Growing up there was literally no better time to be alive because the teen dramas were fire during those days. Any show that involved hot half-brothers duking it out on the basketball court or hot vampire brothers brooding over high school girls was my freaking catnip. I learned some v important lessons from those shows too. Like, if you gave your virginity to your vampire boyfriend he might lose his soul, terrorize your friends and family, and try to end the world. Subtle abstinence messages are fun. I also learned that 16-year-olds living in the Upper East Side have more money, sex, and better taste in clothes than I do as an adult. See? V important lessons here. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from avoiding human interaction in favor of watching trash television, it’s how to spot a heartthrob. Spoiler: he’s probably blond, in tune with your emotions, and wearing enough hair gel to grease a Slip ‘N Slide. Your high school self swooned over these losers, but now as
someone who has been on Tinder an adult you see things more clearly because more often than not, the self-proclaimed heartthrob is actually the fucking worst. And because I have nothing better to do with my time than to analyze fictional people, I’ve taken it upon myself to list out every TV heartthrob you totally crushed on but who was really Satan disguised as a Tiger Beat cover model.
Side note: if it feels like I’m coming for every show The CW has ever produced that’s because I absolutely am. Now, let’s bring on the
men society deems sexually desirable for young women heartthrobs.
1. Lucas Scott, One Tree Hill
I should have known I would hate Lucas Scott the second they cast Chad Michael Murray to play his character but I was deluded for two or three seasons and actually thought he was a good guy at first. I mean I was, like, 10 when the show first aired so give me a fucking break. My first point of contention with Lucas is that he said “I love you” to legit anyone with two working legs and a vagina. Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time Lucas told some emotionally fragile girl that he loved her I would have enough money to fund my own Clothes Over Bros clothing line. And, Lucas, consider yourself lucky that I was not one of those girls because I would have set you on fire if I found you sucking face with Peyton during the school shooting two episodes after professing your love for me. NOPE. Second, if we strip away his good looks and his basketball skills (did he have any?), he’s just a weirdo who writes in a sad, handwritten book. Like, we get it, you’re an artist trying to get laid. Honestly, he’d probs do well on Tinder. His talents were def wasted at Tree Hill.
^100 percent an excerpt from his Tinder bio, also what does this even mean
2. Nate Archibald, Gossip Girl
Tbh I was never a huge fan of Nate. I was into Dan because he was a writer living in Brooklyn and I’ll always have a soft spot for
dudes who are probably unemployed artists, and also Chuck Bass because he looked like he would fuck you up emotionally and I’m here for it. But Nate was just kind of there. He wasn’t particularly misunderstood or a giant piece of shit that kinda turned you on and made you reconsider whether you have daddy issues. He was just a really pretty face. I mean, really pretty. Plus all he ever did was hook up the wrong girl at the wrong time and fuck up everyone’s shit. Whatever. I guess if this were real life I’d totally give his trust fund him a chance.
I, mean, that head nod says it ALL.
3. Dawson Leery, Dawson’s Creek
Before there was Lucas Scott there was
the reason I suffer from rage blackouts Dawson and his fucking creek. I never really liked this show, but my best friend was obsessed with Dawson because he was cute, had zero control over his emotions, and was more sensitive than me on my period. In hindsight, perhaps I should have given him more of a chance? Whatever. Dawson was v dramatic and always crying about something and everyone knows I can’t with feelings. If Dawson were a real human he’d be the guy who texts you only in emojis and cries after the first time you have sex. Yeah, that’s a hard pass for me.
4. Riley Finn, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
You probs don’t remember Riley because he was
a waste of space Buffy’s college boyfriend and she only made it to, like, sophomore year before she died over the summer and decided not to go back to college when she was resurrected so she could hate-fuck Spike instead. Happens to the best of us, Buff! But Riley was the fucking worst. To this day I will never understand what Buffy saw in him. I mean, he looked like a Dillard’s catalogue model and had the personality of the department store clothing. The only thing interesting that ever happened to him was when he got addicted to vampires biting him and that was really more sad and pathetic than interesting. People loved him because he was human and Buffy had, like, a healthy and mature relationship with him (gross), but I hated him and his fugly turtlenecks with every fiber of my being. He was clearly a rebound after Buffy’s platinum vagine made Angel lose his damn mind and try to destroy the world. And I’m sorry but, Riley, would you risk your soul to be with Buffy? Would you get a soul to be with Buffy? No? Then get in line behind peroxide boy and the reason I have unrealistic expectations of love Angel. BYE.
Do you think YOU have a shot with her? Get outta here!
5. Logan Huntzberger, Gilmore Girls
I kind of hate myself for saying this because if Rory can’t be with Jess then I am 100 percent Team Logan, but Logan kind of sucks. He’s like every rich frat bro I’ve ever dated. One second he’s inviting you on his dad’s boat and the next second he’s taking some no-name freshman to his formal instead of you. Like, what? I have whiplash. I didn’t mind him so much when Rory dated him in college. I, mean, sure he kind of derailed her life and made her contemplate dropping out of college for a minute there, but what college fuckboy hasn’t done that a time or two?? Where he really lost points with me was in the revival. He was hooking up with Rory but also engaged to some other girl and flying Rory out TO LONDON whenever his dick started to get hard and that just did not sit right with me. Like, that shit was cute in college similar to how drinking Natty Lite out of a semi-warm keg and slurping alcohol from a frozen structure was also cute in college. Grow up, kid.
6. Stefan Salvatore, The Vampire Diaries
The Vampire Diaries was one of my favorite shows in high school because there’s nothing I love more than to turn up on a Thursday and watch an hour of broody vampire teen drama. Clearly I have a lot going on in my life. Clearly. Anyway, it starred Nina Dobrev, aka Degrassi’s 13-year-old-teen-mom-turned-fashion-model Mia Jones, who played boring nice girl Elena and was about the two ridiculously attractive vampires who had nothing better to do with their immortal lives than to fight over some small-town high school girl. Tbh I was all for Stefan for about two episodes. He was the right amount of broody, mysterious, and cocky. And then they brought Damon out, a character who mind-controlled high school cheerleaders into having crazy sex with him but like, you were kinda into it, and you wanted to laugh at Stefan and his overly coiffed hair. The first three seasons Stefan acted like he was hot shit while Elena tried not to eye-fuck his brother at the dinner table. Like, Stefan, you’ve been alive for 200 years, seen the rise and fall of multiple societies, but you can’t see when a girl would rather fuck your brother? Come onnn. Sorry, Stefan, go back to brooding in your fitted tees.
7. Max Evans, Roswell
First, if you haven’t watched Roswell yet, then you absolutely can’t sit with me. That show is the reason I know where Arizona is on a map and also why I pray there’s life on other planets. As long as alien life forms look like Max Evans and Michael Guerin then I will gladly let them invade
my bedroom Earth. Plus it features Katherine Heigl before she became the bitchiest actress in Hollywood and Shiri Appleby before she started ruining people’s lives on UnReal. ANYWAY, Max Evans, a teenage alien with permanent sad eyes and a penchant for cargo pants, was the star of this show and also the resident fuckboy heartthrob. And while many would argue that Max was brooding and mysterious and selfless, I would argue that he was the fucking worst. Season one he was fine, just a little too moody and “I hold the fate of the galaxy in my hands” for my taste but, whatever, he gave Shiri Appleby an orgasm “visions of constellations” (lol) by just, like, breathing on her so I was into it. But then he fucked the new girl in season two and got her pregnant with his alien spawn and it all went downhill from there. I don’t stand for cheaters, even if you were tricked into it by an alien seductress. I was rooting for you, Max. We were all rooting for you!
Our therapist once told us “when people show you who they are, believe them” and we can’t remember if she was talking about our parents or the President, but this very much applies to online dating as well. If you want to know whether or not someone is right for you, look no further than the version of themselves they hope you will believe. I mean, if someone can’t come across as a cool person when they have an entire camera roll of photos and the help of their friends at their disposal, there’s no way they’re going to be bearable over drinks. Honestly, anything less than an A+ dating profile is totally unacceptable these days. Like, you can literally pay someone on Craigslist to do this for you. It’s not that hard. But as much as men are responsible for throwing up red flags on the apps, women are responsible for blatantely ignoring them. I’m sorry but you thought the guy who posted a pic of himself shirtless next to a jaguar that he killed in Africa was going to be a fun hookup? Think again. Behind every shirtless mirror selfie, there is a divorce paper that you can easily avoid signing if you just heed these warning signs:
1. His Pictures Feature Multiple Hot Girls
Unless it’s clearly a family reunion and his mom is just a MILF, there’s no reason to feature any other women on your dating profile, no matter how hot you think you look in that tux from your cousin Brad’s wedding. This is a red flag for many reasons. One, she’s either an ex or a current girlfriend and you’re not about to jump into sidepiece nation for anyone. Two, if she’s just a friend, he’s either trying to score jealousy points from you OR he is really that dumb and doesn’t realize how shitty this looks. If it’s the latter, he probably doesn’t tip well either amongst other dumb guy habits, so you’re better off without him.
2. His Profile Is Completely Blank.
If he can’t think of one good thing to say, imagine trying to hold a conversation with him. Nobody wants to date someone that tries too hard, but not trying at all means he’ll probably be a dud in bed. I mean, how hard is it to introduce yourself and say one witty thing? The dating profile is kind of like a cover letter, and if he can’t write a good cover letter, he probably doesn’t have a good job.
3. His Profile Is Full Of Demands.
Example: “If you’re high maintenance DO NOT SWIPE RIGHT,” or “Only Girls Who Watch Dr. Who Need Apply.” Look, if you want to compare dealbreakers, our list is ten times longer than yours. But this is a dating profile, not an autobiography. That’s what the first date is for. Or at least wait until we match before you start asking judgemental question about our taste in music. Don’t worry, we’re judging you much harder than you’re judging us. If his profile sounds angry or demanding, guess what? He is probably angry and demanding. Swipe left on that loser.
4. You Can Only Ever See One Angle Of His Face.
There’s no such thing as a good side if you’re hot because every side is your good side. If all his photos are taken from one angle, he’s not showing you his full face for a reason. Or maybe they’re all close up and you can’t tell what his body looks like. That means he’s much shorter than he’s letting on. No tall guy is ever like, whoops I just forgot to mention I was tall. That’s like running a marathon and never telling anyone, what’s the point?
5. There Is A Prevalence Of Winky Face Emojis.
The occasional ironic emoji is acceptable, but anyone overusing emojis to express themselves is probably the type of guy who gets overly touchy and doesn’t understand personal boundaries. He’s like definitely stared at his female boss’s boobs too long, and he probably calls everyone “sweetheart” to avoid having to remember names. Gross.
6. He Looks Different In All His Photos.
One of them is definitely from ten years ago. If you can’t tell what he looks like, it’s not because he’s Batman and has a secret identity he can’t let you know about. He’s probably just insecure about how he currently looks and chose a bunch of out of date photos to represent him on his profile. If he looked like his pictures, he would look the same in all his pictures.
7. He Talks About How Good He Is At Sex.
You know how the dudes who are the worst at sex always think they’re the best? Yeah, that’s because sex isn’t about the dude, it’s about both people, and if a guy is trying to “win” at sex than 100% he is terrible at it. If he’s posting about his great “skills” on his profile, he’s probably never made a woman finish in his life. Plus he probably has herpes.
8. His List Of What He’s Not Into Is Longer Than His List Of What He Likes.
He is quick to tell you what type of girls he’s not into, but you have no idea if he even has a personality you would like. Guess what? He doesn’t. If your personality is based on just hating things, it’s probably because your personality sucks. He probably thinks about the world in a negative way, and before you know it you’ll be 6 months into dating and he’ll say something dumb like “maybe you should start working out more”.
9. All His Photos Feature Celebrities (Wax Or Real).
Does this guy not have any friends? Nobody cares that you went to Madame Tussaud’s and snapped a selfie with The Rock. Even if you met the actual Rock, this is a dating profile, not a resume of celebrity encounters.
10. He Is An Unknown Actor/Rapper/Model And All His Pictures Are Headshots.
He is definitely going to try and network and honestly he’s probably only dating so he can have a scene study partner. In the slim chance he seems normal, you might try and go on a date with him, but just be warned that he’s insecure by nature and will definitely ask you to help him with his self-tape.
READ: Best First Date Bars To Take Your Next Bumble Bro
Maybe betches were just genetically dispositioned to think that the world is out to get us (whatever, it is), or maybe it’s just the given nature of the modern-day fuckboy, but we need to stop treating our vaginas like they just liked an Instagram picture of some thot. More times than not, we become personally victimized by our vaginas, when we feel the slightest itch or smell the slightest smell because of what most bullshit fake news has been pumped in our minds, and there’s really nothing that screams “trust issues” like hearing that vaginas are just inner-penises or that it’s possible for your precious pussay to come bearing a set of teeth, like it’s a fucking Venus fly trap or something.
Anyway, I cannot believe I’m about to type such a quote, and I’m not even drunk yet, but as the great Corinne Olympios once said, “My heart is gold, but my vagine is platinum.” So leave the lack of faith to your boyfriend and stop believing these dumb fucking myths you heard about your fine china. It deserves better than that.
1. A Lot Of Sex Makes Your Vagina “Loose”
Throwing a hot dog down a hallway, feeding a tic-tac to a whale, dropping a pencil down a mineshaft—yeah, men think they’re so fucking funny. We’ve heard the slut-shaming nicknames before, more commonly given to that one hoe in A-Chi-O way back when. But in reality, joke’s on us because that bitch is living her best life with a tight-ass vajayjay. Unlike men, vaginas don’t let us down. They are biologically resilient, just like our livers after a night of binge drinking, so the idea that a vagina becomes stretched out like a broken slinky after having too much sex is stupid. Not only does it expand to accommodate size,
which is why I’m never having kids it also snaps back to its OG form shortly after sex or childbirth, unless you’re popping out an entire litter. A girl who may seem more ‘loose’ is actually just more aroused because the vagina also does this cool thing where it always comes (no pun intended) fully prepared. Moral of the story: always do your kegels.
2. You Can Lose A Tampon Inside Of Your Vagina
If you tried to tell me that you’ve never had a minor panic attack after going fishing through your cave of wonders for a tampon, then you’re really fucking lucky, but mostly you’re just a liar. Thankfully, given the anatomy of the vagina, you’ve only got a few inches until you hit the cervix barrier. Idk why the hell it feels like it’s 6 feet deep at times, but Google couldn’t answer that for me, so. The good news is, there’s an actual 0% chance your tamp will be floating around in your stomach by lunch time.
3. Douching Is Good For You
Remember when douching was like god’s gift to a squeaky clean vagine? Yeah, me either. It sucked then, and it sucks now. Idk who in their right mind still does this, but apparently douching can fuck up the balance of good and bad bacteria even more than that floral Summer’s Eve shit I still buy. So more than likely, that lavender vanilla vagine scent you’re going for will quickly turn to rotten fish in no time due to the good bacteria being flushed by your nasty box mop. Also, there’s a reason we call idiot men ‘douchebags’, fucking duh.
4. Finding Your G-Spot Is Key To Mind-Numbing Orgasms
K, calm the fuck down, Carrie Bradshaw. First off, if you still haven’t had a G-spot orgasm,
that sucks for you it’s probably too late to start. Second, all these scientific idiots can’t seem to make up their damn mind about whether or not a G-spot actually exists, so no need to flip out. Save yourself some hard-earned dollars and cancel your Amazon order of unnecessary g-spot toys, and maybe invest in something like a solid vibrator, or idk, a new partner. Because as some old random explorer once said, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about how much fun you have on the journey getting there.”
5. The Vagina Is The Same As A Penis, Just Tucked Inside
I honestly can’t believe I’m including this one on this list, but then again, an orange potato is running our country so here we are. I don’t care how comparable the clitoris is to the tip of a penis, if you were to reach up in there and pull a vagina out of the body, a fucking shaft will not magically appear, and if it does, we’ve got bigger problems here.
So yes, your clitoris actually does have similar qualities to a penis (nerve endings, sole purpose, swells when aroused, sensitive AF, blah blah blah), but all that junk on the inside of your body? Nope, not the same. Next.
6. Men Prefer Your Vagina To Be Bare-Shaven
Idk why women have been trained to believe that all men prefer vaginas to look as bald as my Ralph’s rotisserie chicken, but that’s not a thing. Guys don’t want to be reminded of their 10-year-old sister when fucking some girl from a bar. American Apparel did a great job in breaking the mold when they debuted mannequins with giant pube ‘fros, but then again, American Apparel went out of business prob due to the heinous bush gardens on full display, so JK on that. In some random survey I found, 38% of men prefer a woman to groom but to at least have something down there, and only 9% of fuckboys have actually ended a date because of a women’s grooming habits (lol ok). So really what I’m getting at is that if Cameron Diaz is an advocate for freeing the pubes, then you don’t need to resemble a raw cutlet to get some.
Whatever, I’m still not cancelling my wax apt.
7. All Labia Look The Same
Note to anyone who’s ever taken a hand mirror to their lady bits, vaginas ain’t always pretty. When exploring your feminine fortress, it’s normal to come across flaps and traps you may think aren’t normal sized or shaped, but unless you’re starring in the next Lawrence of a Labia film, you’ll never have a “designer vagina”. To help this case further, some
pervert artist even sculpted a bunch of vulvas out of clay to show that no two vaginas look the same. I’ll let you look that one up.
8. If It Doesn’t Smell Like Roses, Houston, We Have A Problem
It’s time you start giving your muff a little more credit. I already told you that your vag won’t let you down, and I meant it. It may contain more bacteria than anywhere else in your body, but it’s also a self-cleansing organ and handles pH like a fucking boss. A little bit of odor is normal, and can also change depending on your menstrual cycle, change of diet, choice of activity… basically any time. In other words, maybe don’t hit up SoulCycle on day two of your period to avoid smelling like your dog’s canned dinner, you know? But if you’re really feeling like your stench trench is totally out of whack, idk maybe hit up your OBGYN, but whatever you do, don’t you fucking dare pay a visit to WebMD, because you will have chlamydia. And die.
READ: What Your Birth Control Says About You
While casually perusing the internet this week, I had the misfortune of stumbling upon an article from the New York Post entitled, “Hamptons Bachelors Are Getting Vasectomies So Gold Diggers Can’t Trap Them“. I pause. I look around. Is it April Fools? Is this a fucking joke? Surely this is some kind of satirical statement about what the world would be like if the Trump agenda continues to pass? Right? RIGHT?!? I click. No. Sadly, this article is real. Too real. And there actually are multiple grown adult men who think that women who vacay in the Hamptons (aka us) are doing so in order to get pregnant and have their shitty rich guy babies. Vom.
From the very first sentence, this article lets you know exactly what type of bro would get a preemptive anti-gold digger vasectomy:
“When Scott, a male model who says he’s in his 30s, kicks off the Hamptons high season this weekend at his Sag Harbor waterfront house, the unattached hunk won’t have any reservations about hooking up with women he hardly knows.”
Okay so like, as far as I can tell there are upwards of 100 things wrong with just this sentence alone. First and foremost, can someone confirm to me that this “male model who says he’s in his thirties” and got dick surgery to avoid condoms named Scott is not actually Scott Disick? This could 100% be Scott Disick.
Secondly, “says he’s in his 30s” is a very strange way to describe someone’s age. Does the author have reason to believe that Scott is not, in fact, in his 30s? I’m picturing a 60-year-old in a flat brim hat screaming about how he keeps meeting gold diggers on “The Tinder,” and considering that Scott does not provide a photo of himself here (probably for the best), I’m going to go ahead and say that I am 100% correct.
Other problems with this sentence include, but are not limited to: the use of the words “unattached hunk,” which made me want to gouge out my eyes, and the fact that potential future child support payments are the only reservation this 30- (read: 60-) year-old man has with having unprotected sex with women he barely knows.
Scott, if you’re reading this, you have HPV. I don’t know this, but I know this.
Now, while truly every part of this article is a nightmare freakshow from fuckboy hell, I’ve chosen a few key parts to highlight the many, many problems presented here by at least five men, all of whom should be deported and sent to live on that island made of trash in the Pacific.
First, there’s this sentence, which will haunt me until the day I die:
“Scott — who describes himself as “Tarzan with light eyes” — typically beds up to 10 different women per summer and estimates that 20 percent of the single ladies he encounters are looking to trap a rich guy with a baby.”
Okay so this definitely is Scott Disick. Tarzan with light eyes? What the fuck is that? In no universe is it okay for a man to describe himself this way (unless he’s giving his Bachelorette contestant bio, in which case, anything goes…)
So let’s break down this math. White Tarzan hooks up with 10 women per summer, and of those ten at least two of them (20%—I know math) are attempting to trap him with their ovaries. Interesting hypothesis, Scott. I would like to now provide a counter-hypothesis: you’re a fucking dumbass.
Here’s what I imagine a conversation with Scott would be like:
WOMAN: Hey, are you in line for the bathroom?
SCOTT: Wow. Okay. Um. I’m actually not interested in a relationship right now, but thank you. *touches small of woman’s back as he walks away*
The article then introduces us to Matt, a 41-year-old divorced Park Slope resident who “works in media and drives a Jaguar convertible.” Please excuse me while I grab my vibrator. Can’t imagine anything sexier than a 41-year-old divorcé who lives in Brooklyn and has a car. Where would I ever find such a prize?
Matt got his preemptive vasectomy in four years ago in May, to ensure that his penis was thoroughly useless by the time summer came around. What poor Matt doesn’t realize is that his penis was useless all along. The call is coming from inside the house, Matty.
According to Dr. David Shusterman, the only man so sad and pathetic that he actually put his real name in this trash, these men “don’t want to be in the situation of being accused of fathering an unwanted baby.”
This doctor knows that pregnancy takes the work of two people to occur, right? Like it’s not something women do to men out of anger. In this scenario, you’re not “being accused of fathering an unwanted baby.” You just actually fathered an unwanted baby because you stuck your big money diamond dick unwrapped into a woman you’ve barely met. That’s why it happened. It’s not a trap. It’s science. How are you a doctor?
Dr. Shusterman adds that these men are also doing an “analysis of cost” because the price of a vasectomy is ultimately less than what they’d have to pay if they got someone pregnant. Um, okay…y’all know what else is pretty cheap? Condoms. Real cheap. You can buy a shitload of them on Amazon and fuck as many girls as you want. It’s kind of magical, really.
Then Dr. Shusterman adds, “rich guys are a population that’s abused a lot.”
And for that reason, Dr. Shusterman is now cancelled. Sorry Dr. Shusterman. It’s time for you to go back to the house, pack your things, and go home.
34-year-old bachelor John (who asked to have his name changed for reasons that will become clear in a moment) says that last summer a woman “pulled a fast one” on him when he caught her trying to artificially inseminate herself in his bathroom with the remnants of their used condom.
What the fuck kind of women is John hooking up with? The average twenty-something Hamptons goer (aka me) is not usually in a place where “getting pregnant” is even in the top 10 of your to do list. If a woman is at the Hamptons hooking up with rando rich guys, she’s probably looking for access to his liquor cabinet and the opportunity to take pics by his pool. That’s it. Do these guys really think that young, hot women—who, btw, have enough money to be vacationing in the Hamptons without trapping men into lifelong child support payments—want to destroy their lives, and more importantly, their vaginas, by having their shitty kid? I think not. Also, and I wouldn’t put it past a group of rich caucasian Tarzans not to know about this, but there is a little thing called the GOP healthcare bill that is going around, which the CBO estimates would raise maternity coverage by one thousand dollars per month so yeah, getting pregnant isn’t this biological piggy bank that women can break open at any time. It actually costs us money.
How much do these dumbasses really think their child support payments are worth? I’m not saying that there aren’t women out there desperate enough to do such a thing (I’ve heard it’s a pretty good way to become First Lady, actually) but this is not the norm. The idea that these guys are encountering multiple women per summer who are sneaking off into the bathroom and turkey basting themselves in order to trap men into fatherhood honestly says more about where they’re going to pick up women than it does about the women themselves. Like, where are you meeting these women? RussianEscorts.Com?
Heads up, dudes—if ya girl first approached you on a street corner and told you that her name was “Candy Crush,” she’s probably not “off work,” if you know what I mean.
Literal prostitutes aside, I highly doubt there are this many women in the Hamptons looking to get knocked up. Having a baby isn’t like…easy for women. It’s not like they just have the thing and use all the child support money to go on trips. They use the money to raise a fucking baby for the next 18 years. Nobody is like, “Oh! I’m gonna get pregnant so I can start getting gel manicures!” Chances are, if you get one of your random Hamptons hookups pregnant she is just as upset as you are. Actually, probably more upset because now she has to deal with your dumbass for the rest of her life, or at least has to go through the trouble of sending you a Venmo request for half the price of an abortion.
So to Matt, John, Scott and all the other men who contributed to this article, I think I speak for all women when I say: You can go shave your back now. K Bye.
Congratulations, Betches, you made it to Friday. Which means you’re, like, one passive-aggressive department email away from slipping something stronger than Baileys into your coffee. And, like, same. I’m also counting down the minutes until I can escape and find a happy hour with drink prices that won’t require me to trade my first born child in for a vodka soda. (Which I totally would do depending on how good that vodka soda was). But because we live in a sprawling metropolis filled with millennials assholes with Instagram accounts, happy hour always comes with a price and that price is douchebags.
Tbh I don’t hate douchebags as much as, say, an emotionally stable, functioning adult with eyes and a brain should. I guess there’s something endearing about the drunkest, loudest, preppiest asshole in the room who will probs spill beer on himself and/or insult no less than five people at the bar. Oh shit. Wait, maybe I’m the douchebag…? Nah, can’t be because I’m a fucking gem. But I can’t deny that I do love to party with the douchebags. That should be a True Life segment right there. But it’s because of my high tolerance for alcohol douchebaggery that I’m able to frequent the bars these creatures are constantly trolling in and write this article. I’m super giving like that. So here’s a list of the douchiest bars in Manhattan. You’re welcome.
1. Turtle Bay
Location: Midtown East
Type of Douchebag: The Business Bro Douchebag
Midtown East should come with some sort of warning label like “this area contains very expensive drinks and douchebags in a suit, continue at your own risk of being roofied.” (Side note: can we consult the mayor about this? I have some v important plans for the city, people.) The majority of dudes who hit up this bar work “in business” which I’m sure is the vague way of saying they have a business degree from some shitty school upstate (I assume). That’s titillating stuff right there. Turtle Bay is no different. They call it a “grill and lounge” which is really just code for getting fucked up and enduring probably married dudes hitting on you while simultaneously talking your ear off about how they used to “rule at beer pong.” And they say romance is dead.
2. Brother Jimmy’s
Location: Murray Hill
Type of Douchebag: The Hoboken Douchebag
I am sure other people besides Hoboken commuters hang out at this bar, but if there are, I haven’t met them. As far as I’m concerned this is just a landing spot for people who don’t actually live in the city to feel a little bit alive by getting fucked up off of blue swamp juice and waiting for their train to Jers. Because this place serves fishbowls so you know it’s a fucking shit show in there. This is also the type of establishment that Trump supporters frequent, or so I would imagine because I knew a girl who knew a guy who voted for Trump who loves this bar and so now it will forever be the bar for Trump supporters and Hoboken commuters. I’m sure there’s no connection. Godspeed to those who enter, though!
3. 13th Step
Location: East Village
Type of Douchebag: The Frat Star Douchebag
Let me just set the scene here, K? Picture the dankest, darkest basement of your favorite frat house in college. Now think about going there as an adult and having Natty Lite spilled on your the purse you just fucking bought. Charming. As for the douchebags that populate this
Satan’s den bar, I’ll just leave this here:
Jesus. So in case I wasn’t being clear enough, this is a bar where 90% of its customers are dudes in a frat/want to be in a frat/think they’re still in a frat even though they graduated three years ago and the other 10% are girls who say shit like “I get along better with guys.” Definitely hit up this bar if you just turned 21 and/or want to feel like you’re 21 again.
4. Hair Of The Dog
Location: Lower East Side
Type of Douchebag: The Shit Show Douchebag
If Midtown East is where the full-blown douchebags reside, then LES is where the young-douches-in-training hang out. And Hair of the Dog is the mecca for sloppy assholes with a drinking problem. I equate this bar to the second ring of Hell, because unless you’re blackout this place is a cesspool. I have literally seen people dry humping on the floor. ON THE FLOOR. Another thing about HOTD is that time does not seem to pass here. It could be 2am or 2pm and there would still be a fuck-ton of people grinding to shitty rap music and vomiting in the bathroom sink. I say all of this like I don’t frequent this den of hedonism every other Saturday because it’s a fun fucking time and I totally do.
^^ Real footage of me watching some crazy shit go down at HOTD
5. Jake’s Dilemma
Location: Upper West Side
Type of Douchebag: The Douchebag Who Doesn’t Think He’s A Douchebag
This place is sort of secluded in the sense that it’s located in the Upper West Side and I only go there when I visit my lone friend who lives in
isolation UWS and she threatens to put me in her burn book if I don’t come out with her. The place itself reeks of moldy beer and people trying to reclaim their college days. But what makes this bar special is the type of douchebags who frequent it. Because it’s v far from civilization lower Manhattan, all the bros who hang out up there actually don’t consider themselves pieces of shit. You know the type I’m talking about. The kind who think they’re too mature for 13th Step and talk about this frequently as they drink Natty Lite and spill shit on the purse you just fucking bought. That’s what we’re dealing with here. I suggest only going to this bar if you can tolerate high levels of bullshit. Think Spencer Pratt trying to sell you on the healing powers of crystals bullshit.
6. The Frying Pan
Type of Douchebag: The Wannabe Yacht Owner Douchebag
I want to like The Frying Pan, I do. On paper it’s got everything: the ideal outdoor setting, the view of Jersey (?), and the potential for my photos to get a ton of Instagram likes. It’s a basic bitch’s boats and hoes dream. But I just cannot with the patrons there. The guys are decked out in clearance section J.Crew (ew) and I have seen multiple girls on multiple occasions wearing pearls. Unironically. And on too many separate occasions for it to be considered a coincidence. The vibe they’re trying very hard for is old Southern money—and as someone born and raised in the South let me just say, Steel Magnolias they are not. Go to this bar if you want to deal with bros from Jersey fronting like they’re Jay fucking Gatsby. But also, like, I’ll do anything for the Insta so you will def see me there come summer.
7. Brass Monkey
Type of Douche: The Rich AF Foreign Douchebag
Ah, the Meatpacking district. The place where I take the best Instagram pics at the price of having to socialize with douchebags wearing gold chains. It’s got a very European vibe to it in the sense that your wallet will 100% be stolen by the end of the night and you’ll def get hit on by a Saudi Arabian prince (or so he claims) who wants to buy you a drink for the evening. That being said, Brass Monkey is trendy AF with a bangin’ rooftop that will def be the background of your new profile picture. The only catch is the douchebags you’ll have to put up with throughout the night who feign a language barrier every time you say the words “GTFO of my face.” Think Jean-Ralphio but with less class and more money.
8. Houston Hall
Location: West Village
Type of Douchebag: The DTF Douchebag
I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Houston Hall. Located in the heart of the West Village, it’s douchey AF with a mix of fratty young professionals and NYU students with really good fakes. How do I know this? Because after consuming a few very hefty mugs of beer I may or may not have taken home a 19-year-old lacrosse player. Sadly, he had to return to school to finish his senior year otherwise I’m sure it would have turned into a
promising Snapchat relationship v epic love story. Which brings me to my other point, people at this bar are DTF for reals.
On the surface it doesn’t seem like that kind of place, considering it’s a giant beer hall that quietly plays Top 40 hits and its standard patronage is white dudes in khakis, but don’t let its outer appearance fool you. It could be the massive beers or the fact that you have to fight gladiator-style through a large crowd for said beers, but there’s a sense of camaraderie there that you won’t find in other
douchebag dens bars. It’s kind of like a middle school dance, except instead of awkwardly grinding to a Chris Brown song you’re awkwardly trying to eye fuck the hottie in Patagonia pullover while suggestively sipping a large amount of beer. And it works like an obvious ploy to get laid a charm. Seriously, though, every time I go there someone in my friend group lands themselves a fuckboy for the evening and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Dear Chauvinistic Assholes,
I’ve been seeing a very, very unfortunate trend in modern millennial dating in which guys throw out the terms “crazy”, “psycho”, or “stage 5 clinger” when a girl so much as texts him to be like, “Hey u up?”. News fucking flash: It’s 2018. You know what’s really “crazy”? Here’s a refresher, losers.
- Donald Trump being the goddamn President of the United States
- ZAYN leaving One Direction and his last name in the dust (RIP)
- North Korea lauching missiles … YES THAT IS HAPPENING
- Permanent freckle tattoos. Somebody please tell me why that is even a thing.
- This little thing called ISIS and global terror—ever heard of it?
I hope that puts things into perspective for you. Trying to communicate and show positive interest and affirmation (aka, texting you 1-2 times a week) doesn’t make a girl “thirsty” or “insane.” It makes her a normal fucking person—and BTW, you should feel #blessed that a betch is into you in the first place.
Of course, there are real “stage 5 clingers” out there, both men and women. Case in point: My (female) best friend once met a perfectly nice, cute guy in a bar. They exchanged numbers and went on one date which was pretty okay. Next thing she knew, she’d be looking at her Instagram notifications and he’d be tagging her in AT LEAST SIXTEEN posts per day. He’d send her paragraphs and paragraphs at a time, Snapchat her twenty times a day, and even put a down payment on a puppy that she mentioned she wanted, assuming they would raise it together when their one mediocre dinner date turned into a fruitful marriage. (He actually raises the puppy alone now because obviously she had to ghost him.) Does this guy warrant a “crazy” label? Absolutely. But unless you can honestly say that every girl you’re calling “crazy” acts like this—in which case, you have bigger problems, like why you’re a magnet for the mentally unstable—then it’s time to reassess your vocab.
There is a very problematic, gendered paradox when it comes to men and women in romantic relationships. For example, T-Swift gets called “crazy” all the time for writing songs about her exes. When Robin Thicke wrote and performed Paula, AN ENTIRE ALBUM that was a desperate plea for his ex-wife Paula Patton to take him back after he got caught cheating, it was dubbed by the media as “a heartfelt reconciliation”. WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?
Bottom line, the word “crazy” is a convenient term for men, and an often discriminatory word for women. Some men (#notallmen, wouldn’t want you to get too butthurt) simply throw out the term because it’s easier than getting down and dirty with their real emotions and addressing real issues within their relationships in a healthy way. So, next time you’re about to call a betch crazy, boys, think before you speak. It’s like, the rules of feminism.
Not your BSCB,