Tag Archives: Gay Stereotypes

The Guysexual’s Guide To Every Fuckboy In The World

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Kartik, 28 (my copywriter friend who gets a mention every few weeks) matched with Atul, a senior associate at a top legal firm, about two years ago. They bonded over their love for bad puns, great gin and the fact that they were both self-proclaimed Ravenclaws. What could I say?

Wit beyond measure led them to each other’s treasure trails.

For Kartik (as is usual), it was love at first swipe. Like most millennial love stories, it had its (mostly) highs and (many) lows. But something still seemed wrong — the dates were always at home, friends were never involved and future plans were never made. Their trysts started late, but Kartik was never invited to stay the night (including that one time when he puked all over the bathroom floor).

It seemed strange, but Kartik (being Kartik) decided not to second-guess things. He continued making bad puns, and drinking great gin. Why wouldn’t he?

Atul was a great many things. He was smart. He was handsome. He was successful. He was charming. He was a dipsomaniac.

Atul was also a F**kboy.

The quintessential f**kboy (just like Atul) is not always very easy to spot, considering his adaptive nature and ability to blend in. The F**kboy is everywhere (and more importantly, anywhere). Smiling behind you at the checkout aisle in the supermarket. Making googly eyes in the subway. At the library. In your poetry class. In the bus. At the local pub. In your untouched list of Tinder matches. Anyone who’s traversed through this giant desert of dating knows that finding a F**kboy is like finding a wild Rattata on Pokemon Go — it’s that common — which makes avoiding them that much more difficult. Want to know how to bypass the boys that most bad decisions are made of?

Look no further, kids. Here are some telltale signs the guy you are hopelessly crushing on, only plans to crush your heart after:

The F**kboy only messages you post midnight.

He’ll never disappoint.

The one time he messages you at 8 pm, is simply because his flat mates are away.

He drinks his cold pressed juices straight out of the carton.

Just like he drinks his pre-mixed cocktails straight out of plastic bottles.

The f**kboy is an amalgamation of bad pick-up lines, expensive perfume and template text messages that he broadcasts to his little black book of men.

All three have high success rates.

He hoards up on all his used condom wrappers, because ‘how else will he know that he’s the supreme sex god that he claims to be?’

He addresses you as his bro. Even when he meets you in person.

And he doesn’t mean it in the endearing “I-am-so-comfortable-around-you-I-can-call-you-anything’ kind of way.

He’s always vague about his Friday night plans.

But he already has advance tickets for Tomorrowland 2019.

The F**kboy doesn’t snuggle. He prefers the post-coital smoke to the post-coital cuddle.

His idea of the perfect date includes drinks at a dive bar, and dessert back at his place. Dinner is usually not a part of the deal, unless you offer to eat it off him.

He wears his charm like he wears his signature perfume.

Bottles of it at a time.

He introduces you to his friends as a ‘friend from work that he bumped into’.

Eight months into knowing you. You never see them again.

Or all his friends know who you exactly are, but they act like they know something that you obviously don’t: that he’s seeing other people.

He’s always busy when it’s time to meet your friends.

Once it was his dog’s funeral. Twice it was a late night at the office.

And thrice, it was his mother’s birthday.

In the same year.

The F**kboy rolls up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows, because he likes to live on the edge.

He likes to drive with his windows open, and uses styling mousse so that his hair doesn’t look ‘too windswept.’ Sometimes he doubles it up as lubricant.

He never lets you stay, and has an excuse ready every time you suggest pulling out your jammies. Sometimes it’s a early morning gym session at 5 am. Sometimes it’s an over inquisitive maid who can’t mind her own business. Sometimes it’s an Uber he booked for you when you were cleaning up in the bathroom.

He likes his boys just like he likes his chardonnay.

Free flowing, and out of his system the next morning.

He doesn’t see the point of crossword puzzles, middle school trigonometry or commitment.

He downloads Grindr Xtra just so he can get unlimited blocks.

And an unlimited pass into everyone’s pants.

At some point in your relationship, he’ll tell you that you are the One.

He’ll also tell the same thing to Rizwan. To Sam. To Kabir. To Nikhil. To Rahul. To Kiran. To Sameer. To Zishaan.

He breaks up with you eventually, because ‘he’s not good enough for you, and you deserve better,’ He doesn’t reply to your texts, phone calls (and that one long winding drunken email) after.

That’s the thing.

The F**kboy will only lead you to another one. And another one. And another one. He’ll lead you through a string of bad decisions, heartbreak and life-altering mistakes.

You’ll sigh every time, but you’ll never learn.

Now go message your Atul.

An Additional 25 Men Not To date in 2017

25 other guys 1x1

There are a great number of great men in this world.

You can probably count them on one hand. In this haystack of hot men (or lack thereof), there are sadly, only a few shiny needles that you want to take back home. Unfortunately, the world is full of wrong men that you’d never want to see ever again, in a haystack or otherwise.

Is there a test that helps you sort out the frogs from the fresh-faced Prince Charmings? Not really, but if your potential playmate checks off any of the items of this list then it’s probably a good idea to leave him in the pond you found him in.

You did great in bypassing The 75 Boys Not To Date in 2017 here, here and here , but you still have a long way to go. Ready to start counting?

So never date a man who…

  1. Addresses the wait staff rudely.

A wise man once said, ‘Never judge a man by how he treats his equals, but by how he treats his inferiors.’ Okay, it was Sirius Black in the Goblet Of Fire.

2. Calls you ‘baby’.

You see that tremor on my face? It’s not love. And never will be.

3. Wears slippers with trousers.

You know that moment when you see slippers sticking out of trousers? It’s that precise moment when my mind shuts down and I start singing Taylor Swift’s ‘We Are Never Getting back Together’ in my head, when in actuality, I am singing sweet nothings into the boy’s ears.

4. Uses more than one hash tag in a tweet.

#It #Is #Not #Cool #When #You #Talk #Like #This.

5. Has drunken stories from Tuesday night.

No one should ever have drunken stories from a Tuesday night. They aren’t called the Terrible Tuesdays without a reason, are they?

6. Posts more than one selfie a week.

Negative credits if any of these are included: the duck face, gun flexing, trial room testing and the classic ‘t-shirt lift to reveal a bed of abs’.

7. Tells you that Murakami is his favourite author.

He’s probably only read Norwegian Wood.

8. Doesn’t eat the crusts of his pizza.

Picky eaters never make for good lovers. Trust me. Also, that crust? That’s sex on a plate.

9. Doesn’t really have friends his age.

You know what that means? It means that entire generations of people have obviously avoided him for a reason.

10. Repeats his jokes.

If people didn’t laugh at your joke the first time, it’s obviously because they didn’t get it. Right?

11. Signs off his emails with an inspirational quote he’s picked off the Internet.

Are we living in 2002 again? Keep it simple, crisp and end it with your last name.

12. Expects you to instantly fall in love with all his favourite things.

‘Oh wow, Quantum Physics is so much fun,’ said no one ever.

13. Says he is always busy.

You know what he actually is? Full of excuses.

14. Starts off a story with, ‘That one time I beat someone up…’

‘Nuff said.

15. Thinks that women are feminists because they want it easy.

I am sorry, but you have it easy because you are a male chauvinist pig.

16. Thinks that it’s cool to make racist jokes.

The only thing that is even less funny than him is my diet.

17. Texts you way too much.

‘Hi!’

‘Good morning!’

‘What’s happening?’

‘I am bored.’

‘What did you have for lunch?’

‘Are you busy?’

‘Hello?’

‘Good night!’

18. Sneezes without covering his mouth.

Get out of this faster than his germs get to you.

19. Doesn’t like brunch.

Only evil, heartless people don’t like brunch.

And restaurant owners who have lunch deals.

20. Thinks that Instagram is a waste of time.

Hello, you are a waste of time.

21. Only texts you post-midnight.

No, he’s not texting you to wish you good night, he’s texting you to find out whether he can come over. But not in a romantic ‘Should-I-get-you-soup?’ kind of way.

22. Uses the word ‘fetch’ in conversation.

Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen, Gretchen.

23. Hasn’t watched Mean Girls ever.

If you haven’t watched this Tina Fey beauty, which defines the crux of every gay person’s high school years, we are no longer friends. You can’t sit with us!

24. Tries to dress sexily at the gym.

We do not care if your vest matches your shoes, sir, but can I use the treadmill, please

25. Writes listicles about what kind of men not to date.

Sounds like a total douchebag, but I’ve heard he’s a good kisser.

Do you think there are even more wrong men out there for everyone here? Tweet me and let me know!

The Guysexual’s Guide to Every Gay Man’s Treasure Chest of One Liners

 

Guilty

Gay men are a lot of things.

We might come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and have temperaments as diverse as the cast of Grey’s Anatomy, but it all boils down to one thing in the end — as homosexual men, we are a storehouse of corny one-liners, sassy quips and stereotypical jokes that’ll put all the Kardashian Sisters (even the new ones) to shame. Don’t believe me?

Well, whether you are a red-blooded activist who churns out slogans for breakfast, or a social butterfly who sleeps when it’s time to have breakfast, it’s a given that we’ve all been guilty of having said at least a few of these (often cringe worthy) well-worded gems:

Continue reading The Guysexual’s Guide to Every Gay Man’s Treasure Chest of One Liners

Meet The Men 3.0: The Sapiosexual

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Ranveir, 27, is a high-profile accountant with a high-profile MNC.
And yes, that’s how he describes himself.

He likes his matcha tea and his sourdough bread, and twice a month, he likes walking his dog on weekends. Ranveir guffaws at racist jokes, and occasionally ghosts a nice guy because ‘things are moving too fast, and I can’t handle all the expectations of this relationship’.

While the fact that he spells his name that way might ring a warning bell, something else seals the deal.

Ranveir is a self-proclaimed sapiosexual. How does it change anything?

Let’s get it straight. The word sapiosexual is thrown around as casually as the phrase ’sane and sorted’ is used on Grindr. It’s a security blanket used by boys to keep the douchebags away (completely unaware that it makes them sound like one too), assuming it’s going to draw in a string of smart, suave and eligible men straight to the bedroom (and beyond). But that’s the thing.

All the smart, suave, eligible men are taken.
And they don’t call themselves sapiosexuals.

Continue reading Meet The Men 3.0: The Sapiosexual

Meet the men 2.0: The Gym Freak

 

Gym Lover

Open up your Grindr, lads. Now tell me what you see?

It’s the same story everywhere.

When every fourth guy on Grindr looks like he has stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch underwear catalogue, you know you might have a problem. It’s no surprise that we’ve been trained to get out of the closet, and go straight to the gym, but now we are doing so on our spinning cycles.

It’s simple, if there’s one thing you need as a gay man today, it’s a body. You might want to think differently, but eight out of 10 times you are not going to get a great deal of interest from another gay man just because you look like you listen to Mozart, and devour literary classics for breakfast. Sadly, muscles are in and they are never going to go out of style (they are sort of like florals during spring, only better). We might have reached the age of technology, but deep down, we’d rather be men of steel.

Now, most gay men like to remove their flimsy cotton V-necks at a moment’s notice, showcasing their kilometer-wide chests and xylophone abs as if they were starring in an Indian remake of Magic Mike. They make other men (like me) gulp and vow to start going to the gym from next Monday.

Or next month.

But who are these men again? The ones who spend hours preening at the gym, and promise to split their post-workout protein shake with you, when they’d rather be splitting your legs in the showers instead?

You might have met the Hipster a few weeks ago, How do you sort the gym rats from the ones that scour the food court at the mall (like me again)? Here’s how you spot one, when he’s not asking you to spot him as he weight trains at the gym:

The Gym Freak hates it when people call him a gym freak, or worse, a gym rat. He prefers the term Fitness Enthusiast. He has a vest with the same emblazoned on it.

He has eye-popping biceps, billboard-worthy pecs, a tray of abs that can balance half a dozen eggs and broad shoulders that are the shape of a cozy armchair. You can even sit on him, but only when he’s doing a plank.

He says he does not have a ‘type’, but will proudly put up #Masc4Masc on his Grindr profile.

He follows it with a succinct ‘No fats, no femmes’ in his bio.

And a photo of his glistening abs (more than six, less than eight) as his picture.

He has a day for Triceps. It’s on Thursday.

He dresses up sexily for the gym.

He wears trainers that match his gym shorts. Sometimes, when he’s feeling attractive, he wears leggings.

The only time he cheated was when he cheated on his diet plan with a double cheese hamburger five Sundays ago. He’s not forgiven himself ever since.

He doesn’t need an alarm clock. He is the alarm clock.

The Gym Freak counts his calories every day. He allows himself 500 calories for breakfast, 400 for lunch and a mere 300 calories for dinner.

His protein shake accounts for 500 calories every serving.

His gym face is his orgasm face.

He spends two hours hitting the gym every day, and another two hours thinking about it.

He hates it when people typecast gay men as the quintessential gym-obsessed fitness freaks. He’ll tell you all about it as you help him count his reps at the free weight section.

He has all of The Body Coach’s workouts saved in his internet browser. He watches it whenever he has free time. While on the treadmill. On his way to work. At dinner. Just before he falls asleep. While jerking off. In the loo. At his best friend’s wedding.

The last time he ate a French fry was back in 2010. Whenever he gets the occasional craving, he realises that abs are not built over potatoes. He cries himself to sleep then.

He hates going on long vacations, because it breaks his strict regime.

But when he does, he looks for a hotel with a 24/7 gym, and a heated indoor pool. He gets excited if they have a massage room.

On more than one occasion, he’s thanked God for great genes, and grilled chicken.

He takes a #TransformationTuesday picture every week. And every day of the week.

When he can’t, he makes his personal trainer take one for him.

He’ll use any chance that he gets to go shirtless. At the beach. In the sauna. By the swimming pool. On a run. When he’s reading at home. While going grocery shopping.

He’ll tell you that your vodka and soda has 85 calories as you order your drink, when you are out on a date with him.

He knows because he looked it up online.

He’ll then call for a Caesar salad, with extra chicken. He’ll tell the waiter to hold the croutons, and the vinaigrette dressing.

He has an app that reminds him to drink water every hour. He has an app that reminds him that he has to run every other day. He has an app that reminds him he’s overshot his calorie intake for the day. He wishes he had an app that tells him where he can find someone to go the gym with.

He has a separate drawer for his Lycra gym wear. It’s right beside his bed.

His iPhone gallery is littered with gym selfies. And the occasional shot of sunrise from his morning jogs at the beach.

He will tell you that the Mint Chocolate Chip protein shake will taste like Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, but he’ll know that he’s lying to you.

He knows the exact benefits of whey protein.

One night, over wheat crackers and low-fat cheese, he’ll cry to his friends about how all the gay boys only love him for his body.

But he’ll forget to mention that his Grindr profile picture is an aesthetic shot of his chiseled torso.

Which mentions that he’s looking for ‘gym-fit muscular men only’.

He’ll only touch beer if it’s gluten free.

He’ll tell everyone who listens how he likes it raw. When you cock your eyebrows at him, he’ll guffaw loudly and tell you that he’s talking about his special nutritionist-prescribed diet. The one with dehydrated sunflower seed crackers, juiced kale and dried goji berries. What he won’t tell you is that he secretly hopes that raw walnuts taste like bacon.

He gets serious separation anxiety if he skips the gym a day. He skips dinner the same night.

He hates flirting with other men at the gym, because how would he train otherwise?

He goes on a juice cleanse twice every month.

He uses the hash tag #NoPainNoGain, but he doesn’t use it ironically.

When he pictures his future with any potential plus one, he pictures the two of them breaking into a sweat (both in and out of bed) and grabbing a protein smoothie to go after. They exchange rings at the beach, after which they run off (literally) into the sunset.

He knows the exact days when all the personal trainers at the gym are on holiday, and when their birthdays fall. He gets them gluten-free cupcakes then.

Without any frosting.

The Gym Freak is never going to be happy with the way he looks. He’ll always have something to complain about. Too much fat. Too little muscle. Too much cardio. Too little sweat. He’ll go to the gym the very next day, and work on the part of his body that bothers him, even though he knows that spot reduction doesn’t work.

But that’s the thing.

I want to be a gym freak myself.

Meet The Men 1.0 : The Hipster

The hipster.jpg

 

We are almost halfway through 2017.

They say the age of the hipsters might be finally coming to an end, but can gay men ever let a good thing go?

We are still here, writing in our moleskin notebooks, riding our 12-gear bikes, using our organic moustache wax and stocking up on our ironic print t-shirts. It’s safe to say that the gay hipsters aren’t disappearing into the dregs of their black coffee mugs just yet. Jahangir, 27 and Subhashish, 26, would agree. The creative designer and casting director share an apartment in one of the quieter back alleys of Mumbai — a home that is littered with curios, knickknacks and pop culture references.

And they don’t plan to leave anytime soon. Do you want to know what makes the quintessential gay hipster, apart from his love for beer, bowties and his beard? Here are a few helpful hints:

The hipster doesn’t own a television. He’ll also make sure he tells everyone he knows about it. While on a date. At a casual lunch. During a work meeting. At a birthday party. In the bus. At the grocery store. While at a funeral.

He has his own complicated order at the coffee shop: like a Grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla latté with soymilk. It’s his standard go-to drink every morning on his way to work (as a graphic designer at an independent media house).

But most often, the barista can’t make it, so he has a large decaf.

He had a Tumblr profile back in 2012 that was called the TheUnfairKnightReturns. It is an archive of his button poetry, millennial rap and a motley collection of dark and depressing thoughts. He doesn’t like talking about it.

His best friend makes organic hemp t-shirts, which he freely wears and advertises. He’s always equipped with a card for her Facebook page. It doesn’t list any numbers, but has a standalone QR code.

The Hipster owns a coffee table book with vaguely pornographic pictures. It’s usually on top of his bedside drawer because he doesn’t have the money to invest in a coffee table.

He talks about how he hates Forever 21 — and yet it looks like all his clothes came from there. Especially when they have their clearance sales.

He saw 13 Reasons Why, but thought the book was a lot better than the Netflix original. He even wrote a long rant on Facebook pointing out all the differences between the two — all thirteen of them.

The Hipster believes in participating in No Shave November. All year around.

He buys all his groceries from the farmer’s market — you’d know because he Snapchats the entire experience.

And then he’d make it his Instagram Story, so that no one misses out.

He has five sets of bowties: casual, semi-casual, formal, party and street-chic-that-shows-I-don’t-care-about-trying-to-hard.

He doesn’t watch Game Of Thrones, because ‘it’s become so mainstream’. He won’t think twice before telling you that he’s read all the books though. Right down to all the companion books.

Sometimes, he bicycles to work.

He’ll complain about how the city just doesn’t have the space, or the infrastructure for cyclists. He’ll still use UberPool.

He rolls his eyes when people tell him they listen to EDM. He rolls his eyes even more when they tell him they haven’t heard of his favourite indie (but also very obscure) band. He gives up when they say that they think Alt-J is cool.

He’ll pester you to try out seaweed, which is the new kale, which was the new quinoa.

The Hipster doesn’t love flannel. He lives it.

For your birthday, he’ll gift you a mixed tape of all his favourite indie music. He’ll make you play it at the party.

If not that, he’ll gift you a potted miniature cactus. It’s a little sapling from the terrarium he’s working on.

He has an Instamax camera that he takes pictures of. The camera is in mint condition, and looks best when edited with the Juno filter on Instagram. It’s hidden away in his closet, and only makes an appearance when his friends are over, or when he’s packing a suitcase for a holiday.

Which would most definitely be a backpacking trip across Vietnam and Cambodia.

His favourite author is Margaret Atwood, and he’s read Handmaiden’s Tale twice. He cried the second time.

He knows the show adaption won’t be half as good.

But he’ll still live stream it the moment it releases.

He’ll deny it, but he got excited when he heard IKEA might open up a warehouse in the country.

When he realised that was a rumour, he commiserated by drinking an entire bottle of Coca Cola. It’s a secret he’ll take to the grave.

The last time the Hipster ate at a McDonalds was back in 2013. You remember because he tells you every time you meet him.

He’ll make faces at you when you devour your burger nonetheless.

He’ll swear that The Royal Tenenbaums is his favourite film by Wes Anderson, whom he adores. He scoffs at you when you tell him you thought Fantastic Mr Fox was cute. He’s not heard of Moonrise Kingdom.

He has a typewriter that he typed out quotes by Charles Bukowski from. They are all framed and hung in his living room. The typewriter hasn’t been used ever since. He covers it up with fairy lights.

He gets pissed at his flat mate for not knowing what sourdough bread is.

The Hipster constantly bums off cigarettes off people while out at a pub, claiming he doesn’t smoke. He looks bummed off if you don’t have a Davidoff. He’ll have a Marlboro in that case, because ‘Classic Milds just doesn’t do it for him.’

He has a manicured beard that looks like a permanent five o’clock shadow. He pays extra so that it looks just the right amount of messy. The stylist is given a free pass to NH7 so that she won’t tell anyone.

When he does run into the stylist at a music festival, he’ll pretend she’s a friend he has ‘collaborated’ with.

It was an art project that was so niche, they’ve been told not to talk about it.

He drinks only artisanal beer, and likes to tell people how ‘beer is the new wine’.

He absolutely despises brands. But he’s still counting down the days for the big iPhone 8 launch. It’s marked as a reminder on his iPhone 7.

He doesn’t believe in credit cards.

He’ll always be short of cash while splitting the cheque with his date.

And that’ll probably be you.