Copenhagen might feel ridiculously comfortable for everyday life, but the same comfort also murders any sense of romance. The city of Copenhagen might very well be the most unromantic of cities.
Everyone needs a bit of romance. Even the ones who don’t. As season three part one of Bridgerton, which just dropped on Netflix, makes abundantly clear, romance of the extravagant kind is not to be found in our fair city.
In fact, nothing is ever extravagant here, and the fairness of the city is purely expressed in minimalistic earth tones of beige, grey, brown and occasional black. In Copenhagen, elegance means the absence of expression.
The moment I tuned in to the first episode of season three of Bridgerton, I was struck by an explosion of cobalt, turquoise, emerald, mint, teal, magenta, coral, berry, peach, violet, sage, and tangerine.
In fact, I had to stop and rewind to gather myself, as I was stunned by colors I had long long forgotten. I had spent so much time in Plato’s cave that my mind has become as colorless as Copenhagen.
I had not expected to see crepe de chine, mulberry silk, sheer lace, glossy satin and rich velour, because I’m so used to cotton, wool and linen that the mere sight of turquoise satin made my heart beat faster.
Living in Copenhagen dull one’s senses. As Copenhageners are afraid of spice, the restaurants had long become spiceless.
The few who dare to challenge the tastebuds of the city usually don’t last long. The city doesn’t have much foul smell but also lacks pleasant scents. There is very little live music on the streets. And if you tried dating in Copenhagen, you would know that casual sex here means the absence of cordiality and good manners.
Taking a lover is decidedly not a Copenhagen phenomenon, here you take a “bolleven”, the very unsavory version of a friend with benefits.
If you are accustomed to lovers that cook you breakfast, take you to champagne dinners and put in time and effort to study what you enjoy in the bedroom and otherwise, you are in for a sad downgrade.
Undoubtedly one does not read or watch romance fiction for its realism. I pride myself on being a sensible female, as I know very well that I shall never encounter a man as dreamy as Benedict Bridgerton on the streets of Copenhagen.
A man so agreeable in both manners and looks is absolutely not meant for real life, as one would wish to spend all one’s time taking tea in the garden, long walks in the park and eating ribeyes and porkchops by the fireplace with such a gentleman.
One would neglect one’s friends, family, work and perhaps even the duty of procreation, as it would be far too tempting to solely engage in activities with this beautifully bewitching man in all waking hours.
Undeniably one’s real-life partner should only be handsome at most, as an enchanting partner would be a curse and not a blessing. Because in real life, we need one more thing than just love. In real life, we need love and work to be truly content.
But a girl can dream. Dream of a world when men are well-groomed with an elaborate coiffure, splendid clothing of vibrant colors and instead of strong odor of mass-produced artificial scent, a discrete smell of lemon verbena, pine tree, jasmine, sandalwood and neroli.
Their speech so charming and conversation so engaging that we forget our daily responsibilities.
They would take us dancing as dancing is their second nature. And instead of making us feel like a piece of cheap, generic substandard meat, we would feel like a very special piece of Mangalitza chop and Wingham Black Angus Ribeye.
Happily, both cuts are available in Copenhagen deli shops. I shall be eating them while rewatching Bridgerton. And Outlander. And The Princess Switch 1, 2 and 3.
