live life fully

by: Fosca S. D’Acierno

I’ve lived in Italy for almost thirty years, each decade clearly marked by three extraordinary, failed love stories with Italian men. 

They hailed from different regions and backgrounds, with families, professions, and personalities as diverse as the country itself. I married at 28, certain it was forever, until I discovered he was a serial cheater. As a serial monogamist and hopeless romantic, I asked for a divorce and joined a dating site at 44. 

I was a single mom with a demanding job, a set routine and social circle dictated by work and my daughter, and had been with the same person for twenty years. Online dating, previously uncharted territory, seemed to be the only way to meet someone.

My first date with a handsy engineer was disastrous. My second turned into a passionate, toxic, amour fou rollercoaster that left me depleted but prudent. I dated a lot when we were on the outs, becoming an unwitting expert on Italian men and online courtship. In my 40s, I did it all with enthusiasm and leggerezza. I had fun, met cool people, racked up an arsenal of nightmare stories, and had delicious dalliances with younger men. 

Based on past and present experiences, I can assure you that Italian men are partial to older women and often seek us out. Are they looking for mother figures? Do they want to be mothered? It’s not for me to say or to generalize.

Still, to understand Italian men, you must reckon with the sacrality and centrality of la mamma in this culture and her lasting impact on your romantic life at any age.  

I finally cut ties with the person I now affectionately call “the psychopath,” and shortly thereafter, met my partner of eight years on Tinder, positive that we would endure. I ended things with him last May and swore off men forever. 

Yet here I am, one year later, with a three-month paid subscription to Hinge. 

Dating in your 50s hits differently

You’re empowered by knowledge, sharper instincts, fewer insecurities, and clearer objectives. You wear your scars like badges of honor, understand who you are and what you want, and feel proud that you still believe in love despite the heartbreaks. 

The urgency of your 40s is gone. You aim to please only yourself.

Can you find someone by chance? I don’t think it’s impossible, but it’s not easy, even with a vast network and an active social life. I can’t seem to meet available men in real life and wouldn’t know where to look for them. Stepping into a virtual piazza simply increases the probability. 

While it feels pretentious to say I’m an expert, I’ve had enough liaisons with Italians to offer some advice to those of you who are thinking about joining a dating site or are already there.

What I’ve Learned So Far

Pay for it. A paid subscription is your best option. If someone invests money, they’re likely to be more serious. It also gives you options, whereas free versions limit what you can see and do. If unsure, buy a one-month trial. I did that with Hinge and ended up renewing when they offered me a financially advantageous deal. Facebook dating is free, but it felt icky after I got hateful comments, so I left minutes after joining. I also tried Tinder again. Free in the past, I discovered you can’t do much of anything now without paying. I also found it suboptimal for my age and relationship goals. 

“Status symbols”. I’ve matched, chatted, and gone out with men who assured me they were single, only to learn they were either separati in casa (separated but living together), married, or in committed relationships. Men and women lie about their relationship status all the time, and while I doubt it’s a uniquely Italian phenomenon, it’s ubiquitous here. I like Hinge because you can specify if you’re looking for monogamy, non-monogamy, or are still on the fence. Relationship ambiguity is a dealbreaker for me. 

Don’t trust the age. I don’t lie about my age, virtually or in the real world — but many do. I recently received a message from a man (an officer of the law, my friends) who claimed to be 46, but later confessed he was 54. If you’re lying about your age, what other lies will you tell me? I regret not calling him out on it before booting him from my pool of would-be suitors. 

Watch the love bombing. Italian men know how to talk the talk. Stay focused when they toss swoon-worthy compliments your way. I’ve lost count of the many romantic, overly flattering, borderline love-bombers I’ve encountered. A man just commented on my profile photo, “Quando Madre Natura fa un bel lavoro (when Mother Nature does a good job).” It’s easy to be wooed by a line like this, one I’m sure he always opens with, but this is a modus operandi for lots of Italian males. It got my attention, but when I perused his profile and cut through the sweet talk, it wasn’t pretty. 

Cast a wider net. Online dating is disorienting, even more so in a foreign language and culture. While you might be tempted to engage with multiple men on several apps, I recommend sticking to one person and app at a time. Keep in mind the non-Italian men out there, too. With some apps, you can cast a wide geographical net, and you might even run across those who are in Italy for travel or work, and match with someone from a different city or country. And let’s not forget our male counterparts who’ve made Italy their home. I went on a date with an Aussie simply because he wasn’t Italian (see aforementioned track record). It was cordial and sparkless, but he didn’t even text me after to say he’d enjoyed meeting me. Italian men typically do, and although I had happily friend-zoned him, I realized I’ve come to expect it as a courtesy.

The Date I Cancelled  

A couple of weeks ago, I matched with a local, slightly younger, nice-looking, accomplished, interesting man with kids my daughter’s age. We swiftly moved to WhatsApp, chatted easily, and made a date. 

As the evening of our aperitivo neared, I was consumed by anxiety and realized I had no desire to meet him. 

In the past, I’d have gone anyway — gotten all gussied up, eager to charm him. But something gave me pause.

His still-raw separation from a cheating wife. The casual mention of another freshly ended, serious relationship. My unwillingness to be a rebound. My witchy and often spot-on sixth sense.

I texted him at lunchtime, “I know it’s just a drink, but I’ve been agonizing over it for days. I don’t think I’m ready to put myself out there again. I need to listen to my gut.” 

He replied promptly, compassionately, and with grace. 

I told him I hoped we’d stay in touch, though I doubt we will. I realized with great satisfaction that I can no longer ignore that little voice. Not when it screams and not when it whispers. A stillness and self-assuredness characterize the quest for romance in my 50s. It’s a first for me, and I’m loving it.

Also, until further notice, I’m taking a beat before trying my luck again on Hinge.