Dodging Red Flags, Finding Myself in Bucharest

Introduction

So I’ve been living in Bucharest since last September. And yeah. If I get a coin for every time someone asks me why the fuck I came here…

Honestly, after my breakup in Toronto, I just wanted to run off somewhere far away and lick my wounds. Europe felt like the perfect distraction.

Once I found out Romania is one of the few EU countries that offer long-term residency for Canadian citizens, sprinkled with the promises of hot girls and cheap cost of living, I was sold. You know, what more could a heartbroken nomad ask for?

With a suitcase full of hopes and Levi’s jeans, I flew into the mystical land called Romania. The capital city of Bucharest to be exact.

Ok, James. Establish your home base, find some photo clients, travel around Europe, and find a nice girl.

And I wish the last part was that simple. The universe planned something completely different for me when it comes to finding love here.

But after cursing every god of love in every language through a long, cold Bucharest winter….I’ve come to appreciate my dating experiences in Bucharest. Grateful, even.

So yeah. Let’s dive in.

The Life and Romance I Hoped to Find in Bucharest

Maybe it’s because I watched way too many Bond movies growing up, I really romanticized my life in Eastern Europe and Eastern European girls.

The foreign and exciting man goes on this epic adventure in an exotic land, fights off big and scary dudes, and meets and seduces this gorgeous and traditional girl. They hold hands and drive off into the sunset to reproduce lots of little humans and raise chickens on a farm. Fade to black and happily ever after.

Hey, don’t laugh ok. I was really that naive and ignorant of Eastern European history and culture.

What I Actually Found When Reality Slapped Me in the Face

Turned out, the only things traditional about dating in Bucharest are unhealed traumas and superficiality. In my experience.

And after dating in Bucharest for the last 6 months, I was tempted to throw away all the healing and growth I had done for myself after the breakup and revert back to the same old toxic, materialistic douchebag I once was, just to fit in and play the Bucharest game.

I started questioning my life choices, and my self-worth, after being repeatedly told everything I’ve done in life is not high-status, profitable enough.

When I was back in Canada, I couldn’t wait to tell people that I run a niche photography business, because it’s creative and cool.

Here in Bucharest, I dread that inevitable question: “So what do you do for work?” Because being “just a photographer” here often signals to people you are broke and unimportant.

I used to think people were just trying to make small talk when they asked me: “So where do you live?” Now I know it’s just a loaded question to size my wallet up.

I was hoping that traditional Eastern European values would make girls healthier partners, but now I have learned that inner child wounds and traumas can manifest in many different flavors. Even in a more traditional and conservative society.

And being consistent, kind, and playing no games is a turn-off because you don’t remind her of her emotionally absent father enough to create that “spark”.

And I’m not saying all this to shit on Romania. I’ve met some of the kindest people here. I even consider this Romanian grandpa (he’s 11 years older) one of my dearest friends.

This is not a hit piece.

This is a tale about staying true to yourself, even if you feel like the whole city is pressuring you into becoming someone you are not.

And this is a story about deeply felt pain, how both men and women are dating with a hurt little child inside, and dragging each other into further misery and mutual destruction.

And this is about true love. The thing that everyone just longs for at the end of the day. The kind of love that’s pure, and unconditional, and the kind of love that doesn’t come with games and masks.

I Really Tried to Play the Bucharest Game and Failed

It didn’t take me very long to realize that image, status, and toxic behaviors are the holy trinity of getting girls in Bucharest. And luxury cars, expensive-looking outfits, and fake Rolexes are unofficially the Romanian single-guy starter pack here.

Well, if I can’t beat them, join them right? And many girls actually respond well to those here.

I started to sneak in little details about my profitable business in Canada, my cozy little apartment in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Bucharest, I started to wear expensive logos and platform shoes like my self-esteem depended on it.

I told myself that I was just adapting to the dating culture in Bucharest. And I was just trying to level the playing field because it seemed like every goddamn rich Bucharest douchebag was doing it and being rewarded with hot girls for it.

And it worked. I got numbers and went on dates with girls with faces of an angel, the kind of girls that made me want to tell my friends in Canada that I was never coming back.

But in that process, I failed my authentic self, and I failed my future ex-wife who will love me for who I am on the inside.

The Moment I Had to Face My Soul

After venting about my frustration with “these Romanian girls” to a trusted mentor and getting his perspectives, and a bit of nudge from my own intuition.

I finally had to ask myself that question, and I’m so fucking glad I did, is this really what I want?

Even when I was getting validation, and ego boosts from pretty girls, there was this voice inside of me that whispered: “She likes what you represent, not who you are as a person”

And my friend confirmed that.

Calmly, with a hint of Swedish accent, he said: “I can tell you this much. If she starts to like you mainly for your status and money, the moment you hit financial problems, you’ll have relationship troubles, too”

And the worst part is - when I told a girl that I rescued a homeless kitten and found her a forever home, she just nodded.

When I told her I created a Tinder photo business and achieved some financial freedom. Her eyes lit up, turned to her friend, and bragged: “Wow! He has a company in Canada”

I wish I could pretend how unseen I felt in that moment. And I wish I could pretend that I wasn’t turned off by that.

Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with someone like that?

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

And being a recovering toxic douchebag, I know what girls with unresolved issues would respond to: make yourself look like a cool guy, make her feel a little insecure, and you keep her chasing for your validation. And you never fully let her know that she can have you.

And this works. For a girl who is hurt inside and desperately wants to find her worth in some guy who she thinks could validate her and make her feel good enough.

But what kind of fucking relationship would that be. It feels like work, a cold-hearted calculation, it feels like distance and walls, not connection and intimacy, and ultimately, this is not what I want anymore.

It feels like you are trading something sacred and pure, for an empty shell of what true love could feel like. And that’s just depressing. Being with someone but feeling lonelier than being alone.

And It saddens me to look around Bucharest and realize that so many of these gorgeous girls, wearing perfect makeup and runway outfits, are just trying to cover up the pain of never being told they are worthy and loved. By parents who were too caught up in trying to survive a post-communist dystopia. By hurting little boys who failed to see the real human underneath it all.

It’s nobody’s fault.

But a hurt little boy hurts another hurt little girl. The hurt little girl closes her heart and says: “men are assholes, so why should I be nice and trust them.”

And the cycle goes on, and on.

Two hurt people come together desperately trying to make themselves feel ok, only to continue the same old song and dance all over again.

Slow dancing in a fucking burning room.

But I’ve had my fair share of that song and dance, I’ve hurt and been hurt. Excuse me for not wanting to go down in flames again.

And You Know What the Real Kicker Is

I bitch and moan that Bucharest dating is shallow and materialistic—and yeah, it is still true, to a large extent.

I say I’m tired of meeting one pretty girl with red flags after another—and yeah, sadly, a lot of people here carry generational trauma.

But if I’m being honest with myself… I was the one who made my dating life in Bucharest shallow and toxic.

I dressed the part. I chased after the “hot” girls. I asked out the ones who lived for Instagram. I helped reinforce the very dating culture I claimed to be disgusted by. And I did it willingly because, on some level, it made me feel like I was worthy.

It’s humbling—embarrassing, even—to realize that the thing I hated out there was also in me.

I rode in on my high horse, pointing fingers at all these “superficial girls with low esteem”... while being the male version of exactly that.

Because let’s be real—Bucharest didn’t make me walk away from that beautiful physiologist girl who seemed genuinely into me. The one who actually smiled, a real smile, and stayed present while I fumbled through my amateur takes on evolutionary psychology.

And Bucharest didn’t make me turn my back on the cute nerd who laughed way too hard at my offensive joke about angry Bucharest drivers and shared my love for video games.

That was all me. I was so busy chasing after mirages who made me feel validated that I overlooked the ones who made me feel seen.

The ones who dressed with style—not to impress, but to express who they really were. The ones who didn’t reduce people to simple labels. The ones who liked me for all my weird little quirks.

Because I didn’t think they were “hot enough”.

And just like that, I created my own personal hell.

Finding My Way Back to Myself and Love

I kept saying I wanted something real—but I was the one putting on a polished front, hoping to impress people who were never going to appreciate me for who I really was.

I was out here searching for depth in all the shallow places. In all the wrong people. And when I didn’t find it, I blamed the city.

And the truth is,

I didn’t fully believe that the real me was ever going to be good enough.

But I’m tired. Tired of putting on my best outfits each day.Tired of doing mental gymnastics just to manage my perception in a judgemental society. Tired of wondering if I need to act a little more toxic just to keep her interested.

I just want to show up and be me, the real me. The good, bad, and the ugly. And have her look at me and say, “I like what I see”.

I just want to find someone who still believes in love—in a society that’s been hurt long and deep enough to trade it for image and ego.

And I just want to love and be loved.

So if that means dropping the mask, valuing her for who she is on the inside, and no longer searching for my worth in someone else…

Then so be it. Something has to give. Something has to change.

Conclusion

Last year, I came to Bucharest and hated what I saw. I ran around the city making fun of superficial people like it was my part-time job. Blaming everyone else for my dating problems. Only to slowly realize, that the best thing Bucharest has done for me was holding up a mirror and showing me everything I didn’t want to see in myself.

And the city was never the problem. It was me. And for that, I will be forever grateful.