“I love you, I need you!” or Why I Missed Calm Men in Italy

When I was in Italy I was asked do I prefer Italian or the men of my own country. My answer surprised (and partly annoyed) my Italian friends. They asked why? The answer has something to do with the fact that I am wary of people, who seem to love every one and everything from bunnies to butterflies.


[This post continues the idea of the Blonds article, so it is maybe better to read that first.]

It is believed that cool blondish women prefer dark hot men. This is living stereotype. Now stereotypes can some times be a version of the truth, but they are never the whole truth. This shy lady do prefer little more gentle men (and gentlemen as well, but Italian guys know that side much better).

What I learned in Italy was how to keep hot men in the arms length – or let us say: in ice. I learned how to behave like Italian women. Believe me it was fruitful lesson. The first taste of attention was, when Italian girls guiding me in the town noted, that men seem to consider me very beautiful. Later a Finnish male friend of mine noted that both women and men are watching us to walk by.

Most Italian men do know how to talk. They seem to learn first the necessary terms in foreign languages. I have never heard so many times the words “love” and “beautiful” than I did in that country. The part of the truth is that Italian men prefer different things than one of my own, but part of the truth is they learn early to sweet talk.

I tell you a story to illustrate this. I was going back to my home. There was a bunch of fifteen-years old boys in the street with their vespas. One of them shouted me “I love you” and I answered in Italian “Ma Io non ti amo.” (But I don’t love you) He yelled again “I need you” like he had not learned that I know Italian already. So I answered “Ma Io non ti ho bisogno.” (You may guess what it means).

Few days later I was walking in the same street at the time of afternoon Siesta, which is still regular in the Southern Italy. This slightly older guy, maybe of my own age (usually working in the barbershop near by) shouted me “I love you”. That day I was not in the mood and I just gave him annoyed look and continued on my way. He then shouted to me in Italian “Hey Blond, It was an joke” and got smile as reward. He must have heard the other exchange of words.

I understood how much I had learned, when I was with few tourist girls in Rome. They were in the mercy of these slick guys, but I had learned to handle them. When I came back to Italy it took just few days to slip back in my Italian self so the men did not bother me any more. They still paid me attention, but in more respectful way.

While I wrote this way of Italian men, I have to add that this is not the whole truth about them. There are very nice, gentle guys too, true gentlemen, who go miles to take care of you and be sweet for you. They just never push on you and that’s why foreigners usually don’t meet them. The stereotype is just one angle of the truth again.

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6 Responses

  1. Two stories… one from an american woman, another from an Italian man.

    The woman first: Why European men are so much better then American men.

    I went on a trip to Italy. It was so wonderful. I learned about culture, I enjoyed the food, and I learned what a real man is like.

    I met a man on the street. He approached me, introduced himself, and mumured words in his native language. He told me I was beautiful as the sun, he said. We ended up going for coffee. We talked, laughed, it was amazing. He seemed so different then what I had at home. His accent was amazing too, it gave me butterflies.

    We proceded to go for a walk on the streets of Italy, sight seeing. He took me to the outside of an old art museum. It was wonderful. Such culture we lack here at home.

    We then went to the most romantic restaurant I have ever been to. It was completely lit by candles. They served the best Italian I have ever had. I didn’t know what to get, but like a gentleman, he ordered for me.

    We finally got to his apartment… and well, I don’t think I need to say the rest. I think you know what happened. If only American men were like him… he was different.

    Now the man:

    Why American woman are so easy:

    I met this woman on the street. I’ll admit it, I wanted […] her. It was so easy too. Local women here don’t give me the time of day, but this was a tourist… oh how easy the tourists are. I told her in Italian that I would [get her in my bed] before the night was over. SHe asked me what i said, and I replyed that she looked as beautiful as the sun. I over exagerated my accent, and downplayed my understanding of the English language. They love that, you know. We went for coffee. It was a cheap place, as I don’t make much cleaning the streets.

    After that, I took her on my famous tour to the “art museum”. Its really just a run down government building, but if I don’t take her inside, she won’t ever know the difference.

    We then proceeded to a hole in the wall restaurant, that was late on its electrical bills, so was only lit by candle. If she only new how many roaches infested that kitchen. She did not know what to get, so I took the opportunity to save money by ordering her the cheapest thing on the menu, in order to “culture” her. I got her back to my place, and proceeded to [enjoy myself] with her all night. It was simply too easy. I love American women.

    [Following changes are made by blogkeeper, because she started getting certain kind of spam after this. The idea of the comment has been kept the same. Only specific word has been replaced.]

  2. Well I was not easy – and that pissed them of, deeply.

    Fell in love with one – stupid me – but was not easy for him either, pissed him of even more, because he knew that I liked him.

    It took them seven months to understand, that I am not a easy girl. It took me seven months to see the real guys among them from lices. There was nice guy in love with me – I did not understand that early enoug. Feel still little sorry I missed that. I don’t feel sorry that did not go along with any of those greasy guys.

    See, I am rather picky.

    The anecdote you told is unfortunately very much the truth about Italian men and foreign women. My university teatcher (fat and in his 50s) tried to hit me – for … sake.

  3. I don’t believe you are! You wouldn’t be on a dating moratoriam if you were. But it is an interesting sentimentality. there is also a movement among men that foriegn women are better then American women.

    Both versions of this story are equally untrue, and unfair to American men, and American women.

    Sorry if you got spammed to death as a result of my commentary! Not my intentions at all!

  4. This is the saddest thing I have read in a long time. It doesnt have to be that way. I have lived in Italy off and on for some time and it is just a matter of having some common sense and not letting your own sense of vanity go to your head. I am not a stunningly beautiful women and not blonde. I am a normal attractive woman with dark hair who dresses well and conservatively. I have been taken out for dinner etc but have never done the sleep over thing – who is more to blame the man or the woman? Unfortunately, the women give the bad reputation – the guy of course will try. Romance can be found in Italy but one has to make life romantic for the Italian man also and this doesnt mean having sex on the first and probably only night.

  5. Dear Kate,

    I am sorry if you found this sad. It was ment to be humoristic and realistic. I don’t know what you find sad in here: my story or Billys. The truth is some Italian men use unfair tactiques of playing whit emotions and lying for foreign women. In my own country men are a bit afraid of telling you they love you, while Italian guys may tell it on the first date. What Billy told is not far from truth whit many turist women, although I admit his way of telling the story maybe a bit rude.

    Believe me: I am not very beautiful. I dress conservatively and at that age also in rather grown-up manner. I used to love long skirts – and you cannot force me to wear minis (some people have tried). Yet I got a lot of attention, much too much for my own peace of mind. You could not walk in peace in the streets. But you have to understand: what I describe here is mostly southern Italy – the north I believe may be different.

    I also agree that at their best Italian men are lovely: loving, caring and very family oriented. And they have occasionally great sense of humor. And they do respect if you’re not easy. Yet being blondish was not easy in Italy. It took ages of them get over their stereotype of nordic women in my case. And I’ve been physically harashed several times in public places. It is not nice to be rubbed by stranger. Once even somebody gripped my arm in the broad day light.

    And if you have lived in it, you must admit that Italy more than any country I know have sexed everything. Every where in the tv there are almost naked women, who’s main object is to look sexy. Everything is sold whit nudity. Sex crimes get the biggest headlines and the details are gloated in disgusting manner. 17 year old girl publiced her sex-diarys. Have you never noticed this?

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