New York is supposedly home to the world’s biggest population of Peter Pans: men determined never to grow up. At least, that’s what I’ve been told—repeatedly.
So when I told my family, friends and virtually anyone else who would listen that I was finished with Australian men and moving to New York, their reaction was less than encouraging. Most of them laughed.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” one friend scoffed in our New York group chat. “It’s a cesspit over here.” The others soon piled on, each with a dating disaster of their own.
One friend recalled being dumped after she moved to Williamsburg. Her ex claimed, with a straight face, “I just don’t want to do long distance.”
Dear reader, the journey from his Upper East Side apartment to her new home took 35 minutes door-to-door. I’ve spent longer waiting for a man to find the g-spot.
I’ve also watched Sex and the City (SATC) far too many times, so I know the formula. Carrie spent a remarkable amount of the show crying over a man who simply couldn’t commit. Clearly, this is a long-established New York dating tradition.
The fact that SATC managed to build six seasons around the horrors of dating in New York suggests the city has long been a uniquely twisted playground for men.
After rewatching all six seasons, I can still recognize the same dating nightmares circulating in 2026.
When I told family, friends and almost everyone else I knew that I was leaving Australian men behind for New York, they practically laughed in my face.
Six seasons of Sex and the City built around New York’s dating disasters prove the city has always been a complicated playground for men.
There’s the man who is far too attached to his mother—Trey’s unsettling relationship with Bunny Macdougal remains impossible to forget. Then there’s the model-obsessed type, a season-one classic that still seems to be thriving across most boroughs.
There’s also the man who thinks ending a relationship with a Post-it note is perfectly acceptable, though these days the weapon of choice is usually a text. And then there are the kinky politicians. Really, do I need to provide more specific examples?
I’d add a few more categories: CEOs, short kings with anger issues, men with baffling approaches to climax, overly sensitive artists, emotionally unavailable millionaires, exhibitionists, embittered divorcees and, to put it delicately, the “butt stuff” enthusiasts. What is it with men and our backsides? I’m sure I’ll find out eventually.
And after Carrie finally managed to tame her own Peter Pan, he died. Her response? Instead of returning to the dating battlefield, she simply went back to an ex. Sheesh.
Yet here I am, having moved halfway around the world to date the very men SATC and my friends have spent years warning me about.
I know changing cities won’t magically repair my love life. But I had grown too comfortable complaining about the same men in the same bars, and I was ready to try something different. I’m not prepared to abandon dating altogether—not even when 74 percent of New Yorkers say finding love in the Big Apple is impossible.
I’ve heard the stories about men who arrange wonderful dates while offering precisely the same experience to several other women. I’ve heard about those who vanish the instant you begin to feel comfortable.
One friend even told me she was dumped by her boyfriend’s assistant because, apparently, he had a “busy schedule.”
After a decade of situationships with Australian men, those stories sounded almost charming.
Surely New York couldn’t be worse than Australia, where too many blokes think thongs—or “flip-flops,” as they’re called here—are suitable datewear. Throw in board shorts and a generous cloud of Lynx Africa, and apparently we’re ready for romance.
OK, OK, I may be exaggerating a little. But I’ve dated enough men whose idea of organizing an evening starts with, ‘I don’t know, what do you feel like doing?’ to get the sense that commitment is the last thing on their mind. I have the ten years of situationships to back that up.
Yet, I’ve relocated halfway around the world to date men that shows like SATC and my girlfriends have actively warned me about
Spoiler: if they do deign to plan a date, it will usually end up being at a pub. And don’t get me wrong, I love a pub, but after years of beer-garden dates, I was beginning to wonder why I bothered popping on the sexy panties for these men.
Worse, I could feel myself getting bitter. I was spending more time dissecting disappointing dates with girlfriends than actually looking forward to them.
At 42, I still want to fall in love. I’d like to get married. I’m just struggling to get excited about a future with a man who needs me to choose the venue and remind him to book it.
So, when the opportunity to live in New York full time arose, they didn’t have to ask me twice.
I’ve been writing for Our News Outlet US for a while now, popping on a plane a few times a year to report ‘live from the scene.’ Now I’m here properly, with this column and a new podcast and YouTube show, Love Bites.
Basically, I’ve been given permission to ask Americans wildly personal questions for a living, while immersing myself in the dating scene.
And you can bet your a** I’m going to take full advantage.
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I want to know what it’s like to date a Texan. I’m curious about the hat and prepared to investigate what’s underneath it. I want to find out whether Southern charm survives the morning after.
I’m even prepared to join a singles running club, although ideally, I’ll meet someone during the warm-up who would also prefer to ditch the running portion for conversation over breakfast.
I want to investigate the rumors about men’s spas being hookup joints, and travel to more orgasm retreats in the Californian desert. I want to prop myself up in beautiful New York hotel bars and see if the men here really do have more game.
I want to play pool in a dive bar with a tattooed man who wears a beanie unironically. I’m aware this last endeavor could undo years of personal growth, but I’m keeping an open mind.
So time for a pivot. One big lovely life plot twist.
When the opportunity to live in New York full time arose, they didn’t have to ask me twice
New to the city, I’m curious again. I want to go out. I want to flirt. I’ve started looking around rooms instead of looking at my phone.
And during my first few days here, New York has given me a very good reason to pay attention.
Just last night, I was sitting at the bar at The Beekman Hotel with a friend when a bartender came over.
‘A man at the other end of the bar would like to buy you ladies a drink,’ he said. ‘And he told me to tell you, “Congrats on the job.”‘
Wait, what?
I asked him to point the man out. A charming spectacled man waved, then came over to introduce himself.
He explained that he followed me on Instagram, recognized me when I walked in and remembered my posts about starting in Our News Outlet’s New York office.
‘So I thought I’d better buy you a drink!’
Well. That was considerably more appealing than a stranger opening with, ‘You look like trouble,’ and waiting for me to be impressed with the tired pick-up line.
This man at the hotel bar, however, had noticed something important happening in my life and made a thoughtful gesture. We had a lovely chat, and my friend and I got to enjoy a round of cocktails without having to flag down the bartender ourselves.
I’m easily pleased, apparently. Although some of the men I’ve dated would dispute that.
Looking around the bar, I noticed something else I could get used to. These men had made an effort with their appearance and had style, something I’d already been appreciating on the streets and the subway as I explored my new home.
During my first few days here, New York has given me a very good reason to pay attention
The leather shoes. Don’t even get me started.
Of course, a well-dressed man can ghost just as efficiently as one in board shorts. My girlfriends may yet get to say, ‘I told you so.’ But I’d like to have a little fun before handing them the satisfaction of being right.
So welcome to my column. Whether you’re in the same singles boat or reading this beside a husband you’re suddenly feeling quite grateful for, I invite you along for the ride.
There will be sex, and probably a few deep dives into new trending kinks you’ll wish you hadn’t read about over breakfast. I’ll weigh in on the celebrity cheating scandals, and no doubt make a few dating decisions you’ll have opinions on too.
I’ve heard enough about how bad it is out here. I’m popping the sexy panties back on and finding out for myself.
And American men, if there’s one thing I can ask of you, seeing as the bar is low right now when it comes to my expectations…
If you want to date me (or any woman for that matter), let me make it easy for you. Follow these simple instructions and you will be on the road to success: Pick a date, tell us the place and time and make a booking.
Wear something nice, add a nice spritz of cologne and for the love of god men… don’t bark your resume and gym accomplishments at me. No one is asking you to lift anything, and this is not your annual performance review. Lean in, listen and better yet… ask questions.
Simple.
Hello New York… you sexy beast of a city.
