A Dutch man dating a French woman equals mutual trauma

The Shallow Man has written lots about dating. I was recently in a relationship with a Yoga instructor, but we had to go our separate ways as she was too inflexible.

Living large in Singapore, like a cat that got the cream, is the Parisian, who recently sent me this little piece about her experiences and that a Dutch man dating a French woman means mutual trauma.


Dear Shallow Man,

I have heard too many Dutch men complain about being traumatized by their failed relationships with French women. And I wondered why… until I read your book – which made me cry with laughter! – and started to understand where it came from.

There is a mismatch of expectations.

On my tropical Asian island, because I had decided to date only Dutch men on a whim, I briefly saw three Dutch guys back to back. This bizarre idea of mine was fully supported by Tinder but not by any of my friends …not even by my Dutch ones…

The three Dutch dates of the Parisian

These three Dutchies could not have been more different; therefore, it is impossible to establish a generality – and I sincerely bless them for having their own beautiful qualities.

So that you get the picture, if I had challenged them to bring a bottle of champagne to my place at noon on a work day: one would have brought three magnums of Krug Brut Champagne (and a bottle of lubricant), and offered me a piece of vineyard land – in Uzbekistan – and came along with a wonderful transvestite to make the lunch more extravagant.

Another a bottle of Muscat along with a sandwich to share, and asked me where my “boudoir “was to store the bottles of aspirin and Pepto-Bismol that he would have needed to gobble down in the aftermath of all this “debauchery”, and the third would have never left his office.

The saddest part is that this really is not too far from the truth… Although I am making these Nordics sound more sophisticated than they are by adding French words, a Eurovision finalist, and a country which is legitimately underestimated for its wine production.

A Dutch man dating a French woman needs patience

Shallow Man, you state that the first rule for dating a Dutch man is to sleep with him on the first night.

Et Merde!

I did not follow this guideline… But maybe that is why they offered me presents…

My first Dutchman, I made him wait two months. He was so enthused by my decision – like any man would be – that three weeks after our first date he dropped off a purple pack of nuts with a bow at my doorstep. It was his way of symbolising his painfully blue balls… I playfully chose to ignore his fatigued right hand.

A Dutch man dating a French woman can lead to blue balls

This is what happens if you have to wait too long

With my second, a handsome rebound, it took me five dates… I know that my raging impatience was not a good sign for this blossoming yet very soon to end “relationship”, but I was in desperate need of some new material for my mental carousel! The night before the culminating exercise, as a joke, he offered me an Andre Rieu CD entitled Love from Maastricht. On my part, I took his gift very seriously as I could not have imagined a more romantic gesture coming from a Dutch man – buying me a CD of a violinist who is considered in France as French, and who appears on our TV commercials surrounded by cats with psychedelic eyes wearing tinsel every Christmas season. Best present ever!

Andre Rieu globally popular

More popular than the bubonic plague

I recently posted an article on your website, The Dutch ladies vs the Parisians, describing that passion needed to be explosive, ending with me spending my Sunday sewing back on the buttons of an expensive shirt while being tranquilised via multiple IVs.

Well, my third Dutch man made me realize that the hottest desire, the most profound fire, can be silent and sealed with the delicacy of a kiss. After a month of dating and no Bunga Bunga his parting gift to me was to put me back in my place by being slightly insulting. However weirdly enough, I sincerely thought there was something sexy about being shut up for once, and so his one-liner won my deepest respect – on top of which, it was the first time he sent me a text which did not contain any spelling mistakes!

Shallow Man, on a recent post you stipulate that you need to run and run before being able to catch a French woman.

Hmmm… NON! Don’t run after us – we are surrounded by ego-boosts and don’t expect us to run after you – how vulgar!

Have you ever observed how French – and notably Parisians – interact with other human beings on the first meeting? We snap at our interlocutor. This pugnacious introduction is our way of checking if the person we are talking to is worth our saliva. The way we seduce is similar; we play a Darwinist game by observing and challenging the men who want to penetrate our mysteries.

We do not want to be chased after; instead, we want to tease the man, to be pushed by the guy and then eventually let him win us over.

tips on the game

Advice from the Parisian


We are selective, separating the ones we want to disappear from our sight forever from the rare ones we want to keep as friends, and the one we want as a prey. We want this latter to be creatively cerebral, to give us some substance that we can reflect on; at the same time, we will study the male carefully to see if he can pick up the flow of repartee and properly return fire. How orgasmic it is to find a man who can respond to our witty attacks!

Unfortunately, and a lot of the single ladies out there will agree with me, that the dating world is filled with sea-cucumbers – my term for mediocre, insecure, unpassionate men. I mean, have you ever seen a sea cucumber? It looks like an expressionless, wrinkled penis. Upon sight of it, you can’t stop wondering what it does the whole day, immobile on the sand, and what its purpose as a living being is – well, besides getting killed and eaten by Asians.

Oui Shallow man, I know what you are thinking. I am going to die alone with my four obese cats licking my wrinkled face, confusing it for microwaved lasagne… with Andre Rieu’s music in the background.

I have settled for that.

Loads of love,

The Parisian