Fuckboy entered mainstream linguistics (at least on social media) after Vanity Fair ran a piece in August 2015 entitled “Tinder and the Dawn of the ‘Dating Apocalypse.’” If you missed it, it’s been archived on their website.

Who ARE these douchebags, FFS? Wealthy, entitled, privileged, hetero, Anglo 20-somethings. It’s not that they are scoring mad pussy that’s the issue. It’s that they are such assholes about the game.

The article defines fuckboys within this culture, but it’s a larger problem than that, in the end. A response to the piece, written by Alana Massey and published in the Pacific Standard offers a better definition:

Fuckboy is not a dating style so much as a worldview that reeks of entitlement but is aghast at the idea of putting in effort.

At my son’s urban high school, fuckboy is synonymous with any lame-ass behavior. Since an F-bomb will get you detention, you just hear “…booooooooyyyyyyy” followed by a slow clap if you are caught making a dick move or a dumb mistake.

Of course, the term predates this argument. Like any cromulent new word, it originated in the gay community as a nicety-aside version of rentboy. Before that, it referred to your classic bottom. The word made the rounds and evolved as words do.

Nowdays? Fuckboys, for lack of a better definition are just assholes.

Hell, being a rentboy isn’t a dick move if all cards are on the table. Being a bottom certainly isn’t. Even being a booty-call champ is perfectly legit as long as everybody is up front on the sitch. Everyone needs a little side piece for when you are in a relationship dry spell, amirite?

But today’s fuckboys are manipulative shits who think they have every right to work people over in order to get what they want. Go Google “fuckboy warning signs”…I’ll wait here until you get back.
Hella lot of articles out there, right? Lots of people getting slammed upside the head by the Fuckboy Play Book in their attempts to navigate the dating scene. Yup, Gay, straight, all points in between…fuckboys have flooded the market.

This can only mean one thing.

Enter Dr. Faith with her highly unscientific Fuckboy Field Guide so you know how to spot these taint stains before they get their hooks in and you are getting bombarded with 2AM messages inviting you over for Netflix and chill.

But even better? Like any other field guide, mine is rated for rarity. So make it a scavenger hunt next time you are out on the scene. And let me know how many sightings you made and points you scored. If you tag one on the ear before you release him back into the wild, your next Americano at Local is on me.

The Hipster Fuckboy: Dude. He’s so ubiquitous you should almost get negative points for spotting one. Especially if you are downtown. Bro has a man bun and cuffed jeans (the better for you to check out his vintage Fluvlog boots, my dear). He is wearing cologne that smells like wood smoke, but he has never, not ever built a campfire. Unlike your authentic urban dude, the Fuckboy hipster is going with the trend in hopes of scoring play. He’s never read Camus and while he says he is heading the Farmer’s Market in the ayem, he’s really means Carl’s Jr for a sausage biscuit.

Mating Call: I just found the most amazing beard oil on my last trip to Portland. Wanna feel?

Status: Common


The URL Fuckboy: Does this guy even exist outside his parent’s basement? Doubtful. He’s on Tinder, Grindr, and PoF.  He follows you on Instagram and Snapchat. He requests pics. Noooo, you knooooooow…reaaaaaaal pics. Wanna go meet for coffee? Um, can’t. Huge project at work. Or sumpin. But isn’t too tired to text you at 2AM wanting to “chat.”

Mating Call: Can you send me another pic? You’re sooooo hot.

Status: Common. Unless it’s all the same guy with multiple server networks all tied together.    Who the fuck knows at this point?


The Military Fuckboy: In San Antonio? Also pretty common, though perhaps worth a few more points than the omnipresent hipster. The Military Fuckboy is out of uniform, but wearing a tight shirt so you can see how well his hard PT work has paid off. He makes sure you know he’s being deployed any minute now (so don’t expect him to be around for the long term, baby…otherwise HE TOTALLY WOULD).

Mating Call: Let’s do it for our country!

Status: Fairly Common (at least in military towns, YMMV.)


The Broken Spirit, Sensitive Soul Fuckboy: He just got out of a long term relationship. He has a beautiful daughter he shows you pictues of.  He’s a teacher, or a prison social worker, or a nurse. He cares about people and he’s hurting hurting hurting from his past relationship. He’s wearing Dockers and drinking Bud. Is this even a good bar? He hasn’t been out in over 10 years, you know. He just saw this place and came in on a whim. But after you get freaky you never hear from him, except for the crabs he left you with. Hasn’t been out in ten years, my ass.

Mating Call: My biggest fear is that I will never find love again. And it haunts me, you know?

Status: Diminishing numbers. We used to be overpopulated on these guys, but Parks and Wildlife set up a hunting season on them about a decade ago and numbers have greatly diminished.


The Gap Year European Green Card Fuck Boy: Parents have money, and he spends it. He is “on break from university” and traveling the US. He is wearing Italian loafers with no socks and has a vaguely European accent (French? Italian? Who the fuck knows?). He makes sure to take off his jacket (worn over an open collar shirt) so you can see it’s Armani. And yet he never seems to shell out any cash for his own drinks. The fuck? He says he will be in town for the semester, but suddenly gets called back home because his Grandmother is dying. Timing coincides with you giving up the cookie, too.

Non-Mating Call: Your eyes…how do you say it in English?…they speak to my soul.

Status: Diminishing numbers. Value of the Euro falling and all that.


The Neil Straus OG Fuckboy: They are vintage, real deal PUAs. And their lines haven’t changed a bit. They are older, still single, and still think they have years to go before it’s time to settle down. Dad bod for days. Maybe even Grandpa Bod. Hoping you will throw them a bone (or at least a boner) for their tired, ass lines. Have Viagra, will travel. At least they pick up the bar tab.

Mating Call: I’m sure someone as attractive as you is waiting for someone. But do you mind if I flirt
with you for a few minutes while you wait?

Status: Endangered. They’re aging out. Just like Danny Glover, they are getting too old for this shit.


The Lesbian Whisperer Fuckboy: Ooooh, I hate this dude. He hangs out in gay bars specifically to scope the lady-lovin’ ladies, or he hangs out in straight bars and hones in on the lesbian who got roped in to hanging out with a group of female friends. He pretends to just want someone to talk to, drops lots of tie, attention, and understanding,  and worms his way in. He plays a slower game, but the end goal is the same. He wants to convince lady lovin’ ladies that they might be down for some D with the right, sensitive soul. He gets bonus points if your gold star (and he WILL be trying to find that out as soon as he can find an opening to ask you).

Mating Call: I really relate to you, I’ve always felt that I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. I love women but really don’t identify with other straight men.

Status: Rare, fortunately. But hella dangerous when found in the wild.


The FTR Fuckboy: Total fuckboy asshole that falls and love and changes his evil ways, just as Carlos Santana demanded. Is now a loving, devoted family man. Etc. Etc.

Mating Call: Thanks for the offer, but I’m on my way home to my soul mate and our beautiful children.

Status: Mythical creature. Stop spreading rumors that they exist.

How often are we really in our bodies?

Ever?

For brief, glimmering moments every once in a while?

Even for individuals who practice mindfulness, we are constantly disrupted by our arising thoughts. We note this (“thinking!”) and return to the breath. Lather, rinse, repeat. And sometimes…for a second or three we are just breathing. Then taco trucks and to-do lists crowd back into our heads.

Even when we escape the mind chatter for a millisecond, the focus on breath is only one form of body awareness. It is a very small part of the entirety of the weird-ass organism we drive ourselves around in every moment of our conscious being.

When we talk about our 5 senses, we talk about how we use them to organize information from the outside world, but rarely do we use them to register what is going on inside of us. In reality, we are receiving internal sensory information on a constant basis but are rarely connected to that experience. There is nothing wrong sense-driven corrections being an automatic process. This is how our body and brain are designed to function. Continuous information seeking and responding and adapting to our surroundings based on that information. Micromovements to huge course corrections on a continual basis.

But sometimes the wiring goes wonky. You know. Our body and mind are over-eager and over-protective and start sending haywire messages that are overanalyzing current experiences and anticipating dangerous and damaging future experiences based on our past experiences.

It’s the very definition of a trauma response.

Any living animal will respond to changes in light and shadow. From amoebas to Homo sapiens, we perceive threat and duck. The difference between us and amoebas is that we can (at least on a good day), become aware of our instincts and challenge the efficacy of our ducking patterns.

This means being more aware of the interplay between our external and internal sense messages. And learning to tolerate our duck response without needing to always duck.

Want to get an idea of where I’m going with this? Try this exercise, adapted from Peter Levine’s fantastic book In An Unspoken Voice:

1. Hold out one of your hands. It doesn’t matter which one, but take note of your choice. Hold it in the air, without letting it rest against another surface (like a table top or your leg).
2. Open up the palm of that hand, facing back toward your body, and use your eyes to observe it.
3. Slowly make a fist with that hand, watching the whole time. Take note when your hand feels completely closed into a fist.
4. Without breaking eye contact, open your hand back up.
5. Now close your eyes, and repeat this exercise. Feel what open feels like from the inside, then the act of closing your hand into a fist, then reopening.  Pay attention to all that you notice in your body that wasn’t present when you were focusing on your external sight messages.

How did your awareness of the experience change once you were entirely dependent on your internal sense messages? Was it disconcerting at any point? Comforting? Did anything shift or feel different in how you connect with your self?

You know what’s utterly unfair? Not getting awards as we get older. No ribbons for best team player or exceptional effort after about age 11. And I call shenanigans. Successful adulting deserves some serious external validation (and not of the kind my former boss delivered by saying “I sign your paycheck, don’t I?”).

My 18 year old is living on her own, totally on her own, for the first time. No adultier adults to keep her in line. I know my dad is slipping her money, but other than that, she’s having to deal with Real Shit ™ for the first time. I get texts all the time of all the things she didn’t really pay attention to now slipping into her consciousness.

“Um, so how long to boil an egg?”
Put the eggs in the cold pot of water, bring the whole thing to a boil, turn off and cover and let it sit for 20 minutes.

“Holy SHIT, almond milk is FIVE BUCKS!”
Lactose free is cheaper than what you were used to me buying and you won’t get sick off that like you do regular milk.

“You know what sucks worse than going to work when you don’t feel good? Having to go to the grocery store after work when all you want to go is go home and cry.”
Word, child.

“I really, really, REALLY miss your cooking.”
That you made fun of your entire life for it being so healthy? Crap food ceases to be fun when it starts kicking your body’s ass, dunnit? Time to get a crockpot and start throwing some stuff together.

The essential message in these messages is “Adulting, amirite?” She’s wanting a gold star for getting her crap together….and don’t we all?

Here is my list of things we should all TOTALLY get adulating awards. Feel free to add your recommendations in the comments below!

1) Saying “Sure thing!” instead of “Fuck You!” anytime asked to do anything unreasonable or inane. Especially in a work-type situation.

2) Having stashed enough money in savings to cover the emergency vet bill for your asshole, elderly cat instead of buying the Burberry trench coat you really wanted.

3) Putting out the trash late at night when you remembered it gets picked up in the morning. Even when it is really, really cold. And raining.

4) Eating kale.

5) Getting the oil change BEFORE getting the pedicure.

6) Not leaving expletive-laden note under the windshield wiper of the fuckwit who can’t park in just ONE FUCKING SPACE in a parking lot. Even though the asshole deserves it.

7) Putting a bra back on at the end of the day when you’ve already gone home and taken it off when you realize you need to make a run to the store.

8) Folding and putting away the laundry rather than just wearing it out of the basket until the basket is empty and it’s time to rewash everything again.

9) Ironing. Anything. For any reason. Ever.

10) Proper self-care instead of cake-batter therapy.