I step into a pub, dropping my red leather jacket on the coat rack, as if I live here.  A cat slips in between my legs. Yes, the pubs here really do have cats. She finds a spot on a bench.   

Amid the noise, I find my date at a small table with a beer from which the froth has already disappeared. 'I was at the wrong address, sorry. I need to work on my sense of direction here.' I hope a date with a born-and-raised Amsterdammer will bring me something.  

I tell him about Eindhoven, about the great Phillips and ASML, but also about how the city has begun to bore me. 'Amsterdam is an amusement park for adults, full of attractions, always something to do.'    

I explain that in Eindhoven, a city full of technicians, there are few people walking around who want to create something beautiful. I choose the words 'have aesthetic ambition' for that. I nod to the table next to us where a group of people are sitting who can't be anything other than art students.   

Now that I look around a little further I see that there are also considerably more women than men sitting here, I could get used to that too.  

My argument leaves him cold. He just returned from New York and is only in the Netherlands for his visa. He is wearing wide chinos and glasses with a large plastic frame. As a digital nomad, he has lived in many world cities, as Amsterdam has “lost its edge". He says: “People are way too trend-sensitive here, and if someone really has an own style it gets slammed here. He feels he has outgrown the city, and has ambitions beyond that.   

There are stories of nighttime adventures in Mexico City that are supposed to be indicative of how small Amsterdam is and arrogant Amsterdammers are. In the process, he too nods to the art students next to us.  

I make an attempt to dismiss his wanderlust as flight behavior, or an unquenchable need for new things, but that came too close to the truth for him.  

Our disagreement makes us louder and louder. The cat looks up and yawns, happy to remain where she lies.