The United States of Fuckboys: Every guy you’ll meet in all 50 states
From sea to shining sea
They say Times Square is the crossroads of America. It’s where weary travelers pass across our nation, on their way from sea to shining sea – the great American melting pot. And the same can be said of your vagina! The stomping ground for guys from every state, some of them eligible, some less so. You’ll need a map to get started – your guide to the United States of Fuckboys, with illustrations by Lucy Turnbull for babe.
Alabama: The Frat Star
Hey can I ask you a question: do you want to be a brother? I hope you’re ok with hearing these words, because when dating a Frat Star, not a lot else will come out of his mouth. He’ll still be talking about the values of philanthropy and brotherhood 9-12 years after graduating from his D3 party school. He follows @OldRow, @BarstoolSmokeShows, doesn't understand that TFM is mostly satire, and spends at least 10 percent of his day mindlessly liking smokes from schools he couldn't get into. His breath will smell of dip and cheap beer, his gut will slowly expand as he slips further away from college and into irrelevance, but hey, at least he probably has a fun coke problem!
Alaska: The Outdoorsman
Let's kick this off with the fact that all dudes from Alaska are super hot, even if they're really judgmental of people who buy plastic water bottles from the gas station instead of boiling their own lake water in a canteen. They're hot. Like, they all look the the Brawny Paper Towels guy. Unfortunately for you, the height of romance to him is pissing in a bush somewhere with no cell reception, so hope you’re psyched for that. Here's the thing with Nature Guys, though: they're feelings sluts. You know when you're snuggled together in flannel sleeping bags and gazing up at a blanket of stars that you can't see in the city and he says something about his childhood dog who died or whatever and then he gets real soulful and says, "Wow, I've never told anyone that before." Yeah, he's told people that before. Plus, he's always wearing hiking boots so you’ve never even seen his bare feet…but you’re not sure you want to.
Arizona: The Pseudo-Shaman
This turquoise-wearing dude doesn't believe in time, space, social media, money, or responding to your texts in a timely manner. He's spiritual (not religious) but loves to remind you that Charles Manson didn't actually kill anyone himself. Boys from Arizona are beautiful, sure, but can you get past the general mustiness that comes from owning one pair of shoes — and Birkenstocks at that? He's the human version of a pay-what-you-want yoga class: liberated on the outside, a damp fart trapped in lycra on the inside.
Arkansas: The Good Ol' Boy
Like most fuckboys, he's got multiple females in his life. But in this instance, they almost all have motors. His truck, 4-wheeler and jet ski (of course he has a jet ski, of course he bought it on Craigslist) all use she/her pronouns and he'll flip out if you misuse them — the irony of him calling Caitlyn "Bruce" is totally lost on him, though. Let me be clear: despite having to spit his dip out before kissing you, I get the allure of a dude from AR. In the event of nuclear holocaust, he could hunt for your food and clothing (he would still only ever wear vests he made from t-shirts, but still). Unfortunately for you, he's already been out with everyone in your town. Twice.
California: Sk8r Boi
Some crimes can never be forgiven. And I'm pretty sure the Nuremberg Trials cemented the fact that if even if someone else puts Jackass DVDs on the TV, you're responsible too if you don't get up to change the disk. And I knoooow Nazis and guys who scream "Don't wear Thrasher if you don't skate!!!" are different…but are they really? California fuckboys are just like Otto Rocket from Rocket Power, except they're 27 and still trying to get sponsored. You're an upwardly-mobile woman, and he has a tie-dyed sheet over the window instead of curtains to block out the light because he sleep 'til noon. You're a gorgeous, vital queen, and you're not sure if he still has testicular function because of how many times he’s fallen off his board.
Colorado: The Stoner
I love buying one of those cute little weed pens from the delivery guys as much as the next girl, but I really don't want to be trapped in an episode of South Park for the rest of my life — and that's why you must always wear a condom while hooking up with a guy from Colorado! Here's a scenario: behind Door #1 is a guy who says he's into hiking, but he really means walking 20 feet from his apartment building to a tree line to smoke a joint. Behind Door #2 is Cerberus but all the heads are that infamous picture of Katy Perry with no makeup and gnawing on my corpse. Sorry to all white dreadlock-wearers, but I pick Door #2.
Connecticut: The Ivy Leaguer
You know how every Nate Archibald-centered storyline on Gossip Girl was about things like, "But with Grandfather visiting Senator George at Camp David, I simply don't see how he got the documents!" and lots of sweaters? Yeah, that's real! You had no idea drama lurked in homes filled with so much oak paneling but there it is, covered in cashmere. The biggest problem with dating a Connecticut Ivy Leaguer is being forced to watch their "my parents' expectations" episodes unfold one after another. Call it Poor Little Rich Boy syndrome but if I have to listen to one more complaint about wanting to get into a school on his own merit and not because his father built a new science wing, I will release all his polo ponies into the forest.
Delaware: The Patriot
They say nothing in life is truly free, but they’ve never met The Patriot. Chugging all-American beers from an all-American solo cup is what he does best and he'll be damned if anyone is gonna stop him. Like corporate tax rates, responsible drinking and proper attire have no place in The Small Wonder. Delaware guys are hot in a kinda obnoxious way. Like, they’re attractive despite the fact they’re wearing a blazer over a slogan tee and those stars and stripes shirts they sell at K-Mart. They’re not intellectual enough for DC and they’re not southern enough for Virginia, but one thing they are is first — including when they cum!
Florida: The Promoter
Dalé! So Florida can basically be divided into four parts: Extremely old folks, swamp people, club promoters, and Mickey Mouse. Only 1/4 of the state is sexy, so we'll focus on that — sorry to lemon party and/or furry fans out there. Florida dudes are always stylish in a loud way, tan (is that racist?), and are obsessed with social climbing. When you guys first meet, he's all over you and you're completely flattered by the attention…until you notice that every time you guys hang, he's craning his neck looking for someone cooler and more connected than you. Be honest, though: do you really want to go out with a guy who still busts out glow sticks at the club? :/
Georgia: Soundcloud Tsar
He might be incredibly talented but you'd never know it because he's way busier talking about his brand than his work. Guys from Georgia, not unlike Florida, are obsessed with the next big thing so long as it concerns them. And it's not enough for him to be hyper into his own image — if you're dating a Georgia fuckboy, he will annex you. He'll make sure everything you're wearing and everything you're doing is cool. Let me put it this way: He's the kind of guy who uses all the hot water because he spends an hour in the shower practicing what he'd say on a talkshow when he inevitably gets famous. Meanwhile, you're left clutching a towel in the hallway and checking your phone — wait a minute, is he tweeting in the shower????
Hawaii: Surfer Dude
Yes, he uses his surfboard to pick up girls like other guys do with puppies. Yes, he's obsessed with the idea of condemning "posers." YES, his car is always filthy, like when you open up the door it's just an avalanche of McDonald's breakfast wrappers! But yes, you keep going back to him because saltwater-stiffened hair and wave-hardened muscles just do something to you. The problem is what he wants. He's very into the concept of vibes but only when he can use them to his advantage. A committed relationship? Bad vibes, dude.
Idaho: The Meme King
Men from Idaho are…exhausting. Everything you find funny, he finds lame. Or he thought it was funny six month ago and will make sure you know it. You can never tell when he’s being sincere or when he’s being sarcastic/ironic/mean. He's permanently attached to his phone which is why you know he got your "ARE YOU TAGGING OTHER BITCHES IN YOUR MEMES YES OR NO" text. Whatever, he didn't own a single shirt with a collar or without a screen-print anyway.
Illinois: The Comedian
I know it's a total cliche, but I'd be willing to bet everything I have that he's probably got some DEEP problems and/or internal sadness. And even if I'm wrong, joke's on you because I don't have anything! These guys seem really fun on the surface. They're not afraid to get on-stage (literally or metaphorically, whatever) and take control of the crowd. But what they are afraid of is accessing real emotions, so be prepared for him to make everything a bit. That, along with his total willingness to make every fight you've ever had material for his routine/spec script/podcast. You won't even know there are things he hates about you until he's calling you a bitch with a corded mic in his hand. Or was that just a very specific thing that happened to me one time?
Indiana: The Mama's Boy
You will never meet an adversary so powerful as the overly-attached mother. Specifically, the overly-attached mother of a straight boy. No bitchy middle school queen bee, no "I'm coming to you woman-to-woman" in your Instagram DMs will ever terrify you the way an Indiana Mom will. When you get invited to her house for dinner (second date, probably), you'll be immediately accosted by his Little League trophies, Boy Scout badges, and middle school report cards stuck to the fridge. The Indiana guy is genuinely nice, but at what cost?! When you politely offer to help clean up, you find her in the kitchen, menacingly sharpening her very affordable Gordon Ramsey-branded knives she bought on the Home Shopping Network.
Iowa: The Litboy
He's got a lot to say about everything he considers literary — he’s not afraid to mansplain Thoreau to you, to carry a copy of Infinite Jest around (front cover facing outwards, of course), to subtly drop hints that he doesn’t consider writing by women to be valid. Litboys draw you in with their man bun and convince you that they actually have something valid to say. “I love that book,” he’ll smile shyly at you. Then he'll vanish but every few weeks, he’ll send you a series of bizarre texts to make you worry about him even though he’s probably just sitting in a coffee shop and writing weird free verse. He thinks he's Hemingway, but his parents still pay his phone bill. All they have in common is a drinking problem.
Kansas: The Softboy
You’re caught so off-guard when he doesn’t immediately treat you like roadside trash that it’s blinding. “Guys,” you text your group chat after your first date of IPAs at a cozy little bar he recommended. “He’s actually…nice.” As the weeks progress, you’re regaled with tales about his beloved mom and sister, the creative nonfiction he writes that always feature non-binary characters, his childhood dog. Then things begin to turn dark. You realize you haven’t had sex in a non-missionary position since you met because he thinks it’s degrading to not look into a woman’s eyes while “making love.” When you try to distance yourself from his overbearing ways, he'll be a complete dick and pretend he never liked you to begin with. How dare you spurn him, a Nice Guy™ with his vinyl records and horn-rimmed glasses?
Kentucky: Southern Gentleman
He's got the "My dad is gonna sue you" haircut (male cousin of the "I want to speak to the manager") swooped to perfection, and his pastel Brooks Brothers button-downs are ideal for stealing to sleep in. So what if his many pairs of Sperrys all smell terrible? Wait, is he…taking a shot of liquor out of them? Welcome to the world of souther gentleman fuckboys: two parts sweet and thoughtful, one part absolutely disgusting. It's like this: he arrives at his fraternity's tailgate alum, inevitably dressed in something cute and seersucker. He always refills your drink, he compliments you on your sundress, he places a hand protectively on your shoulder and…yep, he's throwing up in the beer trough. Next.
Louisiana: The Foodie
You may think uploading a cute photo of the colorful food you're eating is totally harmless. But do you still feel that way when your date physically gets up on a chair to get the best possible photo of his brunch? What about when he asks other patrons to all turn on their phone flashlights so he can get the lighting just right? What about when he yells at you for taking a bite before he can snap the perfect shot of your eggs benedict? A Louisiana fuckboy lives his trendy life for other people, typically through his four Instagram accounts: his main, his finsta, his foodie account, and the one dedicated to his French bulldog puppy in which all the captions are in the first person like it's actually the dog writing them.
Maine: The 'Dark' Guy
Don’t be fooled by his Cthulhu t-shirt, his pasty-ass face and the copy of IT poking out from his blazer – this guy fucks. The Maine fuckboy’s ideal date would be a horror movie screening at midnight, a few bottles of a craft ale with a skull on the label, and the opportunity to explain the plot of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series to you. He has visited HP Lovecraft’s grave, which he smirked was "my own sort of pilgrimage," and is working on his own novel, which like, reimagines the plot of The Shining, only this time Danny is replaced by a buxom blonde whose psychic powers are sexier, and she smokes cigarettes and drinks whisky. He thinks it’s hot.
Maryland: The Class President
Where do you work? Probably an office, probably quite boring. Well don’t worry, the Class President will tell you that because he works on The Hill, and his very important job is of Very Important National Importance. He doesn’t have security clearance but my god he wishes. If you enter any sort of long-term relationship, you will not just be a girlfriend. You will be a running mate, a spin doctor, a personal assistant and you will come second for the rest of your life . He won’t cry at sad movies or when his relatives die, but he will cry when someone disrespects the Office of the President. I hope you know how a bill gets made because if you don’t, he’s gonna mansplain the fuck out of senate filibuster rules. If he could wear a flag pin while having sex he would and unless you think he’s actually enough of a dirtba to achieve high office, you need to get out of there before you spend every primary season for the rest of your life in Iowa.
Massachusetts: The Masshole
Lahge cawfee extra cream, he shouts at the patient staff working at the Dunkin Donuts in Worcester. They’ve come to loathe the man they see every day in the same dirty Sox hat, the same dirty work boots and the same dirty Bruins jersey. They see the smoke of a thousand Parliaments slowly seep out of the windows of his 2009 Honda Civic. He’s loud, he’s brash and his iPhone 4 hasn’t had a working screen since Deflategate. The Masshole speaks his mind, and if you can tolerate the coffee/cigarette breath, he’ll fight for you 'til the last. Fiercely loyal, and always a good time, you’ll never forget the Masshole — but you might also have to bail him out for fighting at the Pats game for the third time this season.
Michigan: The Guy Who’s Really Into Cars
Hot and dangerous, the Michigan fuckboy is tough enough to protect you from sinister characters and broken glass in the 7/11 parking lot. He wears the same outfit every day without fail: a leather jacket paired with a white t-shirt you originally thought was grey but now you can see it’s just stained. He'll tell you he was a juvenile delinquent, even though he was only given detention once for smoking cigarettes in the parking lot. He wants to see himself as Paul Walker from the Fast and the Furious movies, but is probably more like Bender from The Breakfast Club but with like, a muscle car. Michigan fuckboys will drive you around too fast, even when you scream "Slow down!" so he slams the breaks at the edge of a cliff. A common phrase he likes to say: "School doesn’t measure intelligence, just obedience," which has stood him in good stead because he never got his GED.
Minnesota: The Craft Beer Snob
You might initially dismiss the Minnesotan’s big, lazy grin and funny accent, which makes him sound like some sort of diet Canadian. But beneath his grizzly exterior and beard flecked with craft beer foam lies a strong, proud man willing to die to defend his home state. If anyone tries to drag Minnesota, they will get pelted with facts defending their glorious Land of 10,000 Lakes. "We’ve got the Mall of America! Prince! Gooseberry Falls! Fort Snelling! The Aerial Lift Bridge! Cut me and I bleed Caribou Coffee! L’Étoile du Nord, bitch! And fuck anyone from Iowa."
Mississippi: The High School Athlete
Travel back to your Mississippi hometown for the holidays and you’ll find a certain type of fuckboy who's never moved on from his triumphant state win back in 2008. For the star players of Robert E Lee High’s football team, it was the greatest moment of their entire lives. It made them local heroes… and they’re still wearing their faded Letterman jackets to prove it. There they are, in your hometown bar, reliving the game’s play-by-play as if it were yesterday. In between spitting into an old plastic Coke bottle, they’re acting out key throws and celebrating the touchdowns as if they were still there, in the stadium, in the best moment they’ll ever know. And here they are, 10 years later, flashing you a greasy smile from across the bar, asking if they can buy y’all a Coors Light.
Missouri: The CrossFitter
Andrew Christian underwear is not gay!!!!! he's told you so many times. But have a look at the Andrew Christian site and tell me what you think. Duplicitous sexuality aside, you have to admit that he is in monster shape — you're just not sure if you like it. I mean, can't you indulge in one Chick-fil-A cheat meal without someone throwing your Polynesian sauce in the trash and shaming you about how there are NO DAYS OFF? There's no room for anything you like in the fridge because it's so jammed with protein plates and Michelob Ultras. Plus, cuddling with someone who aspires to have the physique of 1970 Arnold Schwarzenegger is like cuddling up next to a garbage bag filled with remote controls.
Montana: The Tinder Fisherman
Look at the way he proudly smiles up at you from your phone screen as he dangles his Catch of the Day between the legs of his cargo pants-clad legs! You already know those pockets are just filled with carabiners, hooks, and zip-ties! Imagine the cute Boy Scout you went to elementary school with. Remember how they were so helpful and knew all the different kinds of knots? Ok, now picture them grown-up and refusing to Venmo you $250 for his half of the abortion. Now picture him rising with the sun, which he calls "nature's alarm clock." Honestly, I don't know which is worse.
Nebraska: The Armchair Quarterback
You've gone through three (3) coffee tables this year because your boyfriend, an armchair quarterback from Nebraska, refuses to stop smashing them in anger when his team loses. He categorically refuses to accept that the players can't hear him from his living room and, as a result, his post-fumble "COME ON!!!!!" scream is deafening. Every Saturday, without fail, you're either listening to him call every coach and player a fucking moron, or freezing at the tailgate — never at the actual game, though. He'll never get over the one season in which he was almost a third-string walk-on kicker for the Huskers, and since he talks about it all the damn time, neither can you.
Nevada: The Perma-Bachelor
If only my suit fit me as well as Bradley Cooper's did in The Hangover, thinks the Nevada Fuckboy, then my life would be complete. There he goes, prowling through the bar with his shirt undone one button too many, slurring his words and sloshing his martini. If only they tasted as good as they look, he wonders to himself. Never ask him to take off his sunglasses, because they're hiding a pair of crusted, bloodshot eyes that were once innocent and full of life. He is now a walking party machine, repeating to his friends: "You're getting married? Loser! It's the single life for me, brah!", not knowing he will be doomed to grow a paunch, let his expensive suit become stained and nasty, and become one of the Las Vegas slot machine grannies, thumbing quarters into the machine and drinking a two-liter bottle of diet Coke, hoping to win the prize of his lost youth.
New Hampshire: Rich But Embarrassed About It
“Hey girl, didn’t I see you at the Tri-Kap dager last week?” is a typical opening gambit of the New Hampshire Fuckboy who is Rich But Embarrassed About It. A Dartmouth man through and through, he is a perfect vision of button-downs, khaki pants, and a blazer that can be worn at formals but also at his father’s yacht club. Ask him outright if he’s rich, he’ll be quick to tell you his family don’t own a private jet – it’s only a stake in a shared G6 between several of my father’s business partners. And he doesn’t have a mansion on Nantucket, it’s just a little summer house on the beach near the Obamas' place. A fun trick if you want to put him on the spot – ask him to pronounce the name of his very expensive watch (Audemars Piguet) and watch him squirm.
New Mexico: The Plug
New Mexico, they say, is the land of enchantment, a desert where your road trip dreams can come true. It’s closer to a dusty nightmare where the guys smell of grime and smegma. Your New Mexican fuckboy, if he’s from Albuquerque, will be way too eager to show you landmarks from Breaking Bad – you know, that house you can throw a pizza onto, or that crystal meth motel – because that’s all he has. That, and his “I am the one who knocks” shirt (stained), a wide-brimmed hat (doesn’t fit), and Heisenberg sunglasses (actually a little tight so they dig in and leave red, welt-like indents on his head). If he’s from Santa Fe, expect the same but with conversations about Ayahuasca so tedious you’ll want to hurl yourself off the cliffs at Los Alamos.
New Jersey: The Seaside Guido
It’s Memorial Day weekend, you’re down the shore. You’re about three very fruity, very alcoholic drinks in. You should be having a great time. But you’re not. You should be with your boyfriend enjoying the sun and the crystal clear waters of the garden state’s Atlantic coast. But no you’re not. Because Vinnie, your boyfriend, has been thrown out of the bar for pumping his fists too aggressively. He’s arguing with the bouncers, he’s calling them all assholes. It will not end well for him. But here’s the thing about your NJ guido man: he has an unmistakable charm. Is it the perma-tan that makes him look Sicilian all year round? Is it the ice that bedazzles his wrists? Is it the way he says he can’t wait to take you home to ma (she has the best sauce in New Jersey). You’ll never leave the guido because no matter how fistpump-y he gets, you think you can change him. But you know what? Some men will live and die in novelty tank tops and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it
New York: The Finance Bro
I live in the American Gardens Building on West 81st Street on the 11th floor. I’m 27 years old. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower I use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an after shave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.
North Carolina: The Woke Boy
Imagine, if you will, the prototypical Wokeboy. He stands before you, beard out of control and puffing on a clove cigarette. He accuses you of child labor exploitation because your sweater is from Forever 21 and talks about how eating sushi is cultural appropriation. The Wokeboy neither understands nor has time for irony because he’s busy fighting imaginary enemies — like Hillary’s emails. You’ll break up because he won’t stop picking fights with your dad over Reagan at the dinner table or calling you a “corporate slave” for going to work and paying the electricity bill every month. Eventually, after his phone gets shut off for insufficient payments, he’ll show up to your house, all stick-and-poke tattoos and “I’m sorry.” Don’t let him or his hemp pants into your life.
North Dakota: The Environmentalist
The North Dakotan environmentalist fuckboy is as image conscious as you are – every part of his outfit is carefully considered. His artfully shaggy hair, his #WelcomeToTheResistance t-shirt, his hiking boots and minimalist tattoo protesting the dying of the bees. He will scold you for buying plastic water bottles and taking Ubers. He will tell you that eating animals is a sort of genocide, but it doesn’t take you too much scrolling back through his Instagram to find evidence of his past life – a local eating boneless wings in Hooters!
Ohio: The Local
"Oh my god, this is just like that one Vine with the lighter and can of hairspray, let me find it!" is how all of his pickup lines tend to go. But know this: you'll never actually get the Vine because he'll immediately be distracted by the 6,000 other pop-up notifications on his phone. Boys from Ohio are just that: boys. They still bring Lime-a-Ritas to parties, they're really into "intellectual" cartoons like Rick & Morty and BoJack Horseman, and you can find them in the front row of a Lil Yachty concert with their shirts off. What finally ruins him for you, though, isn't his genuine belief that your one-year anniversary is best spent at an Olive Garden, the nicest restaurant he knows — it's his insistence that rapid and fervent fingering is doing anything to help you climax.
Oklahoma: Youth Group Leader
Yes, he concludes his prayers with "Later!" instead of "Amen." Do you have a problem with that? He's the busiest guy you know because he has some kind of pseudo-church event (really, what does laser tag with the youth group seniors have to do with the Pauline Conversion?) every single night. And of course, you have to attend. It's almost like dating a stand-up comedian because when he takes the stage or whatever it's called to give his youth sermon, it's always based on an "experience in the grocery store" from last week that never. Actually. Happened. You can't call him out, of course, because that'll turn into another story. "You know, that reminds me of an old friend of mine…", he'll begin. Spoiler alert: the friend is always Jesus.
Oregon: The Hipster Prototype
You first saw him at a vegan pop store. Your eyes met across the across the crowd of dirty dreadlocks and alpaca wool serapes. At first things were great, you cycled across the city together to look for ethically-sourced kombucha and vintage books. But then the years rolled on and your man…well, he just didn’t move with the times. He’s still got a handlebar mustache and pays upwards of $35 for fancy beard oil. He can’t commit to out-of-state plans because this is the year he finally goes carbon neutral. You’ll beg and you’ll plead for him to get a real job and tell him that Moscow mules aren’t even that cool any more. He’s a nice guy at heart but there’s only so many craft breweries you can go to before you start to hate him and yourself. For your own sake, it’s time to get a man who’s with us in 2018.
Pennsylvania: The Hype Beast
"SCO BIRDS!" he screams as you look away in horror. Your boyfriend is at it again, scaling the lampposts of Philadelphia even as they are slick with grease. Despite graduating from Penn State almost three years ago, he’s never really grown out of that phase. You still get embarrassed every time he wears his Life of Pablo t-shirt to brunch with your parents, you still cringe when he shows up to your house on his new boost board that he traded a Nintendo Switch for. He shouts at you because you don’t know what a "Jawn" is and believes that a cheesesteak is the height of fine cuisine. You desperately want him to grow up, but he refuses to listen — he’s watching the Eagles. You fell in love with his boyish charm and his adamant desire to be problematic in this new woke world. But it's years later and he’s screaming at his friends in a bar about how he could totally beat Connor McGregor in a fight. You should probably leave.
Rhode Island: The Artist
Your date with the Rhode Island fuckboy is going well – he’s very good-looking, dresses well and has arty paint stains on his clothes, brushes poking out of his pockets. He’s a little intense but super interesting, and you think he’s worth a second date until he suddenly stops talking, grabs your face and starts examining it. “Yes, yes, perfect,” he’s muttering, while he turns your head this way and that. “Abstract interpretation, Pollock-style on canvas. I shall paint you! In the nude, of course.” You have an image of what it would be like to spend the night with him – being painted naked in his apartment, while silent exchange students from Iceland take notes. Everyone is high on scary drugs while he loudly plays Wagner and shouts about Realizing his Vision. Pass.
South Carolina: The Daddy
He's got under-eye bags from working all night, crisp suits that cost more than your entire credit limit, and loafers you've seen your dad wear. Aaaand that's where things get weird. At first, it was amazing dating an older guy. He was quick with that "I've got the check, don't worry", he knows what he's doing in bed, and he's never double-tapped an Insta-thot's gym pictures because he's not even totally sure what Instagram is for (but yet he can work Tinder…). Spend too much time with a dude 7+ years your senior and you see why older guys are called daddy. The ear hair, the angry confusion when he questions why you're watching that show in HD, the complete inability to name his router anything other than the AKH68538ASMOH97643987YYT7 label it came with. You'll break up the second he actually wants you to call him daddy.
South Dakota: The Future Farmer of America
If you're looking to get dumped in a hurry, just try to minimize absolutely anything about the 4-H experience. Or even just treat it like a normal person would, really! Anything less than comparing this dude to Noah himself is grounds for a complete ghosting. And like, yeah. I know he's gotta get there really early every morning to feed the sheep and I know he loves the sheep and I know it's absolutely heartbreaking on Show Day when he actually has to sell the sheep knowing full well it'll be disemboweled and packaged in Hy-Vee within 12 hours. But at the end of the day, isn't it still just a fucking sheep?
Tennessee: The Urban Cowboy
He grew up in a Nashville suburb and you would testify in a court of law that this dude has never even seen a horse that wasn't on a Budweiser dartboard. But that won't stop him from strumming the two loneliest-sounding guitar strings in the world and singing about them anyway. His stage name is painfully fake (Brettston Eastling is no one's name!!!!!!), as are the little anecdotes between songs he tells through his acoustic set at the Bluebird Cafe — which his dad totally hooked him up with, by the way. You two would have been over a looong time ago had his brand-new Stetson been the only stiff thing about him 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀
Texas: The Hometown Hero
If you're in the mood to have a half-hour conversation with every single solitary soul you pass in the street, date a guy from Texas. He knows everyone, even if he's from a city — or at least know people who went to that person's high school. On one hand, the genuine sense of community this dude feels is great and perfectly nice. But just try to convince him to ever leave Texas, even on vacation, and you will get a fucking earful. Did you know there's a Paris, Palestine, Athens, Florence, and Moscow, TX? Well, study up because that's the closest you'll get to a foreign land with this guy. When Tim Riggins looked at Six and said, "Why would you wanna leave Texas?" he stood up and yelled at the screen "THANK YOU!"
Utah: The Married Guy
The great sand-covered state of Utah is only famous for a few things: the 2002 Winter Olympics, Mitt Romney and Mormons. Chances are, your encounter with this guy started on the street. You, innocent to the Mormon church, him strapping in a white short sleeve shirt with a clip-on tie. He taught you to appreciate The Founder Joseph Smith and opened your eyes to a new world. At first, the lack of sex didn’t bother you, he’s obviously very religious, you get it. But when he kept asking you to "soak" and saying that alcohol was the devil’s drink, you started to drift apart. No matter how clean-looking and well put-together he was, you always felt like there was something just a little bit off about your relationship. It wasn’t until you went home to the family and met his three other wives that you really felt like you might need get out of there. You’ll miss the clean-cut look, but hooking up with The Mormon will be the single weirdest experience of your life.
Vermont: The Brocialist
Better seen than heard, a Vermont brocialist might look like a snack – he has a stylish blazer and rocks a cute pair of glasses – but he is pretty hard to talk to. Go on a date with him, and you’ll have to endure a painful explanation about why the DNC was rigged, why Hillary Clinton is worse than the devil and what he really thinks Das Kapital is about. He has a rose in his social media bios, and spits slightly when he gets excited so you have to cover your face slightly to protect from flying sputum when he describes his views on feminism. His lifelong dream is to be recognized by Bernie and often practices how a conversation would go, if only he would answer his tweets!
Virginia: The Military Man
Do not get into politics with the Virginia Military Man because beneath his polite, handsome, nice-haircut-having exterior is a seething cauldron of rage. Even though it was a protest he did not understand, about a sport he didn’t like, happening in a state he’d never visited, he is still SO MAD about Colin Kaepernick and anyone else who doesn’t RESPECT THE FLAG. "There are brave men and women sacrificing their lives EVERY GODDAMN DAY, the least they can do is stand for the National Anthem," he yells, slamming his fist on the table, splashing your drinks. He’s even a little bit emotional and you think he can spot the beginnings of a tear in his eye. Make sure you also don’t ask him what he specifically does in the Marines, because he’ll get a little cagey, and say something like "logistics," and then get embarrassed when you press him and he admits: "cooking."
Washington: The Band Dude
Did you know Kurt was actually from Aberdeen, not Seattle? Did you know you'd have to hear that fact every single day for the rest of your life? It's a Washington dude's favorite catchphrase, right up there with "I definitely prefer their earlier work" — regardless of if he's ever even heard their earlier work, obviously. With band dudes from Washington, it's never actually about the music so much as it's making people think he cares about the music way more than they do. He's the kind of guy who still gets into fights in the YouTube comments section, and says stuff like "they just don't make music like that anymore" with a completely straight face. Even though you kind of hate him, breaking up will always be his choice. You're a smart girl, but you've gotta stop acting like every musician you make is gonna "make it."
West Virginia: The Jackass
The only man in this list who can’t feel pain, the mating calls of the West Virginian Jackass are roughly transcribed as “Wooooooo!” “Oh yeah!” “Bleeeeeeeeeurrrrrgggggghhhh.” (That last one is the sound of vomit hitting porcelain.) You’ll see him in the bar wearing ripped jeans and old Vans, tongue way out of his mouth, filming himself doing something horrific like headbutting the jukebox to get it started, or dousing his ballsack with Fireball and setting it aflame. There’s something intriguing about him – he’s definitely charismatic in the way he launched himself off the bar with his shirt off – but maybe the smell of his singed pubic hair is getting in the way.
Wisconsin: The BMOC
How has this guy's infuriating-but-impressive dick managed to dodge every STD known to man? Because you're pretty sure he's leveraged his athlete status to sleep with every single girl whose ever even set foot on campus. I know he left you high and dry, but take comfort in knowing that things will only be this good for him for a little while longer. Like yeah, sure, he's got it made now. Sure, the dining hall workers refuse to take his swipes and just give him food. Sure, he's a business major with a 4.0 despite not knowing where Grainger even is. SURE, HE CAN JUST NOT TEXT ME BACK BUT POST VIDEOS FROM THE PARTY ON HIS INSTAGRAM STORY, WHATEVER!!!!! But in the real world? Oh, things will be different. Let that be your peace of mind! I mean, unless he gets drafted to the NBA in which case it's college times like, a million.
Wyoming: The Actually Nice Guy
Are you ready for this? After years of dating and "dating" fuckboys from different states who all completely smashed your heart to pieces (tbh and your cervix because all those boys know how to do is jackhammer), you unexpectedly meet a guy from Wyoming. The equality state! He's considerate, helpful, masculine, and hot. Like, he's fully the guy you call to help change your car wheel or whatever and he comes right away, bringing his friendly, bandana-wearing dog with him. So why do you guys inevitably break up? And I do mean inevitably — there's absolutely no way around this, unfortunately. You're so not used to genuinely kind men that you think there must be some ulterior motive, you panic, and you end it. You'll think about him for the rest of your life. Wyoming: The Actually Nice Guy