The Shallow Man loves having guest bloggers writing pieces for my site. This leaves me with more time for important things such as my Playstation or shopping in the PC hooftstraat. With this in mind, I was pleased to receive another piece from the Parisian in Singapore, whose last piece on my blog about Parisians versus Dutch ladies, caused some controversy. This time she’s written her views on the Dutch fraternity men she’s encountered during her time in Singapore. Enjoy!
Dutch fraternity men
The physical stereotype of a Dutch man includes: being tall, very tall. One seriously wonders why they have been created this towering in such a flat country because it makes it impossible for them to hide behind tulips during wartime. On second thought, perhaps that is why during the First World War they chose to be neutral.
Dutch men are usually quite slim with a stomach made “in Heineken”; I believe that their motto is that six packs are found in the hand, not on the body.
Fraternity men proudly own a university degree that took them three more years than other students to earn, and it still makes them tremendously ambitious people.
They are recognizable by their sophisticated version of the mullet hairstyle: mid-length in the back, shorter in the front with a rebellious lock, and all smudged with repulsive gel. They must stand out from the other male species, hence, the unsexy coiffure that the plebe and knors can humbly call the ‘Dear Leader haircut’. Kim Jong-Un will not mind that I borrow his official coiffure‘s name for this serious, sociological description of a rare race of human beings, I am sure.
When you question them about their work, they all act the same. They will take a sip from their gin and tonic, with their legs spread wide open to give you a direct view of their family jewels. It is a French expression to say their junk. Oh, in my country of romantics, we clearly respect men’s attributes and name them a way that it makes it appealing to females – we all know that women love jewellery and men a good treat.
They will take their time to explain to you that they are the best at what they do, in some of the most capitalist industries that mankind has ever created: oil and gas, tax evasion, corporate law, banking… and the list goes on.
After a first date in which you have carefully listened to their job description, they will reward you by paying for drinks. I always like to delicately put my tiny hand on their broad shoulder, and ask in an innocent tone of voice: “Are you sure you can afford it?” Usually, they do not get the joke. They actually boast with testosterone and reply to me in a condescending way: “Of course I can, did you not understand that I make money -” Oui, oui, I see your philanthropy: by making the wealthy people richer… This kind of attitude always makes me wonder what is wrong with adults?! Why take life and yourself so seriously?! Anyways, I just flutter my eyelashes and look stupidly appreciative.
They always try to keep themselves busy, finding time for another beer, running from one bar to the other. I think it is very clever of them and endearing at the same time. It proves that they are in touch with their bodies: they know that their liver has an expiration date like we women have for our eggs. As an ageing woman, and as a strong believer that if you put a finger on the problem, there is no more problem: I have met up with a man, wearing a white lab coat, who has accepted to store my descendants on an ice cube tray in exchange for some Indian rupees. So I am not pressured with timing contrary to these men… As they cannot keep a piece of their liver in a cold chamber.
In the summertime, you can see these adults dressed up as if they were seven-year-old Catholic boys. Their uniforms are colourful Bermuda shorts, expensive shoes with pompoms, and polos with a big horse on it or the two obnoxious letters A&F. I think their own mothers must wonder how they ever manage to get laid in this attire. But I am more concerned to know if they ever stop for a second and look at each other’s hairy legs, and acknowledge that they are indeed wearing children’s clothing in adult sizes.
From my experience of expat Dutch men , they are as manly as territorial apes, but terribly “gushy” at the same time. They love talking about their feelings, relationships, other people’s lives, rainbows, unicorns… Mind you, they will also go to whorehouses and have extremely dirty, pornographic sex! But as It has been pointed out to me: whores also have feelings! That is why they all own a souvenir Polaroid picture of themselves hugging one of these very kind ladies, who gave them a fairy tale happy ending.
Jokes aside, I have to praise the fantastic qualities that these frat men possess as they are generally very charming, with a great taste for bluntness, and with whom you can have a proper intellectual conversation.
At the end of the day what meer, do we women want?