Devil's Advocate: Is the St Andrews F***boy Dead?

NO: Sophie Rae

Few things in life are guaranteed, but the existence of so-called ‘f***boys’ at university is a given. One of the most common associations around going to uni is that you are your own person for the first time. Naturally, you are going to explore new things about yourself, your living habits, and your sex life. Moving away means you can explore and reinvent yourself and, despite its smaller population, St Andrews is no exception.

They say that you either leave St Andrews married or as an alcoholic, and I think I speak for the majority of the student body when I say the latter is most likely. St Andrews has this built-in image of marriage and romance, largely thanks to the over-romanticisation of the ‘Kate and Wills’ style love story, which is so oversaturated it blocks out the potential for anything less. Don’t be fooled, the f***boys of St Andrews are very much still here. 

The most common way to get with someone is out at a club — St Andrews has 601 and it maybe has the Vic. That’s it. Or Tinder. It’s easy to miss the ‘f***boy’ culture because the pool for it here is proportionally much smaller than at bigger universities. If your vibe is going out for a silly night at the Union and dancing with friends, hook-up culture will hardly play a part in your night at all. But if you go looking for it, it’s not going to be harder to find it here than anywhere else. After all, this is the town of the humble situationship, just take one look at the Crushdrews submissions.

The ‘f***boy’ can take on many forms; he is not exclusive to a stereotypical one-night stand. Withholding commitment by being in a messy situationship also qualifies, because if he wanted a relationship, in this relationship town, surely he would ask, right? Just because he may go about looking for the same thing in a different way doesn’t change his intentions. 

On a societal level, men are not shamed for having casual sex in the same way women are. There is no risk of being ‘found out’ for having a one-night stand, no walk of shame, and no moral headache from the world around you if you happen to get pregnant from it. In an ideal world, the same would go for women, but unfortunately, that is just not the case. The possibility of knowing someone who knows someone who will know what you’re up to is no turn-off for most men, as they’d be praised instead of slut-shamed.

St Andrews attracts students from far and wide; their internationality is part of the unique charm here. With so many people from so many different places and cultures, each with our own personalities and goals, a blanket statement which declares none of the students a ‘f***boy’ just can’t be true. Exploring yourself and who you are at university is something each of us experience, and hook-up culture, while optional, is part of that. If a man, or anyone, just wants one thing, as long as it’s mutual, consensual, and (somewhat) respectful, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. For better or for worse, the ‘f***boy’ will always be alive and well.

YES: Saffron Rowell

To misquote Nietzsche, “The f***boy is dead. He remains dead. And we have killed him.” This may seem like a big statement, but suspend your disbelief for 500 words or so, and even if I can’t show you the light, I’ll show you a good time. At least, a better time than you’d get after a Wednesday night out. 

We can hold with no uncertainty that this is a relationship town. Around every corner, a couple lies in wait, as ominous and overt as if they were dressed in neon Lycra, supervillain style. Veg aisle of Tesco? WHAM — they’re buying a meal for two. Silent floor of the library? KACHOW — there they are. Oh, you’re in a tutorial? You think you’re safe? BANG CRASH SPLAT — your lecturer is showing you photos of his Valentine’s Day date. Final strike, you have no choice but to admit defeat. 

Couples have redefined our entire culture. Along with the perfect grades, those new Dico boots, and the ability to actually go swimming in this weather, it is an indicator of cultural capital to be in a relationship. And it’s a given that all of you single Simons would sell, not only your souls, but any additional appendages thereupon, to be in one. 

Here is the dilemma. A f***boy, as I see him, is a man entirely comfortable in being a slag. Once you reach the sacrosanct altar of the Union dance floor, he has one job, and one job only. And he is honest about it. To name its opposite, this is not a f***-with-your-emotions-boy. The f***boy, in his purest form, does not toy with you. In fact, he — let’s call him Jamie (for fear that the expletives key on my iPad may break) — is no bad person. I like Jamie. I respect Jamie. He is honest. He is motivated. He is self-aware. A man on a mission — a pilgrimage if you will. Jamie knows what he wants, and boy does he get it. 

But there is no space for Jamie in this town. Hookup culture doesn’t exist here, not in the same way as at other unis. Sluttiness is no longer “in,” even for men. Always eager to please, our men cleaned up their s**t, like any other early morning, and traipsed back to their own beds. Only — they’ve stayed there. And so, there is no one left who will eat you out without asking you out to lunch the next day. And this societal taboo leads to a lack of honesty — suddenly it's “I do want a relationship, it's just that we don't click together.”

Every man I know is either in a relationship, actively looking for one, or recovering from the last. Is it a sign of the self-importance imbued in this town, the seriousness sewn into the cobblestones, the collective idea that we all have to have it all together, that we killed all our f***boys? Are we the first indicator in a generational shift? Or is it simply that after a while, the Market Street run-ins get a bit old?

Whatever it is, I will be grieving Jamie’s death. If nothing else, he provided great entertainment. 

Illustration by Mokshita Nagandla