Dear Fuck Boys: “Those white sunglasses — you suck on purpose.”

There’s a few red flags that will guarantee a swipe left on Tinder: Only having one photo (and it’s a group of men), providing a fake photo, and being a fuccboi.

Now, fuckboiis aren’t limited to the guys on Tinder with the douchey profile pics swiping 11 kilometres away from you. They can emerge as acquaintances: Guys you’ve known from high school, coworkers, or even close friends. It’s important to identify the symptoms of fukboy fuckery early so you know how to deal with this species and move on to the next one, on to the next one

Before everyone gets offended by my opinions and starts spamming the comments section complaining about how I play up stereotypes, I thought I should take the time to provide a disclaimer: This article will be using stereotypes and my own personal experiences as the primary research methods. Fucking deal with it.

If your Tinder pics include any combination of the following, you are a fuc boi. Frosted tips? White Oakley sunglasses? A Ford F-150 with a lift kit? A car that’s not yours? A fish you caught? A deer you shot? A wife beater? A bottle of Patron? Multiple women? Two of them are your sisters? Snapshat screenshot? Mirror pic? Shirtless? Just abs, no face? Stop it. I’m swiping left.

You don’t even need to speak to me and I know you’re a fuck boy. But I get it, these aesthetic judgments may be problematic and some of you probably want to fight me because you love your white Oakley sunglasses. You do you, man. I’m just saying that I’m swiping left.

If you disclose in your description that you’re looking for a little loving and not a whole lot else, I appreciate your honesty, but unless I consumed half a bottle of Everclear and feel up for boning a complete stranger, your face is going to cha-cha slide to the left.

Also descriptions that include tattoo counts, weight, “Religious beliefs: Yeezus,” “Aspiring DILF,” “Deadliest catch without the crabs,” or “fitness is lyfe,” solidify your fuck boi status.

If, for some unbeknownst reason to me, I manage to start talking to you, do not ask for pics. Not at the start, not later, not ever. And if you add me on Snapchat, that’s not an automatic in for receiving nudes. So don’t get excited in a boner or non-boner kind of way.

Unfortunately, I’ve had idiots engage in conversation in the following ways: “How much do you like sex on a scale of one to 10?” “Are you currently hooking up with someone?” “Is anyone home? Should I come over?” “Want to play 21 questions?” “Wine and Netflix 😉 ?” You’re not charming. What ever happened to “what’s your favourite colour?” or “what are your interests?”

I understand that you’re probably messaging me along with 15 other girls to see who’s the easiest prey, but if I don’t reply to you immediately, sending four more messages trying to make me feel bad about not being glued to my phone is not the way to go. Don’t “Hello?” me, you’re not Adele. Don’t ask me to come “chill” followed by a “or not” 48 seconds later. And don’t get mad at me for wanting to hang out with my friends over some guy I met on a dodgy app who wants to meet up in his parents’ basement for some quality movie watching.

My favourite part about fuck boy fuckery is when you start guilt tripping me for not responding to your three a.m. booty call message, “U up? ;)” No, I most certainly am not up. It’s a Tuesday, for God’s sake, and I’m sound asleep, happily dreaming of something other than your smug face. So don’t be mad when (if) I respond in the morning because that’s when non-nocturnal or normal people function.

So men, if you identify with any of these points and question whether or not your ego needs a reality check, just remember @sgrstk’s words of wisdom: “Nobody is born a fuckboy; you chose that life. Those Snapchats, those ‘send me a pic’ texts, those white sunglasses — you suck on purpose.”