Rewarding Mediocrity: Coffee, Steaks, and Notting Hill

A little on why I blame Hugh Grant for everything

This past week on @swipes4daddy we had another unsurprising case of a man rebranding ordinary chores as something to be revered. This dad, let’s call him Greg, teased me with a peculiar line which read, “I’m good at everything. I can do more than what an average person can do.”

Now this could mean a myriad of things. Is he a multilingual cave-diving poet? Or perhaps a Michelin-star chef who also develops quantum technology at CERN? If he’s good at everything, he’s going to be one helluva Renaissance Man™ and I couldn’t wait to find out what it was that separates him from the ‘average person.’ Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise me and I’ll be swept off my feet. 

Let’s dig in and see what Greg had to say:

What Greg can do: cook a steak, is a self-proclaimed amazing lover, gives massage (before or after steak and sex, I’m not sure), turns on the Keurig, AND he does those menial things better than most.

I’m not sure what kind of response Greg expected from me, but if this is the kind of chivalrous behavior our moms had to deal with then no wonder they’d rather spend time playing Candy Crush on their phones than talking to their husbands. When you first read Greg’s messages you truly want to believe he’s kidding, but the uncomfortable reality of this exchange is that he’s not. The things I wouldn’t think twice about (make a cup of coffee, make myself cum) would be his proudest accomplishments. This is really rich coming from a generation who criticized millennials for getting consolation prizes (again, something his generation came up with to reward our generation for the bare minimum). 

However, I really can’t keep blaming men ‘of a certain age.’ This coming September marks my fourth anniversary of living in the UK. As an American, I came here for the cheaper master’s program, but my dual-citizenship with Poland has allowed me to overstay my welcome and exploit the NHS for free healthcare as I work as a freelancer in specialist-factual science television & documentaries.

During this time I had to resolve my loneliness by dating the men (aged 28-35) here in this kingdom. My impression of the traditional British lad was fed to me by the movies I grew up on and as I’ve come to intimately know, it’s this exact stereotype that London men truly love to base their entire personalities on. What do I mean exactly? The quintessential London man genuinely believes he is Hugh Grant in Notting Hill, a movie I have never fully seen because I was far too offended by Julia Roberts’s character, who falls for the disheveled charm of a man that spills coffee on her. From my recollection, Anna Scott (Julia Roberts) is a gorgeous, talented American actress filming a movie in London, while William Thacker (Hugh Grant) runs a failing travel bookshop, has a weird roommate, and is extremely clumsy, (so the British equivalent of a casanova). As I said, he spills coffee on her, invites her to clean up in his apartment, and then she gives him a kiss. None of this shares any semblance to reality if someone were to actually spill a drink on you. Funny enough, one of the guys that bullied me in middle school recently got out of prison for beating a man into a coma over a spilled drink at a bar. I think I’m more likely to find myself in a situation like that than going to a stranger’s to undress out of my wet shirt.

Now I too have been guilty of rewarding men for the bare minimum. One time a British Man™ I was dating made sure to check the wine he bought was vegan. I was FLOORED by this action, even though I was the one who educated him on how all wines aren’t vegan on our first date in a wine cellar. But alas, he cared! He made sure I wasn’t drinking wine that was processed with fish bladder and that meant more to me than it should have. Small niceties are amongst the many talents of London boys of all ages. The ones I’ve dated have all been anxious, fumbling, wannabe posh, but more frustratingly, they treat their lives as a performance. They have this magical ability to turn on their charm in front of small children, dogs, and waiters that will really seduce the pants off you. It’s as if they’ve bottled up the Hugh Grant persona and pour it out a little in moments where they know you’re paying attention. Not only can they make the people around them feel special - they’re even better at making you feel like you’re the most interesting person on earth. If you’ve dated shitty people, you know that there’s no better feeling than someone making you feel special, even if only for a moment. 

However, the niceties fade after a while and this is how dating London boys (as an American) actually turns out: they make fun of my accent for a few weeks, they wonder what our kids will look like, they tell me the symbol on their family signet ring is the head of a slave (true story), they shower you with affection, then they start crying out of nowhere, they dump you, they immediately start dating someone who looks like their mom, repeat.

I never take a British Man™ at face-value anymore. I’ve now gotten so used to this pattern that I know that what I see on the first few dates will not be what’s to come. Sooner or later I’m faced with their real personality — one that is either deeply narcissistic or one dedicated to taking out their insecurities on you in the most cliché sadboi of ways. Either is exhausting to deal with, which brings me back to Greg. Greg is all talk. Is he amazing in bed? Is his coffee and steak the best? We know the answer is “no,” but I’m sure Greg’s convinced some women in his time otherwise. Slowly you realize the coffee is burnt, the steak’s given you food poisoning, and Greg is spending more time wanking in the shower than he is going down on you. British men have turned their own mediocrity into a bespoke, tailor-made experience for whoever they’re courting. The world revolves around how amazing you are, until they remind you that actually the world revolves around them.

I don’t know what happens in the middle of Notting Hill. I don’t really care to find out because I’m pretty sure William fucks up at some point then realizes he’s made a huge mistake and goes running back to Anna. (Okay, I read that on Wikipedia). However, we do know that it’s the highest-grossing British film of all time, which means it surely left an impression on those who grew up watching it - similar, I think, to how Ghost (1990) assured me that I’d be able to afford a 4000-square-foot Manhattan loft AND have all the free-time in the world to do pottery in a sleeveless button-down. The London Boys I’ve been with have, on their own, referenced Hugh Grant on more than one occasion as their foundation for romance. It’s granted them permission to be uncombed, well-educated guys in wrinkled shirts, who can make a few off-color comments and get away with it. I mean, look at their prime minister:

Straight men, but especially English straight men, have gotten away with atrocities for centuries. Delusions of grandeur and Hugh Grant have only fueled the fire and paved the way for Greg and his lovely cup of coffee & steak — or all the Tom’s and Henry’s on Hinge who know the ‘best place in town’ for negronis. Stay vigilant and always remember there’s more to a lad than what you see when guzzling down your first-date pint.