Parisians vs Dutch ladies
The world is so small. The Shallow Man remembers as a teenager in East London that a big trip for my friends and I was getting on the bus and going “up west” to Leicester Square. Visiting relatives in the North of England always felt like an epic journey to some strange and foreign land. Yet here I am, living in the Netherlands, with followers from all over the world. After the Netherlands, my second largest group of readers are based in the United States, then the UK and a whole range of countries including India and Singapore. Which brings me to the subject of today’s post.
I recently received the following message from a reader “Dear Shallow Man, I am a Parisian living in Singapore and I have been dating only Dutchmen – very weird!- and having Dutch ladies as best friends. I only know the Dutch from my experiences with them in the past three years in Singapore and would love to write a piece about my views of them”
The Shallow Man, always happy to fulfil the wishes of his readers will, therefore, publish the guest blog piece below. All opinions are based on the lady, that I shall call the Parisian in Singapore, own views and experiences. Enjoy!
Parisians versus Dutch ladies
When you think of Dutch ladies, either your thoughts immediately jump to Doutzen Kroes (her name is as horrifying ugly as she is tremendously stunning…), or you have in mind the image of a famous Dutch airlines hostesses: a bunch of 50-year-old alcoholics, walking depressingly slowly between the seats while pushing an empty trolley in their worn-out, too-tight uniforms, their loose skin flopping all over the place with the lips of their vagina’s needing some serious attention. Instead of talking to you, they spit at you; instead of working, they make you watch how they struggle with life – and they make you pay for it, bitches! Their husbands and bosses are desperately trying to get rid of them … But justice is on their side.
To some extent, Dutch ladies are a mix of these two images. They are usually beautiful with their never-ending legs; their incredible thick hair that you only wish you had, tumbling down in a sensual and sexual way; their wonderful deep blue or green eyes and voluptuous lips. But in this nearly perfect human picture, they usually have wide hips, reminding how they can comply perfectly with their reproductive role; a healthy XVIIIth century male peasant bone structure – they could easily wrestle a cow down to the ground; the way they express themselves has something awfully testosterone-ish about it; and when they smile, they show their upper gums way too generously.
Oh, oui, we French Parisians next to them look all so petite and elegant. We have the size of a nine-year-old Dutch citizen and we are the skinniest people of all France. How do we accomplish this? Very easy! We are completely stressed out – I believe they call it being “slightly” neurotic. We have this amazing talent to tire ourselves by being ourselves; so can you imagine what a gift we are to the rest of the world?
Coming from a good Parisian background, you are doomed to be obsessed with your weight and the notions of desire, seduction, and general culture – unfortunately, if your memory is like mine, you are crying because you can read all the theses you want, but you can’t remember anything. Merci, alcohol and drugs!
We are, in a certain sense, the complete opposite of Dutch ladies.
Non, we never go on diets. For every single day of every year of our whole lives, under the austere supervision of our skinny model mothers, we are ever careful about what we eat, and this strictly only three times a day – no dropjes allowed! Our mothers will publicly correct (and humiliate) us if we do not master the proper and appropriate grammar forms, and we will be disinherited if our weight scale shows an overly healthy balance. Intellect and slimness seem to be the conditional rule for our parents’ love.
Passion is at the heart of our French love stories – we need to desire our men and they need to desire us in return. We have an almost religious respect for this feeling, and that is why we are so intensely – perhaps even insanely – amorous women. We need to fight for and with our men, be emotionally attached, and intellectually connected – and this last aspect is as essential as sex, and ah, faire l amour! I have torn up so many shirts of my lovers because of uncontrollable burning lust!
When I did that to a past Dutch fling, his stoic body language, his surprise, and stingy look while watching the buttons of his expensive Hugo Boss shirt pop out like fireworks were comically priceless. The scene was incredibly worth it, even if I got firmly asked to never drink again and go to therapy afterwards. Doe normaal Frenchie!
We need to be full of admiration for our partners, to look up to them, to put them on pedestals. But do not get us wrong – we do not blindly nor naively adore them. They need to perform and be worth it; they need to be stimulating us on every single level, and as soon as they are beheaded, there is no way back… The French Revolution is in our genes: the toppled king will never reign again!
On the other hand, Dutch ladies avoid any kind of confrontation – they are experts at leaving the elephant in the room. Their exclusive desire and main goal is to maintain a harmonious atmosphere. At social events, they want to be certain that everyone is enjoying life – instead of their knowledge.
They consider themselves the equal of men. Their society allows them to break the glass ceiling; therefore, they are off the charts with ambition and power everywhere they go. These women do not need a man in their life – they can change the tire of a tractor and, at the same time, draft an impeccable professional business case for an international firm.
They know what sisterhood is. They are the only culture that I have witnessed actually functioning as a group of women. You can put ten Dutch women in a camping car and know they will get along brilliantly and have a blast – not because they have been used to this mode of transport since childhood, but because they have a savoir vivre in an oestrogen society that no other nations have. Put ten French, British, Russian, American or Italian ladies in close proximity, and the pussy version of Lord of the Flies will be bloody on.
At the same time, I have never seen females drink so much and handle it so well. They can gobble down gin tonic after gin tonic – as if they were milk – and continue to function, keeping the conversation flowing… at the same time as their alcohol. What men can do, they can do too! And they are funnier. Indeed, Dutch women have a sense of humour much more developed than their male counterparts. I had always considered men to be generally wittier and funnier than women. But my Dutch ladies manage to make me laugh from the stomach while their partners’ attempts at humour make me feel awkward and let out screeching insincere weird sounds from my throat.
These are some of the reasons why Dutch ladies are the happiest women in the world. There is no room for pseudo-intellectual masturbation and passion, just for a down-to-earth, carpe diem, peaceful, ambitious, and independent existence. They embrace who they are.
There are advantages and disadvantages to both cultures. But at the end of the day, wherever you are from, society and the media, especially, will have neglected to stress that a healthy mind will always lead to the most exquisite behaviour. This is the definition of real beauty. And I must say Dutch ladies are a great and inspiring model.
The Shallow Man
Would like to thank the Parisian lady for her observations. I can’t say I agree with everything she has written, and of course, her experience of the Dutch is largely limited to the professional expat classes in Singapore, but her perception is also her reality.