The three consecutive texts I had just sent would make any normal guy run for the hills. However, I was dealing with an Italian, so all dating rules were off. To men like this I can do no wrong for the sole reason that I’m an American girl.
“U cute, what u do now?” he replied in broken English less than 3 seconds later.
See, I told you. They love me.
My first encounters with Italian men occurred when I arrived to spend my senior year of high school in a small town outside of Rome. “Ciao” may have been the only word of Italian I knew, but I
was already sure of one thing—that all of the men there were creepy as fuck.
I missed the Ralph Lauren polos and fratty antics of the southern preppy boys back at my boarding school in the States. Skeptical of the men I now saw on the streets with their tight ankle cuffed jeans, free growing beards and cigarette smoke, I kept a safe distance from them for the first six months. Over time though the Italians grew on me, eventually becoming the standard to which I now compare every other guy.
Below I’ve shed some light on why every girl should date an Italian at some point in her life.
If they’re interested in you they’re not afraid to show it. None of this dating other people at the same time bullshit—an Italian guy is committed to you and you only. The only downside is that they can sometimes can get very jealous. I just take that as a sign that they care though.
It’s no surprise that the country which gave birth to design houses Gucci, Prada, Armani and Valentino is home to some of the best dressed men in the world. They pay attention to the details—pant legs are cuffed, hair is slicked back, and a handkerchief is always neatly folded in the pocket of their blazers.
They also have taken the time to have every single one of their button down shirts embroidered with their initials below the chest. Cue the *that’s so cute* hand wave.
I stayed with this Italian guy a year after our relationship turned cold only because he was the equivalent to having my own personal 5 star chef. No regrets.
Since their walk to work usually involves passing by ancient ruins and old cathedrals, Italians know their art history. I can’t count the number times I’ve taken some American boy to a museum only to have him look around cluelessly before asking me who Claude Monet is. Not attractive in the slightest.
So refreshing to be with a guy who makes me feel sane. Recently, I’ve been kidnapped and taken up a mountain in a barely functioning car, I’ve been bombarded with jealous texts, and I’ve been asked to hop on a train to another city at one in the morning. Not complaining though, because it’s never boring.
And last but not least, Italian men hold the key to my future. Marriage = Italian citizenship for me, and being able to crash in my favorite country whenever I want.