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Calling time on the Versace fuckboy, the actual worst offender of this year

Yes Lewis Hamilton, I am talking to you

Fuckboys are everywhere, society is literally swarming with these critters giving us gooey eyes through tortoiseshell geek glasses, forever rolling their eyes and saying "fuck men" even though they are one.

Well just as you thought 2017 saw the end of them, in marched the Versace fuckboy. If anything this guy is vintage, he resembles the fuckboy in its first tremmering formation, booking out booths at Tiger Tiger, Snapchatting himself with bottles of Grey Greezy and firing out dick pics like it might actually get him some sex.

It was only last week that I realised the Versace fuckboy was an actual human being I had been seeing everywhere. It came to me when Lewis Hamilton was in the news after he decided it was a nice idea to Instagram a video of him shaming his nephew for wearing a princess dress. Cute.

But as this very clever twitter user accurately points out, whilst the toddler looks fabulous in his pink sparkly dress, Hamilton's decision to wear audacious flower patterned anoraks and tight white ripped jeans make him look like an absolute melt.

We might not know Hamilton but we certainly know the Tesco basics version of him. He takes inspiration from Kem Cetinay and Gary Beadle, he's puffed up with a suffocating masculinity, comfortable with mocking those who have no interest in the bench press, wearing reflective Ray Bans and massive flapping trilby hats.

These guys are the new metrosexuals, they are stinking out our streets with Versace's Man Eau Fraiche because this and the two pack of boxers are the only thing they can actually afford from there. They wear faux leather jackets from Zara that are covered in gold feature zips, or it's a wet look Montcler puffer.

Are you scared? Well you can locate him via the audacious patterns he wears, gold chains and coin prints and basically anything that signals ££££. Otherwise he's in paisley or that red and black checked shirt, probably with some ghastly pleather pocket.

He wears tracksuits from athleisure brands you have never heard of, like Gaz from Geordie Shore's 11° and he's always in absurdly long t-shirts. They could be worn as a dress but because he's wearing grey faded skinnys underneath so his boys cannot accuse him of being "gay" (this is his biggest fear).

All his hair is perfectly curated, he shaves his chest, his hair is moulded solid with V05's wet look gel, he has his beard trimmed into some seedy thin line like Craig David in the 90s.

He has loads of tattoos with a religious theme, a cross with light blitzing out of it, a quote from the bible, a picture of the virgin Mary. Even though he hasn't been to church since Harvest Festival in Primary School.

This guy is in the R'n'B room of every 'mega' club, he will lure 18 year-olds to into his booth with the promise of free Bollinger. When he finds out they have a boyfriend he calls them a "hoe" and accuses them of leading him on.

During the day these guys spending inordinate amounts of time lurking around shopping centres with the boys, charging their IPhone in Nandos and scrolling through Lad Bible.

The Versace fuckboys catcall women, not by going "you alright love, nice baps" but by driving past in their low rider car, one arm out of the window asking "wanna a ride girl?" They say things like, "I'll treat you like a princess" which for them means giving you cheap cuddly toys made out of fleece.

He is a quarter of the guys you follow on Instagram (because you knew they would follow you back), he posts topless photos taken from high angles so shadows bounce off his abs, often he will be wearing grey joggers that he will slightly pull open so you have a murky image of his well trimmed pubes.

Other than that there are candid selfies of him blushing under a crumpled duvet, photos of his trainers at the Odeon cinema, or him with a vodka coke standing in between two club dancers in leotards, one sideways peace sign across his abdomen. He pretends he knows them when really he begged them to pose with him.

No girl likes the Versace fuckboy look and if they do they are sorely mistaken and I will drag her away from you kicking and screaming. Please ditch the studs and the low neck scoop tops, and the massive diamond earrings. Stop berating us when you buy us a drink and it doesn't make us automatically dip our tongue down your throat. This has to stop.