Can We Guess Your Type?

Your dates are fraught trips to art galleries where he stares at the paintings through no-prescription glasses and looks pained. You don't understand him. You don't understand his music tastes. He's so misunderstood and mysterious. Underneath all the carefully curated aesthetic though, he's just a bit of a pretentious twat.

HE LIKES (IN ORDER OF PREFERENCE): HIS SPORTS TEAM, PLAYING ON HIS SPORTS TEAM, HIS TEAMMATES, TALKING ABOUT HIS TEAM, BETTING ON HIS TEAM, TALKING LIKE THIS BECAUSE HE'S ALWAYS SHOUTING AND DRINKING PINTS... And somewhere very far down on the list, probably you.

He's polite, your friends and family love him, and when he fucks up he always apologises. Well at least he says "I'm sorry you feel that way". So why does he feel the need to constantly remind you he's not a dickhead? You're basically going out with Tom from 500 Days of Summer.

You spend all your time in bed together, he wears tie-dye, he doesn't have a job, and, uh... there's not a lot else I guess? He doesn't have a lot to him, but at least it's chill, and it least it improves your weed connections.

Essentially he's just a lot of accoutrements rather than a fully-formed person - signet ring, lairy shirts, mates in Made in Chelsea, expensive education, deep year round tan, wanderlust. Maybe it's just a taste of exoticism. Maybe it's because nothing seems to bother him. Maybe it's because of the way he says "beaut".

Let's be honest, he's a twat. You never speak to him before 3am, you're one of five versions of you in his phonebook, it will never progress past booty calling. If this is your type (we've all been there) take a step back, breathe, ask yourself what the matter is. This is not right. Love yourself.