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Still, when I met my first girlfriend in 2007, a ballerina who had recently moved from San Francisco, I was immediately taken aback by an overarching obsession with status and money.
She had a vision of the man she was going to marry: tall, dark, handsome, and a millionaire.
After all, as she put it, "dancers don't make a lot of money." I wasn't the guy that could spoon feed her, so it ended.
But surely not all American girls thought British men had an endless supply of money?
The Brit eerily reminded me of myself—she ate quickly, washed her food down with beer, and generally wasn't too concerned about how she might look to the outside world, let alone me.
The American, with seemingly impeccable etiquette, ate slowly and cautiously, ensuring the kale salad she was munching on didn't wrap around her big, pearly white teeth.
I've always loved this approach: under-sell, over deliver.
This does not happen in American culture, where women rarely make fun of themselves.
After all, I'd watched my fellow countrymen in film and literature charm the hell out of beautiful American women.
Which brings me to American girlfriend number five, who was paralyzed by her hoards of self-help books.
Over-analyzing American family dynamics is still something that remains a bit of a mystery to me.
Sadly, when we were suddenly thrust into a long distance relationship, the reality set in that it was putting too much stress on our careers.
So with a heavy heart, it was the end of a fairytale love affair.
They weren't all obsessed with fame and fortune, were they?