I have now lived in Italy for almost 8 years and I have been single for half that time. The recent half. Traveling and living by myself has been great. I am a control freak. A tall, Protestant, prudent, control freak, so I like bossing myself around with noone else present to interfere in my diligent self-moderation. But, as single people are known to do, I occasionally go on a date. Sometimes I even go on multiple dates with the same person. It happens people! I was recently talking to a friend and after I showed her the picture of the guy I went out with the evening previous, she said, "Oh, he's so cute!" She did not understand my immediate suspicion. "You can't trust the good-looking ones. The more attractive they are, the more you must assume they are the worst person you are ever going to meet. Don't you know that?" Apparently, my married for 5 years friend did not know this.
I would like to tell you all that nothing prepares an American woman to date in Italy. I'm not talking about the experience of having an Italian boyfriend (that is another blog post which I am, truthfully, ill-informed to write about). Rather, it is the process of dating them that I'm unceasingly baffled by. There is a never ending struggle to overcome your otherness, your "Americaness". Men here see you through red, white and blue glasses. But even if they can come to terms with you being from the states, you probably will never quite comprehend their Italian ways. Now, all the single ladies will tell you that physical beauty is a world-wide red herring in the dating world. But there is a minefield of cultural-specific romantic social interactions that you must memorize if you want to survive in the Roman dating world. I am in the trenches. This is my Vietnam. So from the front lines, this is what I have learned.
1) Be prepared to see your life flash before your life while riding on their Vespa. I know you all think it Gregory Peck and Audry Hepburn having a Vespa good time around the Coliseum. Go ahead. Live in that dream for a while. What if I told you that every time I'm on a Vespa with a man, I'm white-knuckling it ala Sandra Bullok and Keanue Reeves in Speed except I keep screaming in my brain "If you go over 50mph we're going to hit some grandma on the crosswalk and then we'll be in a legal battle with her estate for the rest of my life!" There are no rules in Roman driving. Everyone is triple parked, traffic lights are suggestions, and people will stop, reverse, and curse you out if you try and cut them off. I've seen it. I know. But... it's sexy you think. Come and pick me up on your two-wheeled dream machine Fabio. No. Don't. Imma meet you there Fabio. I'm taking the bus.
2) Jump aboard the complain train but beware... Italians love to complain. Especially men. Mostly about their own country. It is remarkable. Join in, but, you MUST NEVER offer any unflattering opinions about either of the following: their mother or their favorite soccer team. Now, the mother issue is self-explanatory. But the sports thing.... yikes. They really take it seriously. I once literally saw the little man that operates the mental faculties in a guys head hit the autopilot button after I said, casually, "I don't care about Totti". Game. Over.
3) Do not use the wrong hand towel in their house. So, let's revisit the mama thing. There's a weird kind of passive-aggressive Mommie Dearest relationship going on with most men and their mothers in Italy, though I'm never quite sure who is the Joan and who is the Christina. In truth, it's pretty harmless. But I have experienced it's full extent if taken to ridiculous house decorating extremes. Once, I was told, very specifically, which hand towel to use the bathroom. (Side note: Let me just say, this gentleman didn't live with his parents. This information will become important in a minute). Anyways, I wasn't really listening. I figured it would be self-explanatory. Well, my friends, I used wrong towel. Why is this a problem you ask? I was immediately chastised with a fervent "MY MOTHER DOESN'T WANT ME TO USE THESE TOWELS! SHE'LL BE SO ANGRY WHEN SHE WASHES THEM!" Let's take a moment and analyze this outburst. 1) Why can't you use these towels? More importantly, why are said towels in the bathroom in plain sight if you can't use them? Where is this linen-specific prejudice coming from? and 2) WHY IS YOUR MOTHER WASHING YOUR SHIT WHEN YOU LIVE BY YOURSELF?! Sorry, that's my Christian Reformed self-sufficient work ethic kicking in. I think my mother told me how to use the washing machine at 8 years old. I'm positive my my father's single piece of advice to me every morning when I got out of the car to go to school was, "Stay out of jail." I can't fathom such towel-specific parental interference in your 30s.
4) You better know how to cook. On almost every date, I am asked if and what I cook. Then they want details. "How do you cook the pancetta?" "How do you boil the pasta?" "How much salt do you use in the sauce?" This is a test. They are seeing if you can cook like their mother so that you can serve as a suitable replacement when mama dies...which is never! The greater the mama's boy your dating, the longer his mother will live. She'll outlive both of you and then just tell your children you didn't know how to make marinara sauce correctly. Anyways, my trick is to say my culinary forte is Mexican or Chinese or Spanish cuisine. No Italian man understands cooking requirements which extend outside the Motherland, so you're safe with a non-Italian food preference. Safe as in they won't criticize your cooking skills. Instead they'll just say all non-Italian food is too spicy/fatty/salty/dry/etc. If all else fails, I tell them I'm vegan. I mean, I am a vegan, it's not a lie, but they don't know quite how to respond to such strict diet other than to say "No steak? What?! Che palle." Also, don't ever tell them you like to eat sushi or they will ask you if you suffer from parasites in your intestines. True story.
5) They are going to seduce you. I would like to tell you that after all my many years here in Italy, I would be immune to Italian charm. But, alas, I am not. Italian men are really good at it. The Chianti, the cobblestone streets, their Mediterranean accent coupled with that thick forest of casually tossed black hair. Are you swooning yet? Well, should you find yourself in an untimely euphoric state rendered upon you by Rome's most charming son, fear not! You need only ask them what they think about dating. In general. Just a causal question. Most of them will veer right off romantic road and into the wild jungle so fast you might choke on your drink. This is a good test for me: if we're on a first date and it's going well (too well) I ask them a nonspecific question about their dating past. 90% of the time, the recount every story about their ex-girlfriends. And what their mother thought about it. Once, I got some interesting prostitute stories. If that doesn't shock you back to your senses, then you need to limit your alcohol consumption because you've clearly had too much (I speak from experience). The other 10% of the time, when they're perfect, you're just going to have to accept your going to fall in love with them and they are going to break your heart. It happens. It's fine. That's why God gave us dark chocolate and Netflix for afterwards.
6) It's not all the worst, just mostly terrible. I'm sure some of you think I'm generalizing unfairly here. No, not every Italian man between 25 and 40 is a slimy sycophant dressed in gorgeous Armani clothing. I have met some lovely Italian men....who are dating my friends or who are gay. My scientific deductive reasoning has lead me to conclude one thing: they cannot handle my blonde hair. It really is like moths to a flame. I have asked them about this. "It's true. Blonde hair: That's the dream." Clearly everyone here has watched Rapunzel one too many times. I am positive it is the single source of almost all my dates. It's my black AmEx, my free-entry to all exhibits pass. It's a double edged-sword though. It's like if I were to try and date a Masai warrior. I cannot wrap my brain around these lion hunting, spear throwing tribesmen. I can't effectively communicate with someone whose mere image has made such an impression in my brain that I can't modify it even after I have new information. In the same way, most Italian men have specific beliefs about blondes. I blame Anita Ekberg. Well, I'm an Anita Ekberg with an Angela Merkel trapped inside. This information does not compute in the Italian male mind. They keep putting coins in the Blonde Sex Siren Gumball Machine and all that comes out is feminism and practical money management advice. Charming, right? And if you are a brunette and are having problems, I don't know what to tell you.
That's it. That's what I've learned. Not a lot, right? Nope, not a lot. I have a masters in political science, know how to sing opera, have run marathons around the world, and can cook you a 40lbs turkey without breaking a sweat, but, I can't write you a very good dating guide. My best advice, write it all down so you'll have great stories to tell your friends......or your therapist.
