Those of you who have visited Schiphol (the Netherlands’ capital airport) in the last couple of months may have flicked through the latest issue of Amsterdam Magazine. It’s a free publication, appealing to the English-speaking tourist. So naturally, there’s a full-page ad for an escort service within the first four pages. Not too long after, there’s this:
Not to unnecessarily laden the country’s famously liberal sex work laws to a fairly whimsical article on dating tips for men. It’s just curious for an ostensibly progressive society to entertain such misogynist and/or daft attitudes. Particularly as it’s nestled among what is intended as an interloper’s first taste of Amsterdam.
Lets make fun of it.
Above the more egalitarian concerns of distributing the onus of a relationship evenly between all participants, the key piece of advice here is to be awesome. Be awesome and say the right things, preferably at the right moment. Not at the wrong moment, like on the loo. That’s the wrong moment for almost everything. Excited? You bet I am!
Pretty much a no-brainer; take some care with what you wear. Open-toed sandals ( I guess flip-flops as well, by default. Crocs? Borderline) are apparently something of a dramatic faux-pas in Dutch fashion. For such a permissive society, they still frown on toes. We’ve a long way to go.
First off, anyone who uses the phrase “Got a light?”, especially when attempting to pick up women, should burn in a fire. With that in mind, “Your place or mine?”, a bold opening gambit for even the most broad-shouldered drunkard, has to be a step up.
You know, already I feel humbled. So many lonely evenings in front of QI with a Findus Crispy Pancake. All this time I should have been actively asking women on sight to fuck strangers.
To be fair to this one, it did come alongside an adorable hand-drawn image of a man popping his head from a corner, with the word ‘BOO!’ in a giant bubble from his mouth. So, perhaps there’s a sense of irony at play that I’m not honouring sufficiently. Nevertheless, the article states ‘don’t be afraid’ to try this particular tactic. Yes, it’s silly, not to mention borderline psychotic, but it nevertheless belongs in your arsenal, alongside not wearing flip-flops and the phrase “your place or mine?”.
This is where it becomes the sort of advice you get from private companies paid to get people back into semi-existent work. For example, your prospective employer might not be into sports, so for goodness’ sake don’t bore them with the latest footy results. ON THE OTHER HAND, they might be a die-hard Chelsea fan (especially if the job is in Crouch End) so don’t leave out football entirely. Try to talk and not talk about everything for the correct amount of time, plus also don’t.
Plus there’s the bit at the end about getting her blind drunk to increase your chances. That’s a little nugget my job coach never got round to.
Not in the bath, pervert! Also, do keep in mind that if they have one of those power showers, you may have to yell your compliments against their ear.
Here’s a new one; racism. Racism AND lying! For some strange psycho-geographical reason, just say you’re Italian and Dutch women will swoon like Emmett Brown. Would I have to put on an accent as well? How long would I need to keep that up? What if we get married? I smell a romantic comedy! Starring Kevin Kline! From 20 years ago!
On Friday nights, I like to visit my local hole in the ground, say Bed Bar or Chameleon. I sidle up against a girl on the dancefloor, give a cheeky little wink, then bellow “THERE IS NO GOD, YOU CREDULOUS WHORE!”, before aggressively clowning to Sweet Like Chocolate by Shanks & Bigfoot, all up in her face, going “WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!!”.
Overall, the lesson to learn is be confident. Don’t be passive, like the lowly Dutchman.
It’s also worth pointing out at this stage, in true Rod Sterling fashion, that the author of the article is a woman, who goes by the name of Caroline Goralczyk. That’s right, a woman! Not a man, like you definitely thought to begin with. NOW who’s unenlightened?
In summary then, the Dutch tourist board is overly eager that you plough their women. They’re strong minded and independent, but will fall for the most rudimentary solicitation from pasty-faced charlatans with 48 hours to squander. Sandals and flip-flops are a no-no, even without socks. Dutch women secretly wish to submit to you during intellectual combat, ESPECIALLY if you’re either Silvio Berlusconi or Jeremy Beadle. No baths.