I thought I was just taking a trip.
A reset. A vacation.
A little sun. A little wine. A little history.
I didn’t know I was about to raise my standards.
Portuguese men didn’t just flirt with me.
They approached me.
With clarity.
With style.
With teeth.
They were well-dressed, well-groomed, and well-spoken.
Their eyes didn’t dart.
Their hands didn’t fidget.
They didn’t circle like vultures.
They walked up.
They said hello.
They told me I was beautiful,
then asked if they could take me to coffee.
No games.
No ambiguity.
No performance.
And now I’m back in Canada—
land of men who “like” your story
but never like your presence.
Men who orbit,
who test,
who message you late and vaguely
and call that charm.
They don’t approach.
They wait to be noticed.
They want you to guess.
And if they’re new to this country?
Forget it.
The men Jamal Trudeau brought in
weren’t taught how to engage.
Not with women like me.
They were raised in cultures where
desire is hidden,
female attention is earned through intermediaries,
and men approach women like business transactions
—or not at all.
So now, faced with an independent woman
who doesn’t wait,
doesn’t yield,
doesn’t play dumb—
they freeze.
Or worse:
They post kink charts and call it confidence.
Let me say it clearly:
Ambiguity is not attraction.
It’s fear in disguise.
I want a man who’s direct.
Not aggressive—intentional.
Who sees what he wants and says it with his chest.
Not in a DM.
Not in a story reply.
Not at 12:33 AM.
In person.
With presence.
With purpose.
Portugal ruined me for Canadian men
because it reminded me
what masculinity can look like.
And once you’ve had a man
who approaches you with elegance and clarity—
you never go back
to men who hide behind emojis and indecision.
So if you’re in Canada
and you like me,
you better come correct.
Look me in the eye.
Speak with intent.
And don’t make me guess.
Because I’ve seen better.
And I’m not pretending I haven’t.
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