The inescapable fuckboys that you’ll inevitably come across at UWE

May the power of God compel you

Fuckboys are well and truly evolving, and that, my friends, is honestly terrifying. The era of the “U up?” fuckboy is slowly (and we mean excruciatingly slowly) dying out, and in lieu comes asking us about our opinions on the snap election and maybe even taking us out for a drink.

In aid of saving you heartache (and maybe some nasty surprises, you’re welcome) we’ve rounded up some of the classic fuckboys that you’ll inevitably come across at our wonderful university.

Whether it be the slightly endearing jump-up guy who’s chewing his face off in Blue Mountain or the obnoxious VK wielding Rugby lad in Pams, you’re undoubtedly going to come across one of these classic headaches.

The Farmer

When he’s not in Bristol probably studying business management, ‘The Farmer’ works on the family farm rearing pigs and harvesting crops. You were dtf the moment he mentioned that he rode a tractor without a license. He’ll probably refer to you as a farm animal during intimate moments but you think it’s endearing and just so, pure. You can sense he’s much more in touch with his empathetic side in comparison to all the nauseating city boys you’d experienced and you can’t deny, he’s hung like a horse and has fantastic arms.

Spoiler: Despite all of this, he’s more in love with his gun dogs than he’ll ever be with you.

 The Posh Boy

The ‘Posh Boy’ hails from Oxford and is most probably privately educated. When you met him in freshers, he was well spoken and enrobed in a fresh white shirt (Jack Wills, obviously). A month on and he’s discovered the vintage kilo sale at Motion and is all about those wavy garms.

Now entirely transformed and a fan of vintage Ellesse and Red Stripe, the Posh Boy is commonly found in the main room at Motion or Lakota, bopping slightly off beat whilst gurning in the middle of the crowd. Your romance begins when he asks if you’ve got any gum, and will come to a screeching halt when he throws up off the side of the bed and pleads with you not to expose him to his mother. Despite his ‘vintage’ apparel, he still wears his signet ring to remind the world that he’s very much still a twat.

The one who has ‘1st team’ syndrome

Probably the most common of the fuckboys. The ‘sports lad’ is determined to make sure he is the centre of attention everywhere he goes. With his crisp shirt and slightly askew tie, he’ll be donning two VK in one hand whilst brandishing gun fingers to Stormzy on the other. His professional sporting abilities limit not just to his chosen sport, but also at convincing you he’s the only girl he’s interested in. Most of the time, we know this is all just total bullshit but hey, a girl’s got needs too.

Commonly found in either Pam’s or Bunker on a Wednesday night, the ‘sports lad’ is bold and brash. His charm makes you feel as though you two could rule the world one goal at a time and his confidence is rather hot with a body to make even Adonis cower with envy. You just know this isn’t going to end well. Undoubtedly he’ll offer to buy you a bev, and once you’re four drinks deep enough to silence the angel on your shoulder, you’ll want to exchange more than a sloppy kiss in the smoking area. You give him the benefit of the doubt, but regret it the following week when you see him in Pam’s simultaneously necking your teammate and a blue VK. Different week, different fresher. This species is relentless,  you have been warned.

The one who goes to UoB

Two universities, both alike in dignity (ish), in fair Clifton, where we lay our scene. The Bristol student patently studies either maths, economics or law and there’s just something so sexy about a man who can differentiate been ‘your’ and ‘you’re’. He’ll take you out for dinner at Jamie’s Italian and you engage in intelligent conversations. Though it’s not long until texts become intermittent, his Snapchat becomes polluted with other girls, and you can sense he’s losing interest.

You should’ve known it wasn’t going to last the moment he cowered away from introducing you to his friends. God forbid his football team find out the girl he’s dating goes to UWE, so, unfortunately, your brief dalliance comes to a tragic end when he breaks up with you to save his reputation and exile from Coombe Dingle (though he always assured you that the rivalry was completely fictitious). His loss hun. After all, these violent delights have violent ends, you were too cool for him anyway.

 The enlightened Gap Yah twat

Assures you he’s anything but a lad. His four and a half months in Borneo really changed him as a person, and he even has a Facebook album and ankle bracelet to prove it. Spotted at Eat a Pitta or The Full Moon bar, he’ll take you back to his place to pine over artefacts and souvenirs from his travels. The smell of incense in his dim room is so pungent that you’d love to rip down that tapestry wall hanging and chunder absolutely everywhere.

All of a sudden, his man bun is no longer appealing and his spirituality doesn’t extend further than rolling a spliff and talking shit. Why would you ever let yourself engage in sub-par intimacies on a stained mattress on his bedroom floor anyway? He doesn’t really give a toss about feminism or your chakras, avoid at all costs.

The one who’s ‘a DJ’

If he doesn’t have his own Facebook promotion page and pictures of him on the decks at a scatty house party on Gloucester Road, is he really even a DJ? Frequently acquainted in Blue Mountain, the “I’m a DJ” sort could either be a BIMM or UWE student respectively. Genuinely believes that he’s superior to his peers because he has a SoundCloud.

He’ll claim to know each and every track, whilst doing a terrible job at preempting the drop and exclaiming “YESSS IYA” at every conceivable second. Someone offers him a key at a house party he’s DJ-ing at and he politely declines, insisting that he “doesn’t get on it when he’s mixing”, but still manages to find time to get off with almost every girl there. If that isn’t modern day romance, I don’t know what is.

The one you met at Lock In

Destined for tragedy. He’s fresh-faced and just out of sixth form. You exchange glances on the dance floor at the end of the night to ‘Mr Brightside’, and you’re bummed out that the night is about to end. You can’t tell whether that’s a slight twitch or his attempt at a wink, but nonetheless, you go back Wallscourt together. The morning after he’ll frantically usher you out and you’ll only ever find out his name from mutual friends.

The following Tuesday he’ll be entwined with another girl, and pure panic flushes out any colour from him when he spots you grooving to ‘Single Ladies’. Inevitably you’ll find out that he actually has a long-term girlfriend back at home in Cornwall. Now it all makes sense as to why he ignored your friend request on Facebook.