Typical t-shirt worn by a manwhore.
In recent months, I’ve spent most of my leisure time doing what the kids call “getting tore up from the floor up.” I go out a few nights a week to drink, dance, and generally have a good time. I’m a bit surprised at the frequency of my clubbing – I think I only went out a handful of nights when I was in college (shocking!) and spent the majority of my weekends in a basement computer lab or in the library. College was a time of discipline and focus for me, and I think now that I still have yet to enter the “real world,” I’m simply getting all of my pent-up partying out of my system while being much more social.
One of the few unfortunate things about nightclubs is the lack of savory people. Sure, you’ll meet a nice guy or two, but chances are that “nice guys” are not often found on the dance floor (where I spend most of my club time), where overtly suggestive dance moves are often the norm. This is why it is often imperative to go out with at least one other friend, who will act as a physical buffer for unwanted dance advances made by creepers. Of course, you could always dance by yourself, but people will probably take a video if you with their phone while you’re in the throes of “Red, Red Wine.” (Yes, they still play that song at clubs.) 70% of the time I am completely turned off by the guys who try to dance with me – I do not go to clubs to meet men. I go to clubs to drink, dance, and perhaps meet new people. I highly doubt that the man I am destined to be with will be standing in the corner by the DJ booth while checking me out with a Colt 45 in hand.
However, once in a while I’ll see someone I want to talk to. There is one guy I had had my eye on for a minute. We’ll call him Douchebag Jiggalo, to keep him anonymous. Douchebag Jiggalo is my exact physical type – blonde, blue eyes, tall, athletic physique, nice smile. He’s a bartender at a place I frequent, which should have been red flag #1. Apparently I’m the last girl in the world who was unaware that the only reason any man would bartend at a nightclub was to score vag. As my friend Angie said, “You can see it on him. When he’s pouring drinks he’s thinking of pussy.” Basically, Douchebag Jiggalo is the poor man’s Brian Flanagan, but without a Jordan to marry at the end of the movie.
As it turns out, Douchebag Jiggalo is a manwhore. One of his friends revealed that any involvement with him comes with nothing more than barrels of tears and general bad life experiences. I’ll pass, but not without doing a service to my club-going sisterhood.
The manwhore is not a unique being. He is plentiful, he is a shapeshifter. Here are some signs of the manwhore:
1. Wears gaudy, expensive t-shirts in the Ed Hardy or MMA variety.
Ed Hardy t-shirts, in addition to MMA-related apparel (See: Tapout) are the first indicator of douchebag-manwhore status. Only an idiot would think that a ridiculous t-shirt with an excessively large skull and rhinestones would ever be cool. Also, most men are not even capable of being MMA fighters. But you can pretend to be like one with your sideways Tapout hat.
2. Either comes to a club in a group of four of more, or alone with his “wingman”.
They travel in only two modes: swarm or couple.
3. Reads Tucker Max or pretends to have read Tucker Max.
If you don’t know who Tucker Max is, I’ll give you permission to Google him just this once. Now forget that you know he exists.
4. His favorite movie is Wedding Crashers, The Hangover, Old School, or another masterpiece of the bromance genre.
The bromance dominated the first decade of the 2000s. Expect your manwhore to count Vince Vaughn among his heroes. He’ll also likely talk about an “epic” trip to Vegas he’s planning.
5. He only listens to two different kinds of music: shitty hip-hop (of the Plies and Gucci Mane persuasion) or Dave Mathews Band.
The manwhore loves terrible rap music. He probably has the Gucci Mane song “Wasted” as his ringtone. If he plays guitar, he probably only knows one song – “Crash into Me” is guaranteed to get him laid.
6. He favors light beer, but when light beer is unavailable, he drinks Vodka-Cranberries and pounds Jagerbombs.
The manwhore is a bit of an amateur when it comes to drinking, and light beer is his best friend. When he’s feeling adventurous, a Vodka-Cranberry is the way to go.
Those are all the signs I can think of for now. Do any readers out there have any I can add?
Fixed Air 
Heather,
This is a wonderful blog post. You have accurately described the typical manwhore. You have forgotten to add one detail: In Colorado Springs, the typical manwhore will also most likely be associated with the military. Young men in the military are out for one thing: pussy. Either they have just returned home from the war and are desperate to get their dick wet, or they are about to deploy and want to get some action before they must suffer a year without having the ability to have sex. Or they are afraid they will die and want to have sex before facing death.
Heather you crack me up! I’m happy to say that I’m glad that I didn’t know who Tucker Max was, but I’ve been washing my eyes out since I googled him. I’m going to feature a link to this blog post in my web-series No Songs for Men (Episode 5) to provide my readers with a little more perspective on how to spot a manwhore. Thanks!
Thank you much, Maria! Please keep reading!
Heather you’ve pretty much described every single guy AT a club, which is not quite fair to the male race.
I don’t think someone who went out only a handful of times during all of college (one of the most socially influential and shaping period of someone’s life- which you missed), really has any business giving advice on this kind of thing.
Though I’m sure you’ll only attract the same kind of person as you are with a post like this. Sorry to rain on your lil post here, but this is coming from an ex-high school counselor, an assistant athletic coach and also a dating coach.