Tab Asks – Gay or European?

Year Abroad student Abby Dorani struggles with Madrid metrosexuals

As a singleton of several years, I have had my fair share of awkward “man moments”. There was the Scot who lacked his front tooth. Then there was the guy I’d just met who waited two hours for me to leave a club when he was denied entrance. But an area I hadn’t dabbled my feet in before my year abroad was non British European men, so as a result I had great confidence that here on the Continent I would find something with a lot more promise.

However, something nobody warned me about was this scenario:

Imagine, ladies: There you are on the dance floor after a drink (or five) when you spot the Spaniard of your dreams across the bar. Tall, dark and handsome. (Yes, that’s everything you want in a man). Oh look, you think, he even has handsome friends. Especially that one. Oh, hold on, they’re getting a bit close. They must be really good friends. Oh no, wait, what’s happening? WHY IS MY GUY KISSING HIS FRIEND?! 

And so your vision of a perfect future ends and you come to the realization that your Gaydar, which has never before faltered, is useless to you in this new and foreign land. The problem is, here in Europe, many straight men might appear at first glance to live up to certain British stereotypes; I myself admit that I originally thought that one of my very own “conquests” was hitting on my male friend. With their pristine fashion sense and their immaculately coiffed hair, it can be difficult to decipher if a guy is simply taking pride in his appearance as a modern metrosexual man or whether this is someone you should simply befriend, at least for the sake of having a wingman to help you with this conundrum.

Key areas of confusion:

• The continental flawless fashion sense.
• The widespread tight jeans fashion.
• The healthy attention to skin and hair care.

Might I also add, it is not just the men that can be misleading. One dear friend of mine, who was in desperate search of a guy to end her drought, couldn’t escape the prying eyes of many French females. So I suppose the moral of the story ought to be one we’re all familiar with: Never judge a book by its cover!