The cuckboi buys you a one-year recurring monthly donation to Planned Parenthood for Valentine’s Day. (It will outlast your relationship with him by 11 months.)
The cuckboi loves to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he fucks you, his favorite being “Bernie would’ve won.”
The cuckboi is a card-carrying member of the Democratic Socialists. He accidentally grabs the card instead of his AmEx when you’re going Dutch on your first date.
The cuckboi is a male feminist who makes fun of male feminists who publicly identify as male feminists. It’s confusing.
The cuckboi tells his girlfriend he loves that she doesn’t shave her armpits, but is secretly glad she shaves her legs.
The cuckboi knows that bragging about being good at eating pussy is lame, so he brags about eating ass instead.
The cuckboi wants you to know that while he listens to Justin Bieber (ironically), he also reads Maggie Nelson (very seriously).
The cuckboi understands that there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism, unless you’re eating pussy.
The cuckboi is progressive because he wears athleisure he bought in the women’s section at Forever 21.
The cuckboi drinks whey protein because he wants to be swole enough to beat up Nazis—not because he wants to look good.
The cuckboi went to the Women’s March, but he didn’t post about it because he didn’t do it for the likes. He’s genuine.
The cuckboi thinks dating apps are lame; he prefers the hunting ground of Twitter, where he slides in the DMs of sad Twitter girls with: “I swear I never do this. I just love your pinned tweet SO MUCH.”
The cuckboi has no idea what you mean when you reference “locker room talk.” He was a theater kid.
The cuckboi is writing a novel about a dystopian future in which there are no men (except one, his main character, loosely based on him — who fucks, lovingly of course, all of the women left on the planet).