I love British Men. I blame David Bowie. And Paul McCartney. And Jarvis Cocker. To me, British men are like Pokémon: gotta catch ’em all!
I’m on Tinder now (God help me) and I am seeing a lot of British men pop up. (Do they prefer English men? Englishmen? Someone help me out. Is British somehow offensive? I have no idea.) I know that they’re British because they say so; it’s not like I have really good British radar where I can see a photo of someone and tell. And by the way, when I say “a lot” of British men, I mean like 1 out of every 40 guys is British. Which seems like a lot when you’re bored and go through Tinder about as often as you blink. I am absolutely fascinated by Tinder. But that’s not important right now.
What’s important right now, and forever, is British men. Yes, I absolutely have a Brit fetish. I’m aware that this could be offensive, because few people really want to be someone else’s fetish. I’d be creeped out if someone boasted their love for Jewish-Italian girls and treated me like an object. But, come on. British men are amazing. You could take the most unattractive British guy and bam! Bob’s-your-uncle he’s 10x more attractive than an average American guy solely because of his accent. It’s true and I’m not sorry.
I’ve been chatting with one particular Englishman on Tinder. We’ll call him Bert, after the ever-delightful chimney sweep. Bert and I sent a few messages back and forth, and then my brash American brain decided I needed proof of Britness. I asked him to call me to, “prove you’re British.” And God save the Queen, he did. And I don’t care if the accent was fake, because it was incredible. Hearing a British man talk to you over the phone is like hearing your own private concert from your favorite musician. They could say anything and it would sound like a gorgeous symphony. Imagine your favorite English accent in your mind. Now imagine it saying, “I strangled six cats with an iPhone cord.” Fabulous.
Bert and I were going to meet last night, but we didn’t. I think we’re both too nervous to actually meet each other. And now, if he sees this, he’ll probably never want to meet me. And that’s okay. Such is life. Sometimes life is about what doesn’t happen, instead of what does.
I’m exchanging messages with another British dude on Tinder, too. Or at least I was, until he stopped responding. And I didn’t even say anything offensive, I swear.
I think men on Tinder are Googling my name and are finding my blog and going, “LOL hell no, k byyyeee.”
Oh, well. Mind the gap.
Let’s discuss British men and/or Tinder. I want to hear your stories about either. Or both!
Photo of David Bowie by me @apocalypstick.