Here’s every fuckboy you’ll find at York, according to which college they’re in
I promise this isn’t me just venting about all the guys I’ve dated that have pissed me off. Honest.
Ah, the fuckboy. We all know one, and love to hate him, though also kinda love him. In fact, staggeringly, one in three boys at the University of York is a fuckboy. This is definitely a real fact that I didn't just make that up.
Constantly begging for nudes, "bros before hoes" and forever sporting Calvin Kleins tighter than the security on his double-pin-locked iPhone, 2017 is a Renaissance for fuckboy head-fuckery.
With that in mind, here is your step by step guide to the fuckboys of York, as seen in their natural habitats, their university college.
First off, Alcuin is the only college which does not belong on this condemning list of fuckboy debauchery. Let me tell you why. An Alcuin boy will never break your heart. Ever. He just won’t.
However, this is not due to his own unfalteringly warm heart, heavens above, no. An Alcuin boy will never break your heart, because he’s so fucking boring that he will have zero impact on your general existence. He’s just sort of there?
“There”, being the library, their natural habitat in the dangerous outback that is the University of York. So if you want a nice, if not exceedingly dull lad, head to The Kitchen to spot him drinking an orange San Pel (so basic), whilst making polite conversation, probably with a mousy haired girl from his course, wearing a sweater.
Just remember girls, as big as it may be, you can’t ride a heart.
Ah, Derwent. The asbestos-entombed hotbed for fuckboy activity. Their infamous parties and notorious DCAFC #lads condone the exact stereotype brought about by American teen movies (think American Pie) – jocks.
With that comes a divine culpability – with a Derwent boy, you expect him to leave you on read after “hanging out”, (because ew calling anything a date is way too close to a label for a Derwent boy, YOU ARE SUFFOCATING ME WOMAN), yet when he eventually does drop you that “u up?” text no earlier than 1am, you are of course all too happy to go and see bae.
As fuckboy as Derwent boys are, at least they don’t deny it. More so, whether it’s the asbestos or his Big D which leaves you breathless, you’re guaranteed to have a good time.
The Hes East lads, well I’m going to group Goodricke, Langwith and Constantine together, because well, no one cares. Chances are he’ll be studying Business or Law, and with that carry an exhausting sense of entitlement.
Perhaps from the Home Counties, he would have insisted he have a double bed and ensuite at the very least, ironically unaware that he’d barely be getting laid in either amenity.
His idea of a date is brunch in The Glasshouse – he’s sophisticated enough to recognise brunch as a meal, but damned by his decision to live on a wasteland that all he can come up with is subpar cheesy chips. No matter – when you go back to his for Netflix and chill, that is, after passing his housemates, eyes pressed against the kitchen glass incredulously as they see their boy actually interacting with someone outside the flat, you have a pretty decent time.
His Hes East Rugby tie around your wrists, his edgy tapestry from his gap yah making for an aesthetic ceiling view, it’s such a pity he’s so self-involved that he asks you to sign a relationship contract before continuing.
Face it hun – you’re not a lawyer, you’ve done two modules of undergrad law which you fucking hated and you say you’re a closer/finisher but the only thing that’s finished here is my tolerance for you. Now please untie me and let me leave.
You’ll go for a few drinks at Stones so you can make awkward conversation, only to be drowned out by Alex Turner’s voice on the speaker. He knew it would be loud, but it’s his active cover to conceal his nerves at being out in public with anyone other than his “band”. Avoiding eye contact, those triples have undoubtedly hit the mark when he’s luring you back to his with the promise of showing you his “guitar”. The door opens, you glance at his dusty Fender Squire in the corner before tumbling into bed for distinctly average sex. You’ll be wishing he were Matt Healy for the entire 23 second duration of the incredibly underwhelming experience. The following morning is awkward, but then again, so is he.
He’s only really a fuckboy due to his musical rouse, but hey, he means well.
I’m going to warn you now – James boys are the worst. Probably studying Psychology, Maths or English Lit, my eyes are yet to behold an unattractive James boy.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s Plato, Calculus or Keats – this boy will be whispering sweet nothings to you and you’ll love it. Maybe it’s his discerning softboy approach, his big brown eyes so earnest when he asks you to tell him something personal about yourself, that you can’t help fall for him.
Too bad that after you’ve done bits he remembers a vague extra-curricular activity, probably an LFA course because as if he’s not sexy enough without being able to speak Italian also
Unlike an Alcuin boy, a James boy will break your heart. Yet, months later when you’ve just about gotten over him, (by means of under several Derwent lads), and his chat bubble pops up on your phone, you’re already planning your outfit for your pending coffee date. Eurgh, why is he like this.
When you check your timetable and realise you have a seminar in Wentworth, I can only assume you were a European dictator in a previous life, to deserve such punishment. Trudging over to Wentworth, the only silver-lining of this hellacious commute, is the off-chance you’ll bump into a sexy postgrad.
Where he might once have been a boring Alcuin student as a lowly undergrad, with age and graduation comes that allure which makes a Wentworth boy so enticing.
Of course he’ll be too vanilla to let you call him “daddy” in the bedroom, but you and your friends will giggle about it behind his back and applaud you for getting yourself an older guy. He’s shit at social media, probably because it’s new to him in his decrepit old age, so you’ll eventually get bored of each other when the conversation fizzles, and soon his friends will start getting engaged or pregnant (and regarding it as a good thing), whilst you’re bent over the toilet after a messy Thursday at Fibbers. Lol, bye daddy.
Honestly, I’d written this article and was midway through adding pictured before I remembered Halifax even existed. Just like their college, he’ll forever be alone.