When you were picking a college, you probably went on at least one campus tour. They showed you the prettiest campus views, some historical landmarks, and the coolest spots to study in between classes. But the one thing your annoyingly peppy tour guide didn’t mention was arguably one of the most important parts of your college experience: The guys. I know we’re all independent women and we don’t need no men and blah blah blah, but let’s be real. Most days, checking out the guys on campus is the only thing dragging me from one boring lecture to the next. So, in an attempt to instill wisdom and further estrange myself from my classmates, I have constructed somewhat of a guide that will tell you everything you need to know about the guys roaming your school.
The guys in the business school always have a very obvious allure, until you realize the fact that every one of them has the potential to be next generation’s Donald Trump. Regardless, you have to respect the amount of time that goes into the shit these guys have to wear. Hearts across campus rejoice on workshop days when fifty different Christian Greys are sauntering around campus, reminding us all to once again thank our parents for higher education. Can I just say how lucky we are to live in a time when men’s formal wear is so well fitted that they might as well be wearing wetsuits made of wool?
If you have a friend who really hates opening doors, tell her to head to spend more time in any building that hosts math classes. I’m convinced that those grownup Alfalfa-looking fuckers just stand around for hours, waiting for a woman to walk into the vicinity so they can swing open a door for her. I don’t want to be too harsh, though. This country was built by nerds, and I’m a firm believer in giving the dorky guy a chance. I mean, how can you not respect the hell out of a 23-year-old man who can recite the first 500 digits of pi but can’t tell you what a vagina looks like?
An art guy is hard to label, because there are so many possibilities. He could be a sultry graphic designer with thick glasses and messy hair, or he could be a twiggy gamer who won’t get over his anime obsession. He could be a sensitive sketch artist who would love to draw you like one of his French girls, or he could be a spas who just wants to fuck around with the power tools in wood shop. There are no guidelines, but if you find an artist that suits your fancy, I would cling to him. It’s a rare thing to find a guy who has the patience and drive to be an art student, and such qualities will come in handy when he has to deal with you being such a pain in the ass.
Engineers are math nerds on the inside, but they look like Tom Hardy on the outside. There’s something insanely sexy about a guy who is innovative enough to build shit with his mind, especially considering the fact that I can barely assemble a desk chair without calling my dad and sobbing over my own stupidity. The only fault to the engineer is that he’s likely to have a reputation. I have a theory that the reason these guys go so hard is because their studies are so mentally demanding that they have to go fucking nuts to celebrate making it to the end of every week without their heads exploding. That, or the fact that there are so few women in their classes.
As a kind of writer, I wish I could rave about the professionalism of our future reporters. But I can’t. (And no, it’s not just because I’ve spent a decent amount of time at TFM headquarters which has provided me with a very distorted perception of what hard-hitting news reporting actually entails). Everyone knows a guy who thinks he should be a reporter just because family genetics blessed him with a Clark Kent hair and a beautiful set of teeth. I might be out on a limb here, but if you know a journalist, you probably know a fuckboy. I wouldn’t say that all journalism majors are fuckboys, but all journalism majors are fuckboys. I’m not hating, though. It’s hard to care about how terrible things will end when he’s such an
interesting borderline sociopathic conversationalist.
Remember when you were in grade school and you had to grow a bean plant, but yours turned out shorter than the rest of your classmates’ and you swore off farming for good? I bet you’d like to kick eight-year-old you in the ovaries right now, because there are some pristine natural resources floating around this school. If you know what I mean. My favorite thing about guys in agriculture is that even though they’re doing their part to stay green, the strong majority of them drive lifted trucks that probably carve a path straight out of the ozone wherever they go. Oh well. You can’t stay mad when they all look like Luke Bryan after a hard day’s work.
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