Diary of a Gen Z Student: The differences between Irish and Portugese men when it comes to flirting

Irish Examiner

12 hours ago

'Stay away from those Portuguese boys', was the sage advice my father gave to me as he kindly dropped me to Terminal 1 of Dublin airport last week. Classic fatherly advice.
And classic daughterly reaction: I laughed at him. I was going to Lisbon with one of the girls for a few days of sun and Aperol Spritzes. And spending evenings bar hopping in a city means that it's pretty difficult to avoid interacting with the opposite sex.
Now, I wasn't born yesterday (it was 2004, thank you very much). So, I wasn't naïve about how these interactions may play out.
And we all know that there are some stark differences between how Irish men and men from the continent attempt to gain the attention of someone they may find attractive. Throughout my trip, I was taking note of these differences. Here are my takeaways.
In Ireland, alcohol is a necessary prerequisite for most romantic advances. A sober Irish person expressing any sort of attraction is a rarity.
Instead, guys will tend to look nervously into their pint glass, waiting for the liquid courage to kick in. Alcohol is the perfect defence mechanism.
If things go awry, 'Oh I didn't know what I was saying!' will shield the failed suitor from most embarrassment. But while most Irish people will require at least three drinks before they could even consider flirting with someone, the rest of Europe seems to wake up ready for action.
Maybe it's all the espresso. Maybe it's the heat. But Portuguese men have no fear of rejection that I could detect.
If you're walking down a nice cobblestone street, crowded with people going about their day in Lisbon, a Portuguese man will not be deterred by the idea of people witnessing his possible rejection.
Being serenaded at 10am on a busy street was not on my Bingo card for 2025. Nevertheless, spontaneous serenading seemed to be a go to move for Portuguese men. I wish I was joking.
In reality, I found myself oddly impressed with the confidence of these men. They were not concerned about any sort of rules for romance.
Browsing in a shop, ordering a coffee, reapplying sun cream, burning my feet on scorching hot sand. Everything was an opportunity for love, I soon learned.
One aspect of flirting by Portuguese men that I struggled with, was their approach to romance.
Irish men don't tend to progress beyond the schoolyard stuff. In primary school, you're told that 'He's only being mean to you because he likes you'. And that's usually correct.
I spent my youth assuming that boys would grow out of that stuff. However, I have been proven very wrong in this regard. I swear, if my hair was in pigtails, they would pull it and run away.
Irish men will slag you for almost anything. Your accent, your secondary school, your tiny handbag, I've heard it all. A man trying to flirt by acting like he actually likes me? Now that's just weird.
What do you mean, you 'like my dress'? You're not going to slag me? I don't know how to react to anything other than mild bullying. That's just how I was raised.
Being too nice has got to be a red flag. Because all I'm thinking is, this niceness can't be genuine. You don't really care if I've got green eyes. Laugh at me for looking like I've never left the Pale, for god's sake!
Basically, I was being forced to traverse some rocky terrain on my travels. Turning around to listen to a street performer, only to realise it was a man in flipflops, serenading you in Portuguese, ready to ask you if being from Ireland makes you British.
Again, I wish I was joking. Sure, the cocktails were cheaper in Lisbon. But no six euro Aperol Spritz could fill the craic-shaped hole in my heart.
I know I do a serious amount of complaining about Irish men in this column. And frankly, I think most of it is more than warranted.
But you know when you're a kid, you beg your parents for a takeaway, and they inevitable respond by saying, 'We have food at home.'
What I'm getting at is, maybe we should bring that kind of thinking on our holidays. They may be shy, but we do have boys at home.
And they'll at least understand that compliments without slagging are just a little off-putting for the modern Irish woman.
This has got to be some sort of Stockholm Syndrome…
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