Identifying Renaissance F*ckbois by Chloe Nelson

Ah, the age-old question: “Is he just trying to sleep with me?” If the answer is yes, you might be looking at a f*ckboi, a modern term whose essence dates back hundreds upon hundreds of years. Despite our best efforts, it can still be nearly impossible to figure out a man’s intentions—and that’s where renaissance poetry comes in. Take a trip through time with us as we explore some of the world’s original f*ckbois, both British and Italian varieties! Using these poets and their poems, you’ll be able to protect yourself from accidental heartbreak, objectification, and possibly even venereal disease.

You can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep—especially if that company is dusty Italian men who have been dead for over 600 years. Petrarch’s whole thing was lamenting the unattainability of women who wouldn’t sleep with him, so keep this in mind the next time a guy offers to woo you with a sonnet. What is he going to say if/when you refuse to sleep with him? Hopefully not publish a set of poems about it, but you never know.

Your beauty deserves more than 14 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter! Beauty aside though, you are more than a laundry list of physical characteristics that men deem attractive. Ask yourself—how many of his compliments have to do with your body? If you find yourself dealing with blazon after blazon, you might simply be the Laura to his Petrarch. Reclaim your poetic voice and dump his ass.

Not only is he desperately trying to flex his sonnet abilities, but now he’s comparing sex to a flea, too? John Donne’s sonnet “The Flea” is infamous for its outrageous and raunchy conceit, but girl, any man who needs to draw outlandish comparisons to get your attention is clearly desperate and not worth your time. Avoid both poetic conceits and conceited men, and your two bloods will never mingled be.

Typical of renaissance poetry (and f*ckbois galore) is the invocation of carpe diem, A.K.A. “seize the day.” We could all die tomorrow, so why not enjoy the present with little regard for the future? This is all well and good until, in a classic f*ckboi move, the Andrew Marvells and Robert Herricks of the world descend to try and convince you to sleep with them. Why not, when the “same flower that smiles today / tomorrow might be dying”? Do not fall prey to this kind of manipulation! For starters, there are several reasons why you may not want to have sex with the nearest poet (even if the world was coming to an end), and you do not have to justify ANY of them. If he tries to put pressure on you like this, he’s a f*ckboi.