Crack open the champagne! My friend Trevor has finally scored! How does a smart, successful, well-travelled and good-looking man of 31, who spends his days surrounded by adoring, younger women not manage to get lucky for well over a year? Stupidity? Shyness? Impotence? Nope. It’s merely that he’s Irish.

What the hell is up with Irish men? The longer I am in Ireland, the more they confuse, exasperate and delight me (but not always in that order). When I arrived in Dublin from South Africa a few years back, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the Irish male. As a general rule, as a sub-set of the species, they have a lot going for them. They may be pale but they’re interesting, and mostly amusing and charming too. So why are they so clueless when it comes to the opposite sex?
Luckily there are some normal, well-adjusted guys out there, but sometimes it seems that they are a minority. The rest fall broadly into two opposing categories, both of which suffer from the same problem – neither can tell the difference between a friendly conversation and flirting. The first, and thankfully smaller group is the “Grab your coat love, you’ve scored’” brigade. Spend more than two minutes in conversation with these blokes and they assume you’re gagging for it. They will try to drag you back to their gaff without bothering with the accepted social niceties of offering you a drink or asking your name. Maybe it’s just me. Perhaps, in a way, I am an old-fashioned girl – but, my God, I expect a bit more effort than that.
If this was all the hassle that Irish women had to put up with, we’d be laughing, but it gets worse, much worse. While some men presume you are flirting with them on only the flimsiest of evidence, the rest are completely blind to all the hints, meaningful glances and suggestive smiles you strew in their paths. In these instances you almost have to throw your bra at them before they realise that you are interested in more than their opinions on the state of the economy, Bell X1 or the second series of Lost.
Men all over the world have learnt to play the delicate cat and mouse game that is flirting – so why can’t the Irish adapt? It’s difficult to play hard to get with someone who thinks you are impossible to get. Grr! Do Irish men have any idea how frustrating this is? Do they do it just to torment us? I wouldn’t be surprised.
The problem with this bashfulness is that it can be misconstrued as lack of interest. When I first starting going out in Dublin, I assumed that I was the problem. Irish men did not seem to find me attractive. If they were sober they would chat, tell jokes and be charming, but hardly ever make a move. I am not vain, at least not terribly, and pale skin and red hair may not be every man’s idea of female beauty, so I assumed they were not gung ho. Fair enough. While European, Aussie and Kiwi blokes were happy to flirt with yours truly, the few Irish men that made an attempt to chat me up were either completely pissed, or out of their heads on illicit substances. Surely I couldn’t be so unattractive that the beer goggles needed to be firmly on before I was approachable? It was a disturbing thought.
After I had been here a while, however, I realised I was not alone. My female friends all had the same complaint: nice guys, the ones they were interested in, never seemed to reciprocate. Phew! So the problem wasn’t me, it was the men. It was a pity, but, if that was the name of the game, I was happy to dally with the Italians and snog the Spanish until I met the sexy Thomas.
Now, Thomas is a great guy, but he is completely rubbish with women. He swears that on the night we met, he was flirting outrageously with me. That may be so, but only a psychic or behavioural psychologist would have known it, because it certainly wasn’t obvious to me. What was obvious was that he was damn cute, funny and sexy, so I threw caution to the wind and asked him out.
My Irish female friends were all horrified. They were sure he’d think I was the easiest variety of slapper. Very few Irish women feel comfortable letting a man know they are interested in an honest way. It makes them feel they have given up part of their power; or they are concerned that they may seem desperate; or both. They are happy to flirt and play games, but will not confess to finding a man attractive until he has openly declared his intentions. According to this modus operandi, a woman’s sexual power is the power of rejection, not of free choice.
Personally I reckon it better to choose than wait around to be chosen. Thomas insists he would have asked me out, but only after he’d tested the water. But then again he also tells me that, despite the fact that I asked him out, rather than the other way around, he still wasn’t sure that I was interested in him. Brutal. What would it have taken? Naked postcards? Pornographic skywriting?
This is the crux of the Irish man’s biggest problem – the bastards are slow to make a move! They are natural procrastinators. By the time they feel comfortable enough go for it, it’s too late. Either we’ve come to regard them as friends, are interested in someone else or have decided they are jerks for dragging their feet after we’ve been throwing ourselves at them for months.
So! It’s time to buck up, lads. You may think you’re giving us space and being sensitive new men; we just think you’re being difficult. You can nick our moisturiser cream, you can listen to our sensitive singer-songwriters and even drive our itsy-witsy, teeny-weeny city cars, but you cannot expect us to do all the work. Women want to feel desire. They want to be seduced, at least just a little. Modern women we may be, but men need to be men, even if it’s only on Saturday nights.