Men. Specifically, Irish Men.
If you’re wondering what’s so different about Irish men, I’m gonna quote the opening lines of an article by buzz on how Irish men compare to other nationalities in satisfying women.
“Can you guess which part of the world houses the most sexually satisfied ladies? Can you think which country’s men spend the most time satisfying their partners during sex?
Spoiler alert — it’s not Ireland.”*
Irish men are not known for their passion, seduction or charm. Yet somehow, they have this unshakeable confidence.
They don’t care about the way their beer bellies hang to the floor, the elusive combined linger of Heineken/Marlboro gold on their breath, or the drops of garlic mayo speckling their badly groomed beards. Call it the luck of the Irish, but somehow this confidence is often enough to bed even the most beautiful of women.
This feeds directly into the problematic culture prevalent in modern dating of “keeping your options open”. They think because they can get one beautiful woman to sleep with them, they can get any beautiful woman to sleep with them. And why settle for one when you can have them all?
This is the part where people* get hurt.
*Women, we get hurt.
You may be surprised based on what I’ve written so far, but I don’t hate Irish men. I think they’re unique and amazing in so many ways. Fuck are they funny. Ever heard of the phrase “laughed so hard your knickers fell off”? (don’t lie we’ve all been there). They have some of the best personalities you’ll come across. They’re sincere, honest, and not afraid to make a tit of themselves. These are all great qualities; until they decide they only want to fuck you.
Picture this (pre-COVID for legal purposes). You’re swiping through Tinder, barely paying a lick of attention. Four swipes left, one swipe right, that's how you find your soulmate. Suddenly, you stop. There he is.
“5 foot 10, in case that matters” is the sole line spread across his bio. After that one time you fucked someone under 5'6 and had to endure him getting on his tippy toes the next morning to kiss your forehead, meeting that criteria is about enough to do it.
He messages first within seconds. “Pints?”. No need to get into the nitty-gritty details, he's straight in there with the plans, and the pure ballsiness of it all excites you. You whack on some mascara, tummy control knickers and off you go.
After 5 gin and tonics, you’d get on with a brick wall, but this is different. The conversation flows. You have “craic” “banter”, whatever the fuck you wanna call it, then you have the best sex of your life. You think “Wow, this could be it. We vibed, we had chemistry, and the fact that he’s a bit below my league means he’ll appreciate me so much more”.
“Fuck, I really wish you could stay. Would’ve made you breakfast and all, but I’ve gotta be up early, the lads are coming over and I’m just crazy busy yano, but I’ll get you a taxi yeah? What’s your card number love”.
Maybe not, I don’t know, not everyone's as easy as me. But I’ve certainly been there anyway, and here's a spoiler: he’s never gonna contact you again.
Irish men are notorious commitment-phobes, but the part that stings most is when their charm and warmth convince you so blindly otherwise. That, combined with the unrealistic belief that average looking men won’t hurt you just because they’re average looking, is why men, specifically Irish men, will drive you absolutely fucking bonkers.
*for your reading pleasure/general knowledge