More times than I care to remember, I’ve been asked the same question; “Is he a Fuckboy?” usually followed with “But how do I know he’s a Fuckboy?” Well, the chances are that if you’re asking yourself that question to begin with, you’re dealing with a Fuckboy.
However, it isn’t difficult to spot a Fuckboy in his natural habitat. You simply need to look for the signs. Let’s run down the most obvious tells of the Fuckboy:
He is dressed in an outfit with sharp, new crease lines, yet the only items in his pockets are his State ID Card (not a license), three or four dollar bills with a twenty wrapped around the outside of them, and a perpetually dead cell phone. Pay attention to these fine details: the largest bill will always be the outer wrap for his “wad”. Chances are, if you reach inside the back of his shirt, there will be a price tag still hanging off of the interior tag. Also, Fuckboys are always leaving their phone charger wherever they crashed the night before. This means they always have a dead phone battery, because all of the charge it has is used trying to line up the place to put his dusty ass feet up tonight. And to call the chic from last night, because he needs that charger, and he forgot his deodorant there as well.
Fuckboys can’t stay out of the mix, so they are usually found at the bar Tuesday through Sunday nights. They typically can’t run a tab, due to the fact that every bartender has had to run them down to get their last tab cashed out. Also, they always get shitty service, because every bartender knows they never tip, and they usually get belligerent with other patrons. However, to hear a Fuckboy tell it, they’re the life of the party. You can recognize a Fuckboy by the dirty ass fingernails because they left their manual labor position, and sprayed on some Axe on the way to the bar.
Oddly enough, Fuckboys don’t often care for other Fuckboys. It seems that having too many of them in a centralized location throws off the ratio of Fuckboy to vulnerable broad. They usually don’t run in packs, but you can often find Fuckboys riding around with the dope man. They typically will serve as entourage if it means they may end up getting a bump out of the equation.
A Fuckboy can have a great girl completely tangled up in his ignorant ass, but that won’t mean shit. He simply cannot stand the thought of there being a party he isn’t at, a drug he isn’t doing, a tramp he isn’t fucking, or a mix that he isn’t in. He will duck her calls all night just to show up at her house at 6am when the drugs are gone, and he just washed his dick in a bathroom sink on the way over.
Fuckboys do the absolute bare minimum to scrape by. If they can get away with calling in twice a week without losing their piddly ass paycheck, you better believe that’s exactly what they’re doing. You’ll never hear about a Fuckboy climbing the corporate ladder. They don’t have time for bettering themselves. They’re too busy spending some chics’ paycheck before she wises up to his dumb ass drama to worry about actually securing a future for themselves. A Fuckboy doesn’t know anything but skating.
Are there other signs? Oh, Jesus, yes. Many of them. However, this is the quickest and most visual side of the list, designed to help identify a Fuckboy without actually ever needing to listen to the utter bullshit that will come out of their mouths. If possible, try to run down the exterior checklist so that you don’t find yourself actually holding a conversation with one. It gets much tougher from that point. No worries, though, a trained eye can smoke them out even after a Defcon 5 level verbal engagement. I got you.