The Regal Rules for Girls

by Jerramy Fine

  Laugh at yourself. Don’t take yourself too seriously. There is nothing that puts British men at ease more than irony, self-deprecation, and humor.

  Smile a lot and ask him questions that aren’t too intrusive. (Don’t forget that most Brits are reserved, intensely private creatures and will recoil at any attempt to make them talk about their feelings.)

  Unless you are waxing lyrical about (a) the monarchy or (b) your dog—try to avoid overly emotional subjects of any kind. (Your views on foxhunting and astrology should also wait till at least the third or fourth date.)

  Avoid sounding like you’re interviewing him for a job—least of all a job called “husband.” Asking him about his favorite cities in the world is great; asking questions about his net worth or if he wants kids? Not so great.

  Even if his accent is making you go weak at the knees (and let’s be honest, it probably is) try to control yourself. Don’t ask him to say certain words just so you can listen to his voice (English guys eventually find this rather tiresome)—instead try to concentrate on what he’s actually saying.

  After dessert, strategically time your visit to the ladies’ room so you are not at the table when the bill arrives. This will allow him to pay without any awkwardness. When you return to the table, thank him graciously and reiterate how much you enjoyed the meal. (British men often tell me that American women are so much more appreciative than English girls, and they love that about us.)

  If a trip to the loo is not possible, and the bill is placed between you, stay calm. (If you start acting awkward, he’ll act even more awkward.) But the same rule remains: If he invited you out, he pays. Don’t overthink it.3

  I don’t care if you’re a modern woman who earns twice as much as he does; splitting the bill is the universal sign of disinterest, and subconsciously, guys find it emasculating. So only offer to go Dutch if you’ve decided you never want to see him again.

  After dinner you will probably meet up with his friends for more drinking, or he will suggest it’s time to be getting home. Don’t be offended by either—you’ll still get a kiss at the end of the night. If he invites you to his flat for “a coffee,” it’s more than a coffee that’s on offer.

  Most Englishmen are either deathly afraid of a monogamous relationship (see number 3) or they literally can’t make it through their day-to-day life unless they are in what they think is a monogamous relationship (see number 4). Because American-style dating falls somewhere in between and his English brain can’t compute it, he will make up his mind one way or the other and he will do so quite quickly. So quickly it can seem (a) disingenuous or (b) brutal—depending on which option he chooses. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone out with a British guy twice and after the second encounter was (a) assumed by his friends and family to be his new and permanent girlfriend and invited to weddings, family vacations, and Christmas, or (b) he seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, and I never heard from him ever again. (See “Alien Abduction,” page 217.) Both situations are baffling, but that’s just how it seems to work.

  Englishmen are good kissers, and contrary to popular belief, they are good at other things as well.

  I know plenty of American girls who have married British boys. They don’t all have titles or live in castles, but I want you to know that it does happen. Despite all the legal, linguistic, cultural, geographical, and psychosomatic obstacles—occasionally love prevails.

  A curious background surely for a kiss Our first—Westminster Bridge at break of day—Settings by Wordsworth, as John used to say.

  —FROM THE WHITE CLIFFS BY ALICE DUER MILLER

  5 LONDON KISSES AMERICAN GIRLS MUST EXPERIENCE BEFORE THEY DIE:

  In the back of a black cab

  On a moving escalator beneath a tube station (Holborn is the longest—but please stand on the right!)

  Walking along the South Bank

  On the back of a Trafalgar Square lion in the moonlight

  Westminster Bridge at dawn

  Texting

  The Englishmen’s desire to cling to technology while dating can be infuriating. There were several times when I genuinely felt as if my entire relationship was limited to the words that fit onto a one-inch-by-one-inch screen, and occasionally I was forced to ask myself how long I could be sustained on fewer than five abbreviated sentences per week (which for some nonverbal British males is more than enough communication for the month). So my advice to you is this: Texting is fine, as long as you have face time to go with it.

  RULES FOR TEXTING:

  In an age of iPhones, BlackBerrys, and predictive text, there is no excuse for lazy abbreviations and tacky acronyms. No matter what the medium, always use the Queen’s English.

  Certain social circles believe that abbreviation of any kind implies that you are busy—and this is the worst possible label to incur, as it also implies that you are not a gentleman or lady of leisure. Unlike the working classes, true ladies who lunch have time to spell out every word of their text messages.

  Signing your texts with your name or initial plus an x is quite normal. (For example, I often sign off “Jx”). The x implies an affectionate, sometimes flirtatious, sometimes loving kiss—and should only be used when you want to show affection, flirtation, or love to the recipient. Men only use x’s when messaging their mothers, girlfriends, or potential girlfriends. Women use x’s when messaging absolutely everyone except strangers, female coworkers they don’t particularly like, or male coworkers they have no desire to flirt with. (The same x etiquette applies to email correspondence.)

  The American girl has the advantage of her English sister in that she possesses all that the other lacks.

  —FROM TITLED AMERICANS, 1890

  Online Dating

  Transatlantic matches were such the rage during the Gilded Age that American girls were known to consult a quarterly publication called Titled Americans. This magazine contained a register of all the eligible, titled British bachelors on the market, with a handy description listing their age, accomplishments, and prospects. The journal described itself as a “carefully composed list of peers who are eager to lay their coronets and their hearts at the feet of the all-conquering American girl.” But basically it was the nineteenth-century version of Match.com.

  As you know, the taboo on meeting someone over the Internet has completely disappeared for our generation, and this applies to both sides of the Atlantic. Sparks may not fly with every encounter, but with London social barriers being what they are, don’t turn your nose up to a technology that might, at the very least, lead you to some new English friends (who in turn might introduce you to someone with whom sparks will fly!). So I wholeheartedly urge you to give it a try.

  Unfortunately Titled Americans is no longer in existence. Nevertheless, I encourage you to check out www.datebritishguys.com. They claim to provide love-hungry American women with single British men who live in the UK (and the US). Believe me, if this genius of a site had been around when I was single, I would have logged on in a heartbeat.

  Old standbys like Match.com and DatingDirect are also widely used by guys in London, so don’t be afraid to widen your net and post your profile on more than one site. If your politics are left-leaning, try Guardian Soulmates; if you tend to be more conservative, try Telegraph Dating (though the latter tends to attract an older crowd).

  Parable # 6

  When I first ventured into the heady world of online dating, I saw no point in trawling through hundreds of undesirables, so as I composed my profile, I was certain to be specific about what I was looking for. After a handful of drafts, I settled on this:

  Blonde American bookworm/partygirl seeks privately educated Englishman (aged 25–30) with James Bond accent and Oscar Wilde wit. Must enjoy black-tie galas, debaucherous dinner parties, intellectual debates, and long walks in the country. An appreciation for fine wine, classic literature, and nonstop adventure goes without saying. Aristocratic lineage and Hugh Grant looks highly encouraged. No others
need apply.

  Once it was posted, I sat back and waited for the flirty fun to begin. Eventually I began corresponding with an Oxford graduate named Sebastian who listed art history, French literature, and fencing as his hobbies and claimed to be the CEO of his own company as well as writing a novel in his spare time. We exchanged pictures (he was preppy and cute with classic aquiline features) and agreed to meet for a drink the following week. When he suggested my favorite London bar, I got goose bumps, and it wasn’t long before I became a nervous wreck. I mean, this guy seemed amazing. What if I wasn’t good enough for him? What if I wasn’t pretty enough? What if I wasn’t smart enough?

  I went to the bookstore and bought the cheater’s guides to French literature and art history. I also read everything I could get my hands on about fencing. During the next few days, I ignored my work entirely and spent hours composing note-perfect paragraphs in response to Sebastian’s seductively cerebral emails.

  My heart raced wildly with every email exchange, and my stomach filled with endless butterflies at the thought of our pending date. But as I walked into the dimly lit bar situated ten storeys above the sparkling lights of the River Thames, I knew—within seconds—that I shouldn’t have bothered.

  There was zero chemistry between us. Not a spark of physical attraction. Not even enough basic compatibility to sustain thirty minutes of small talk. Although our email discussions had flown off the keyboard at lightning speed, we struggled to make a simple face-to-face conversation last as long as a single glass of wine.

  On the lonely taxi ride home, I marveled at my heart’s gullibility. I couldn’t believe I had let myself get so worked up! To become so emotionally involved! So unsure of myself! To think I was devouring French literature in order to impress him! He should have been devouring things to impress me!

  TIPS FOR ONLINE DATING:

  Don’t change your criteria just because an entire e-pool of men has opened up before you. Stay strict about what you’re looking for and refer to my aforementioned Castle Crew guidelines. You won’t be able to hear his accent over an email, so at the very least make sure he went to an appropriate British boarding school or university.

  Witty in an email does not mean witty in real life. Not all Englishmen are natural raconteurs, but well-written emails can give them the appearance of being so.

  Do not exchange emails for more than a week or you’ll become more emotionally attached to him (or, more accurately, emotionally attached to who you think he is) than you realize.

  Have confidence in yourself and arrange to meet up as soon as possible. That way, if sparks don’t fly, you haven’t wasted too much time or invested too much of your heart and soul.

  Agree to meet for a drink (not dinner) so you have the option of leaving early if he’s not your type. (This only backfires when the guy orders a second bottle of wine while you’re in the loo and you are forced to politely consume several more glasses on an empty stomach before you can make your exit. Yes, I speak from experience.)

  Occasionally sparks do fly! I’ve been to five weddings (and counting) of couples who met online. I have no doubt there will be more to come.

  Alien Abduction

  Let’s say you’ve been dating (and non-dating) an Englishman for several weeks. Things seem to be going well—he is affectionate, complimentary, and flirty every time you see him; you have met a smattering of his friends; you’ve seen each other’s flats (with the occasional sleepover); and you genuinely seem to be having fun in each other’s company. You might be sleeping together, you might not be, but in any case you’ve made plans to go to the cinema next Friday night.

  In the week that follows, he doesn’t call you, but you shrug it off assuming he is busy. All of your texts to him are met with one-word answers, but you don’t think much of it. But then Thursday night rolls around and you still haven’t heard from him. On Friday afternoon he might (might!) text you with a cryptic explanation like “something came up.” That’s the good scenario.

  The bad scenario involves no text warning whatsoever and he simply drops off the face of the earth, never to be heard from again. Total radio silence.

  For all you know he’s really and truly been abducted by aliens, but whatever the reason he simply vanishes from your life. In the course of my London dating career, this happened to me at least four or five times. (It may actually have happened to me more than this, but for my own sanity, I stopped counting.) This same pattern has also happened to dozens of girlfriends of mine—both English and American.

  So what is the deal? Why are these aliens selfishly abducting so many of our beloved Englishmen? I’m not entirely sure. I’m simply not willing to believe that all English guys are bastards. Nor am I willing to believe (mainly because it’s just too depressing) that English guys are going to put in all that long-term romantic effort for the sake of a few make-out sessions if all along they have secret plans to escape to the mother ship.

  So here is my theory: As with all things in their lives, Englishmen do what they think is expected of them. Their peers, their parents, and their entire social class and structure expect them to engage in some kind of courtship with a girl that will eventually lead to a serious and permanent relationship. Most Englishmen have no idea how to go about doing this (or have any idea if they even want to be doing this), but nevertheless they maintain a stiff upper lip and do their best to meet everyone’s expectations—including yours.

  Dating is awkward for them because in reality they are just going through the motions, and they haven’t quite figured out that real courtship requires genuine passion, honest emotions, and a certain level of informality and spontaneity—all of which are qualities that are entirely un-English.

  Still, he does what he thinks he should do and acts how he thinks he should act and is extremely charming and polite while doing so. He thinks he should make you feel beautiful and special, so he does just that (and happens to do it in a devastating accent that makes you melt into a puddle on the floor). He thinks he should act like a perfect gentleman, so he does. Meanwhile, you don’t have a hope in hell. Of course you’re going to fall for him!

  I mean, based on his behavior, he seems seriously interested in you—so you begin to reciprocate. That’s when the Englishman starts to panic. He is officially in over his head and starts sending frantic SOS alarm signals to the mother ship. He clearly can’t tell you what he is feeling—that would involve (a) admitting feelings, (b) verbalizing feelings, and (c) confrontation—all of which are unthinkable for an English male. Instead, he thinks it’s best if he just disappears for a while and pretends the whole thing never happened. It’s around now that you start wondering why you haven’t heard from him in more than a week.

  In some cases, you will hear from him six months later through Facebook. It will be some cute, neutral, sometimes flirtatious message just to see “how you are” or “what you’re up to.” It’s his inept English way of admitting that he’s behaved badly, absolving his guilt, and clearing the air in case your paths cross again through mutual friends. He sends this message not necessarily because he wants to, but because he thinks he should.

  I must reiterate that alien abductions are by no means the norm, but I feel it is my duty to warn my American sisters of their existence. And while alien abductions can be painful—I firmly believe that they can’t be nearly as painful as going through life never having dated an Englishman.

  Winning Him Back

  Whenever my particular Englishman of the moment was abducted by aliens, I was confused and devastated (and often genuinely heartbroken)—but more than anything I was convinced that I could use my feminine wiles to win him back.

  I made this mistake time and time again before it finally dawned on me to stop giving my heart to one English guy after another—when they clearly hadn’t asked for it. If an Englishman pulls back and retreats to his mother ship, he is not engaging in the mythical tactic known as “treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen”—it is genuinely becau
se he is simply not ready for a grown-up relationship.

  For years, I point-blank refused to believe this. So I busied myself with all kinds of harebrained strategies to make these British boys see the light, to make them realize that the mother ship was not where they wanted to be. I thought if they only realized how much I cared for them, then they would automatically decide to care for me in return. Most of the time, my efforts failed, and I only felt further rejected. But sometimes, my flirty texts or well-timed Facebook messages would pay off and he’d actually ask to see me again. But this scenario was almost worse, because deep down, I knew that I had not won him back, I had just temporarily outsmarted him! And deep down, who wants a guy that you have to trick into going out with you?

  I’ll never forget the moment when the above epiphany occurred to me. It was almost midnight on a Sunday and I was sitting in my tiny London bedroom, painting my nails seashell pink—when the thought just popped into my brain: If a guy doesn’t want to be with me, it’s because he is not the right guy for me.

  Let me tell you, the sheer clarity of it nearly knocked me over.

  And from that day on, my English dating life changed. Because I finally realized that when love isn’t in our lives, it’s because true love is on its way.

  RECOMMENDED READING:

  Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding

  Yes, the movie stars Hugh Grant at his devilish best, but I promise you the book is even better. This book defined the literary genre of brainy yet batty girls wandering through London looking for Mr. Right yet always falling for Mr. Wrong. Fielding is the Nancy Mitford of our generation, and as far as I’m concerned Bridget Jones’s Diary is such a classic that it belongs on every English syllabus. If you’re dating, or attempting to date, English guys, you must, must read it.