What I've Learned from Dating Older French Men
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Loading... - Carmen Espina
- 02 Jun 2022
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At the age of 53, I re-entered the dating world. France is full of beautiful men of a certain age, a surprising lot of them are available, and they are ready to mingle. They’re fabulous–it’s like they’re training for the World’s Most Interesting Man competition, with all those trim beards, open collar dress shirts, and seductive compliments. For brevity, I will heretofore refer to the French Silver Fox as FSF.
As I date and mingle with these guys, I’ve learned a lot of useful things, both about the FSF and about myself.
They are useful around the house. Don’t let that suave exterior fool you. After two dates, the FSF’s true dad-nature comes out. Many of them list bricolage (DIY) on their Tinder profile, and it’s accurate. They can assemble Ikea furniture with their main droite tied behind their back. They will show up with that hard-to-find lightbulb. They’ll re-set the clock on your microwave while the coffee perks, jimmy the toilet so it doesn’t run, hang a ceiling lamp, patch your bike tire.
Sexual allure is great, but if you really want to get my heart racing, fix my printer.
What did I learn about myself? American Breakfast. I spent the past twenty years sending my kids off to school with a hot breakfast, and that has given me a surprisingly bankable skill in dating FSFs. These guys adore American breakfasts, any meal of the day. They think the food is unique, exotique. Make them some blueberry pancakes or avocado toast. Scramble them an egg. Put out the coffee and juice. Throw in a side of bacon and this girl is getting lucky tonight.
I learned how to flirt. I am not a natural-born flirt. Maybe it’s my Puritan upbringing. Maybe it’s because I’m an Enneagram 5, or a Myers-Briggs INFJ. Flirting is just too layered for me. What am I supposed to do, approach a guy at a party and shout Look at my boobs! Sashay up to the suave intellectual in the bookstore’s philosophy section and compliment the elbow patches on his sleeves?
This all changed when I moved to France. My rusty high school French rendered me technically competent but not street-smart. However, a lot of French idioms are sex-related, so par accident I flirt with people all the time, just by saying dumb stuff. When I said je suis chaude instead of j’ai chaud, I had declared myself hot to trot, not sweaty because of the weather. When I thought I was telling a guy he looked good in his profile pic, I actually told him he’d probably be good in bed. Tu a l’air bon. The list goes on. I just keep talking, and suddenly FSFs are smiling and leaning in. Read More...
