Hang in enough bars and you’ll hear English men on dates, often with women far too attractive for them, doing their best Hugh Grant impression and using words like “totty” and “crumpet”. There’ll be a picture of him with a union flag or looking mock-bewildered in Times Square. “Englishman in New York!” is his Tinder bio.
And they know it, too there’s a type of English man who has carved out a space for himself as being, well, English. In New York City I have often seen the blandest, dreariest, most potato-like English men elevated to stud status (it’s English people – typical – who benefit more than the Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish). Given the diversity of the city, and the alleged worldliness of its residents, there are a lot of New Yorkers who will claim to be above finding different nationalities interesting. In New York City, being British should be less interesting. I lost it, but for the first time in my life I felt exotic. When I was new to New York, an American woman overheard me in a deli asking for a blueberry “bun” rather than muffin. If, like me, you’re a bit boring, you can still rely on someone at a party, or in a bar, or – once – in the shower at a swimming pool being curious about your origins. Being a foreigner abroad doesn’t necessarily make you interesting, but it does at least give you something to talk about.
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