With the NATO summit coming to the Hague, Dutch elites find themselves once again in their favorite role: that of reluctant romantics in a transatlantic relationship. They love the idea of NATO, sort of. They love America, kind of. But mainly, they just love to worry about both.

For many in the Netherlands’ intellectual and political circles, NATO has always been a bit like IKEA furniture—essential, sturdy, nothing too fancy or expensive and held together by decades-old screws that no one is entirely confident about. It’s a structure that symbolizes collective defense, liberal democracy, and transatlantic unity. All great things. Until America opens its mouth.

Because let’s face it: Dutch elites have a complicated relationship with the United States. The Dutch are often fiercely critical over the United States, but yet utterly captivated by it. It’s a security paradox, just as Dutch as biking in the rain with no helmet while texting. Like our European cousins, with deep social- and christian-democratic roots and the tradition of coalition politics, we harbor weariness of any nation that has an idea of exceptionalism. ‘Normal is exciting enough’, is a much-used Dutch saying adequately reflecting our Calvinist frugal nature. So, with large scale military interventions – from Iraq to drone strikes – and Pentagon budgets the size of our GDP: the Dutch have a deep skepticism on Washington’s geopolitical role.

Yet, when a NATO summit is announced—especially one involving high-level U.S. officials—it’s as if the political version of the Eurovision Song Contests comes to The Hague. Dutch news outlets clear their front pages. Analysts emerge from their think tanks and everyone on social media becomes one. Entire panels are dedicated to parsing the body language of the president. If America sneezes, a Dutch op-ed catches it.

This isn’t hypocrisy—it’s geopolitics, with a side of cultural infatuation. The Netherlands sees NATO not just as a defense alliance, but as a transatlantic identity project. And like any good identity crisis, it comes with insecurities: Should Europe do more? (Yes.) Should the U.S. lead less? (Maybe). Should we be spending 2% of GDP on tanks instead of teachers? (Ask again after the next Russian cyberattack.)

Still, the Dutch want America in the room. Even if they’d prefer it would occasionally stop talking and let Norway finish its sentence. They want NATO to work, not just as a security pact, but as a moral club—where soft power matters and climate policy gets discussed alongside missiles.

So, as the NATO summit begins, expect the usual Dutch ritual: a cocktail of criticism, admiration, and expertly raised eyebrows. Because for all the doubts about America and NATO, deep down the Dutch know this alliance—like our tallest dikes—is imperfect but necessary.

And if nothing else, it makes for a great debate over drinks in The Hague.