The Problem With Dating Australian Men

I’ve dated a lot of different men, so don’t come at me for generalising.
Image by Sablin via iStockphoto.

Degrading myself is one of my hobbies and dating Australian men is one way I do it. 

I’ve dated – and fucked – a lot of different men, so don’t come at me for generalising. From underground rappers who were likely also pimps, to philosophy reading sad-boys who looked like they needed a wash and went to private school, to investment banking analysts from The Area, to clout-chasing music scene boys – the common denominator is they all fucking suck.


I was once told I have liberty in my eyes by a sexy Georgian man I met in a Greek restaurant in Sydney after he’d poured me a “long black” – which is just a cup full of vodka with a splash of coke. I didn’t care if that creative compliment was just to fuck me because I knew at least he’d probably, actually, make me cum. 

Why are Aussie men so afraid to summon, at the very least, some sort of compliment that isn’t “you’re so fun” or “you’re such a baddie”? They’re just straight up lazy. And it’s this laziness that permeates Australian dating culture in general, from organising dates to texting back.

Don’t get me started on dating apps. The rhetoric around the typical Aussie man on Hinge is boring though, we get it: there’s a load of gym selfies, fish selfies and mullets. 

What no one’s talking about is the surge of Aussie men in “open relationships”. 

Since Hinge added its “relationship type” feature I’ve clocked a load of them. I had enough of that shit for four years in Berlin but the Aussie breed is worse. They’re too lazy or afraid to introduce any sort of parameters or boundaries and you end up having an angry wife banging on your door at 1 a.m. or Facebook messaging you with the opening line, “Hello lovely, you seem like a smart young woman but…”.

It’s tough out here. I’m sorry I didn’t marry my high-school boyfriend and pop out four kids by age thirty just to stay at home and take care of them while my husband drives his navy blue Subaru to and from his work and his side-piece’s house… But could that reality be better than being on the dating scene?


You either meet a sweetheart who seems okay but then fucks you four times without giving you head, or they ghost, or tell you to not tell anyone you’re fucking (has happened to a beautiful friend of mine THREE!!! times), or roll over and text other girls while you’re still naked in their bed (has happened to multiple friends of mine).

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Australian men also suck at love-bombing. At least in Europe when men love-bomb, you get a trip to Italy out of it. 

Here, they buy you the ugliest flowers you’ve ever seen and eventually give you chlamydia.

And the men in Australia who don’t love-bomb you are boring as shit, they take you on five dates to mediocre restaurants and lame-as-fuck dive bars then tell you they “don’t have time to date”, even though they work part-time and their only hobby is indoor rock climbing. Like what the fuck does that even mean? Are they never horny?

Thankfully, through a lot of introspection I’ve graduated from making out with unemployed graffiti artists in the bathroom of my local pub because they DM’d me from the opposite side of the beer garden – to not fucking on the first date. 

The pipeline from the former to the latter mainly involves realising that the only way to deal with Australian men is to take control (and a bit of self-respect, of course). It’s harder than it sounds but be a bitch. See Australian men as temporary, because they are. Don’t lie to yourself anymore. 

Then, you can go on a Euro-trip with them and run off with a rich Norwegian banker you meet on a yacht in Greece.

Jewel Nichols is a writer and part-time psycho from Sydney who loves to talk about herself and flirt with security guards.