’re Peter Pan and living the dream of endless, random, expatriate hook-ups with sexy, carefree young women from exotic places like Swindon.
- Sort of the James Bond mentality, but without the roguish charm. Or the gadgets. Or pretty much anything related to James Bond.
- Although women aren’t entirely blameless. They have their ideals as well: of perfect, charming men who exfoliate their facial skin, dress well, are never late, listen to what you say, and aren’t entirely gay.
- I asked one female friend of mine, we’ll called her Goneril, about the Brussels dating scene. She said, ‘What can you possibly say about cruelty and desperation… and the cruelty of the [local] dating market?’
- Also, lies. ‘Especially men, they lie about their age and forget to mention [their] children lying around their houses,’ Goneril said. ‘Bizarrely, they also lie about their height on dating apps, as if you’re not gonna figure it out eventually.’
- Another, we’ll call her Cordelia, said, ‘Dating in lockdown is a frenzy of confusion and wanting to pull your hair out. Dating politics is blurred because choices are limited and nobody really wants to admit that or knows how to admit that, yet somehow everyone’s on Tinder.’
- Cordelia also agreed with Goneril about sneaky dates having sneaky kids or sneaky sorta-ex-girlfriends. ‘Ex girlfriends you haven’t quite ended things with and you say you want to let them down easily, which means you have the perfect excuse to just disappear,’ Cordelia said.
- Also, back to the airport. Goneril: ‘Due to the large circulation of people, a lot of singles behave like they are shopping for prostitutes, and if you’re not entertaining enough, you’re out.’
- ‘Between 7 and 9pm, it’s rush hour,’ Cordelia chimed in. ‘I also heard (FROM A FRIEND) about frequent post-curfew alleyway action being openly suggested regularly.’
- Gross. Also, nasty. Also, gross.
- Cordelia said that women can lie as well as men. ‘This goes both ways though… I mean lying about physical appearances, women photoshopping themselves when they’re overweight etc.’
- At this point, a male friend, we’ll call him Horatio, said, ‘Oh yes… be wary of the close-up head shots and funny angles. I was always amused by the “no [characteristic A], no [characteristic B] etc – if you have any of these, swipe left.” It’s like, why don’t you just conduct that filter yourself?’
- The problems compound if you’re over thirty. Another woman, we’ll call her Regan (although I call her wife), said, ‘My generation of men still had issues with women being more intelligent and making more money than them.’
- Here’s the thing about straight men. Most are terrified of death and marriage and determined to shag every women on their List before either.
- The List is the list of women that most men write in their minds. It’s a list of the women they are determined to shag. It begins with Scarlett Johanssen. It ends with her because they never get past that stage.
- Unable to knock names of their list, some men descend into a second childhood, or perhaps a third or a fourth. Some men never really get out of childhood.
- Here’s a dating story for you from Horatio. ‘I’d made the acquaintance of an Irish fella with a really thick Munster accent. We’d often met up to go to these expat bars near my place. He asked me, “You want to go to Kitty’s at 8 o’clock on Saturday?” I said, yeah fine. I went along and sat there for five to ten minutes. The big chap rocks up clearly three sheets to the wind, absolutely flaming, avec wee bird, and I think, who’s this? Is this a flatmate? Does he have a girlfriend? I haven’t heard about this. So they sit with me and we’re chatting a bit. I’m talking to wee bird, meanwhile the Irish fella is like, staggering and can’t speak, and he is just sort of agreeing with what I’m saying, and pointing, and saying, “What up! What up!” in the girl’s face, profusely sweating as well. We got to the 20 minute mark and I said, “So how do you guys know each other?” She was a German speaker, and she was like [German accent], “Ve met on Tinder, but I did not know that he had been drinking for hours before.” Meanwhile, the Irish fella’s like, “It’s not going very well is it? Heh-heh! What up!” She started to take a bit more interest in me because I was not paralytic.’
- And they’ve been married for 20 years.
- I made up that last bit.
- Damn good story, tho. Sums things up. Thanks, Horatio.
- For all the stereotypes about cheating Italian [and Spanish, my wife demanded this edit] men, it seems to me that once they’ve found themselves a special someone, they settle down and that’s that. Northern Europeans are just as likely to play the crowd, if not more so. Convince me I’m wrong.
- Moral of the story: marry an Italian [or a Spaniard], maybe.
- Also, if you’re a women and you want a kid, you don’t need a husband anymore. Just have a kid.
- Also, maybe don’t chase any ideals around.
- Also, marry a Belgian. They’re not going anywhere.
- Although we expats, in our hermetically sealed bubbles, sometimes look at the Belgians in the same way that Frodo and Sam looked at the Elves in the Lord of the Rings films. ‘Oh look! There, in the woods beyond the outer ring… there they are… the Belgians. I hear they’re going to the Undying Lands, which is apparently Zaventem.’
- Note that I’m not talking about gay life in Brussels. Most gay men I know in Brussels seem to be in monogamous, long-term relationships. I mean, sure, there’s the Boy’s Boudoir (which might well be a perfectly prudish and uptight conservative establishment but I have my suspicions that things can go a bit jiggly in there), but there’s also Place Lux on a Thursday night that’s the meat market for men with bad social skills. What up!
- I know nothing about lesbian life in Brussels, which I’m not proud of, it’s a weakness but it’s also a fact so no comment.
- And speaking about gay life in Brussels, what’s going on with the apparent fetish for gas masks with long tubes for noses? You know the shop I mean. What is that about?
- I’m not judging.
- OK, I am judging a little. I am genuinely curious. But not bi-tube-nose curious. What up!
- Speaking of failed relationships, the EU and Russia.
- Russia waiving a fist at Latvia: ‘One of these days… one of these days…’
- If Trump was the EU’s noxious and vindictive ex-husband who runs off with a 20-year-old assistant (North Korea?), Putin is more the stalker type who waits for you in the shadows of your entryway, and when he sees you, says [thick Russian accent], ‘You said you would call, EU. You make like bear in winter. But spring is coming, when I do dance of love without shirt.’
- Also, ‘I have excellent vaccine for you.’ Which might actually be true, but the way he’s offering it is massively creepy.
- The best advice I’ve heard about marriage came from a man I once knew who’d been together with his wife for 40-odd years. ‘Grab somebody and hang on,’ he said. ‘All my friends are divorced, and I’m doing way better than they are.’
- Having just watched Sister Act for the first time, I’m more convinced than ever that we should put nuns in charge of everything.
Odd thoughts on random subjects, ‘Why is dating in Brussels so hard?’ edition, no. 2, 15.2.2021
