types of dudes

My neighbor and friend Megan once told me of a list a friend of hers made — a “hierarchy of men,” segregating the different types of males depending on their basic archetypes: assholes, regular guys, momma’s boys, etc. I thought this hierarchy was brilliant, and decided to make a list of my own. I call it Types of Dudes. My list includes five basic types of men — Bros, Sweet Dudes, Nerds, Normal Guys, and Serial Killers — and includes their behavior, traits, and a brief rundown of their favorite things. So, without further ado, I present to you … Types of Dudes.

You see them everywhere — in the club, drinking; at the football game, drinking; even at the Third Eye Blind concert, totally drinking, dude. These, my friends, are Bros — trend-followers, frat boys, and general sheep to corporate America. They drink Starbucks, they eat McDonalds, they shop at Abercombie & Fitch. They drive new Mustangs. Their parents have copious amounts of money, and their spoiled asses receive every bit of it. Your typical Bro, as of 2008, usually looks like this: backward baseball cap, ridiculous sunglasses, polo shirt, ironic golf shorts, and either Adidas shoes or some sort of distressed sandal. Bros love everything distressed, because it makes them look like they actually get out of the house, instead of playing Xbox 360 with their frat brothers until five in the morning.

The distinguishing characteristic of a man which makes him a Bro is his Lack of Originality. Bros don’t care to look unique in any way, or to say anything original or interesting. Bros just want to hang out and play beer pong. They follow any type of opinion that is easy and straightforward. They love George Bush because “He’s the president, dude, and you can’t hate the president,” but they also love Obama because, “He fuckin’ listens to Jay-Z, man!” They truly are the lemmings of society, ready to leap off a cliff if their basketball coach tells them to (or if there’s beer at the bottom).

Bros are usually seen with a vapid young freshman girl on each arm and a red plastic cup in each fist. They’re not afraid to get into a fight, especially when someone calls them an “ignoramus,” mostly because they don’t know what that means, and “Only a faggot would say something like that.”

Quick to anger and even quicker to keg stand, the Bro remains one of the largest 18-25 demographic in the country. There are three variations of the Bro: the Old Bro, which is a Bro who is older, usually a few years out of college, and refuses to accept the fact that he’s not cool anymore; the Non-Bro, which is usually a Normal Guy or a Nerd trying to be a Bro and failing, not because of their style, which is spot on, but because of their personality, and the fact that they use polysyllabic words often in conversation; and the Surfer Bro, which is the actual true Bro, the guy who really practices Buddhism and actually doesn’t give a fuck what you think about him. Those are very rare these days.

Breakdown of Bros
Average Age: 21! Yeah! Party!
Average Height: 5’7″ — not tall enough to be cool, but not short enough to be That Guy.
Average Weight: 230 — sucking in the beer gut.
Typical Bro Name: Brody.
Philosophy: They like to say Buddhism, but they don’t know what that means.
Favorite Food: Hot dogs from the street vendor after the clubs shut down.
Favorite Drink: Alcoholic.
Favorite Store: Tie — Abercrombie & Fitch and American Eagle Outfitters.
Favorite Sport: Tie — Football and beer pong.
Favorite Drug: Weed, dude.
Favorite Band: Bob Marley! He really gets me, man.
Favorite TV Show: Family Guy.
Favorite Movie: 300! (just beat out Rocky)

Sweet Dudes
Oh boy, here comes that guy with the weird piercing … or the one with the bright neon pink sunglasses … oh wait, here’s the one with the “I Heart Fucking” t-shirt. Out of the woodwork like an icky surprise, it looks like we’ve been attacked by a group of Sweet Dudes!

Men, typically high-school and college-aged men, follow one of two paths: either they’re a Follower, or they pretend to be a Leader when actually they’re still a Follower. The former is a Bro. The latter is a Sweet Dude. Sweet Dudes are all about personality. They exude Uniqueness, and, sometimes, Old Spice sweat. They wear ironic t-shirts and love to play guitar on street corners. Bros play guitar too, but they like to play “No Woman No Cry” for four hours straight; Sweet Dudes, on the other hand, will play you something they just wrote last night on a napkin from Denny’s, a twelve-minute screamo song made up of just two chords, entitled, “My Heart, My Soul, Moons Over My Hammy.”

In essence, Sweet Dudes try too hard to be Original, and in doing so are completely unoriginal. They are, in a way, the arch-nemesis of Bros. Whereas Bros strive for Sameness, Comfort and Safety in Numbers, Sweet Dudes excel at doing what they think are new things (they’re not), and when they two meet at a bar, shit goes down.

At a party, a Sweet Dude will be the one with the wild mismatch of clothing, and will be the one always ready to party. Bros try to just hang out and have a good time, but Sweet Dudes love to be the center of attention, even if it means dropping trou and swinging their tiny penis like a ball and chain at the nearest hottie, screaming, “I’m hypnotizing you! I’m hypnotizing you!” until he’s beaten savagely (usually by the same hottie).

Typical Sweet Dude dress includes, but certainly is not limited to: wild hairstyle (some kind of color change is good), ironic and/or brightly colored t-shirt (especially that Threadless shirt about the haiku; that one is great), skinny ripped up jeans, socks a track runner would wear, and Converse. Always Converse. With little doodles on the edge.

Sweet Dudes make excellent band leaders or singers. If Jack Johnson is a Bro, then Pete Doherty is a Sweet Dude (and a particularly trashy one at that).

Sweet Dudes have a couple of variations: Hipsters, who are Sweet Dudes who like better music; Preppies, who are Sweet Dudes with more money, and, of course, Metrosexuals, who are Sweet Dudes with grooming capabilities.

Breakdown of Sweet Dudes
Average Age: Anywhere from 18 to 35, really.
Average Height: 6′ onward — they’re abnormally tall.
Average Weight: 175 — soaking wet.
Philosophy: New Wave.
Favorite Food: Pizza, preferably New York style.
Favorite Drink: Sparks or vodka and Red Bull.
Favorite Store: Vintage and/or Savers.
Favorite Tie: Skinny.
Favorite Sport: Yachting.
Favorite Drug: Cocaine.
Favorite Band: You probably haven’t heard of them.
Favorite TV Show: Something English.
Favorite Movie: Juno.

That Guy
Pleather jacket and a fedora. Hawaiian shirt, every day, even in winter. Scraggly, almost patched-on beard. Strange-yet-outgoing personality. Almost always drunk beyond comprehension. If you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all — that’s right, it’s That Guy.

For years, it was set in stone that That Guy was a prominent subculture of the Nerds — the Band Geeks in particular. But that was the 1950s to the 1980s. In the new millennium the sheer awkwardness of Those Guys has far outweighed the limitations of being simply a Nerd, and so That Guy finally has his own distinction, and with it, a new found appreciation by millions for his sheer gauchity (I just made that word up).

The principle characteristic of That Guy is his Awkwardness. Much like the Sweet Dude exudes Originality, That Guy exudes an inn
ate ability to make people feel Weird. This is done in several different ways, whether it be the strange, off-the-cuff things that he says (“I’m not wearing underwear right now, baby.”), to the way that he dresses (black socks and Birkenstocks), even to the way he stands next to you in line at the movies (somehow his crotch is lightly brushing your hip). That Guy is everywhere, always in the same style, too: slightly out-of-place hat (fedora, bowler, propeller beanie); makeup, occasionally; wrong decade shirt; shorts, even in 30 degree weather; and awkward shoes, usually either boots or loafers.

You’ll always know when That Guy is at a party because he’ll be the drunk in the corner, shouting at the Bros and Sweet Dudes, calling them obscene names while everyone points and laughs. One of the better aspects of That Guy is his Lack of Caring. Whether it be the local bum on the street or Ghandi himself, That Guy isn’t afraid to give him a piece of his mind, even if that piece is nothing more than incoherent rambling. That Guy truly is a king among drunks.

A lot of Those Guys have become successful by being That Guy (Bobcat Goldthwait anyone?), but most of them taper off their weirdness as they get older, much like a fine wine … except backwards, I guess.

There really are only two variations on That Guy: Hey Look, It’s That Guy and Who The Fuck Is That Guy?. I think their titles are self-explanatory.

Breakdown of That Guy
Average Age: Usually high school age, 14-18, though That Guys can remain That Guy until they die.
Average Height: 5’2″ or 6’8″
Average Weight: Either 90 pounds or 300.
Philosophy: Wrong place, wrong time.
Favorite Food: Whatever his mom put in his Ghostbusters lunchbox.
Favorite Drink: Kool-Aid.
Favorite Store: Salvation Army.
Favorite Sport: Bowling or Chess.
Favorite Drug: Anti-depressants.
Favorite Band: They Might Be Giants.
Favorite TV Show: Match Game 1970.
Favorite Movie: Cannonball Run.

Quite possibly the most picked on subculture of men, Nerds have recently reclaimed ground, being cited as “cool,” “hip,” and even “not that bad.” It wasn’t always this way for Nerds, however. Long ago in a time called the 1980s, anyone with thick glasses and a pocket protector was harassed, pushed around, and swirlied. Movies like Revenge of the Nerds and … uh, Revenge of the Nerds II showed just how cruel jocks could (most jocks are Bros, by the way).

The new millennium has showed us the error of our ways with the mass introduction of technology. Computers in every household, iPods in every pocket, and cell phones in every tumor-induced ear, what was once Star Trek technology has now become our technology, and now an important question has been whispered into ever Nerd’s ear: are they a dying breed?

The answer is no, because no matter how much technology becomes available to the mass market, Nerds will always be Nerds. A Bro might have the most kickass cell phone in history, but he still won’t give a shit about trigonometry. Nerds do. It’s their intelligence and ability to make sense of things that don’t make sense that bring about the computers and cell phones that the rest of us use daily. And how do we thank them? We give them wedgies, that’s what we do. We steal their lunch money. We grab at their nipples when we walk by them. Sometimes, even, we give them a compliment, like, “Hey, I like your hair,” and just as they’re about to say, “Thank you,” we scream, “NOT!”, loud enough for the whole student body to hear and appreciate.

The “idealized” Nerd is the slicked back hair, Buddy Holly glasses, dress shirt, pocket protector … oh just go watch Revenge of the Nerds already. But the new Nerd can be as varied as the Sweet Dude. In a way, Nerds these days are just Sweet Dudes without the Originality. Or the cleanliness.

If you’ve ever seen a Nerd at a party, be prepared, for it truly is an exercise in social interaction. Asthma inhaler in hand, ready for anything, Nerds go to parties in Groups, with the advantage of being numerous, but the disadvantage of being a big group of Nerds. They bring absolutely nothing to conversation. They want to talk about Dungeons & Dragons or what kind of reed they use in their clarinet, and all you want to do is fuck the nearest hot chick you can find. And that’s okay with a Nerd: it’s the closest thing to a conversation he’ll have with you.

There are so many variations of Nerds that I could write another blog on it, but I won’t. Suffice it to say, Nerds are everywhere, so respect us! I mean, them. Respect them.


Breakdown of Nerds
Average Age: All ages.
Average Height: 5’5″
Average Weight: 280, before the Mountain Dew bender.
Philosophy: The meek shall inherit the Earth.
Favorite Food: Puffy Cheetos.
Favorite Drink: Mountain Dew!
Favorite Star Trek Character: Spock, obviously.
Favorite Store: Any book store with D&D shit.
Favorite Sport: D&D.
Favorite Drug: Final Fantasy.
Favorite Band: MC Frontalot.
Favorite TV Show: Monty Python.
Favorite Movie: STAR WARS!!!!

Normal Guys
He holds the door open for you. He assists you into your chair at the dinner table. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Why sweet nothings? Because he’s a Normal Guy, and he has nothing interesting to say.

The truth is, Normal Guys are everywhere. They make up most of the population. They are a generic brand of men that can, with time and effort, be made into something else, a Bro or a Sweet Dude, etc. But most Normal Guys don’t want that. They just want to be left alone. So why is this a problem? I’ll tell you why! It’s cause they’ve got no balls! They sit around and watch TV! They don’t drink that much, they don’t smoke, they love to cook and clean the house sometimes! Who the fuck likes that?

The worst thing about a Normal Guy is when he’s the lone wolf in a group of other types of dudes. A Normal Guy in the midst of some Sweet Dudes looks, well, normal. Really normal. He just sits there and laughs politely at conversation, and when someone offers him a line of cocaine or a shot of heroin, he raises his hand in a “no thank you” gesture. What a jerk.

Typical Normal Guys wear their baseball caps forward, usually with a white or off-white button up shirt. Sometimes they wear khaki pants, but usually it’s just jeans. Their shoes are unassuming. They drink Coors Light, when they drink at all. They love to talk about their job as an accountant. I mean, what else am I supposed to say about them? They’re boring! They buy a copy of the Times in the morning! They wear suits to work!

One thing is certain, though: at a party, either the Normal Guy stands out, or you do. There’s no in between.

There’s really only one variation of the Normal Guy, and that is the Nice Guy, which is a Normal Guy who is just so fucking nice you want to tear his heart out and feed it to him. Just let her open her own door, you stupid Mama’s Boy! Sheesh!

Breakdown of Normal Guys
Average Age: 34.
Average Height: 5’8″
Average Weight: 200.
Philosophy: Just livin’, you know.
Favorite Food: Italian.
Favorite Drink: A beer.
Favorite Store: Target.
Favorite Sport: Whatever’s on ESPN.
Favorite D
rug: Not into it.
Favorite Band: Daughtry.
Favorite TV Show: Friends.
Favorite Movie: Caddyshack.

Serial Killers
Say you’re woman, walking down the street alone at two o’clock in the morning. Maybe your car broke down, maybe you were sent off by a jilted lover, or maybe you just like walking alone down a dark street in a short skirt at two in the morning. Know this, potential rape victim — the Serial Killer doesn’t care about you. An amateur would just kill a girl out in the middle of such an obvious situation. No, the Serial Killer wants you because your mother was an alcoholic, your father’s middle name was Ted, and you are a Gemini with a Scorpio moon. Specificity is the Serial Killer’s game, and you just got specified.

The last, and most dangerous Type of Dude is being mentioned in such a prominent way for two reasons. One, because there are no female Serial Killers, which means it is clearly a type of Dude (and if there are, they’re lying), and two, because if there was ever a more distinct type of Dude, with the possible exception of That Guy, it would be the Serial Killer.

There are also only two types of Serial Killers: those who are Deranged, and those who are Bored. The Bored ones are especially tricky because they’re the ones who make up clues and puzzles. The Deranged just run at people with a hatchet, but the Bored will sit outside your window all night before he runs at you with a hatchet.

The typical Serial Killer looks just like your average Joe, but be on the lookout for possible differences, such as: missing fingers or limbs; a shed full of cutting devices; a swastika in the forehead or other part of the body; crazy babbling to self or others (not to be confused with That Guy’s incoherent babbling); and, finally, blood on clothes or body. These are all signs of possible Serial Killers, but none of them guarantee a Serial Killer, so don’t attack your uncle just because he is a butcher and has supplies in his shed, okay?

If you ever see a Serial Killer at a party, watch out, cause he is scoping the place. Not for hotties to take upstairs, but for hotties to take upstairs and flay alive. He’ll be in the corner, drinking his self-made concoction of beet juice, acetaminophen and liquid cocaine, and watching for whichever person best suits his desire to kill in the name of his talking dog. So, you know, look around you when you’re at a party next time, will you?

There aren’t any variations of Serial Killers, because each one is a variation on their own.

Breakdown of Serial Killers
Average Age: 56.
Average Height: 5’7″; 5’3″ hunched over.
Average Weight: 160 — bony, really.
Philosophy: The dog is telling me to kill everyone, so I must.
Favorite Food: Human organs.
Favorite Drink: Human blood.
Favorite Store: Macy’s.
Favorite Sport: Hunting poor, innocent people, usually women, and leaving behind cryptic-yet-ultimately-traceable clues about his next victim’s location.
Favorite Drug: Heroin mixed with LSD and paint thinner, then injected into a woman’s eyeball that he eats.
Favorite Band: Charles Manson.
Favorite TV Show: Dexter.
Favorite Movie: Snuff films.

So there you have it, the five Types of Dudes. Next time you’re out at the mall, ready to buy whatever crazy shit that you wear these days, take a look out for these kinds of men. You’d be surprised how many fit into these different archetypes (hint: it’s all of them).

Until next time!

By Josh

I'm the guy who owns this site, ya dummy.

3 replies on “types of dudes”

No wonder you were up in your room all night. You were writing this blog. Man, it was long. I got through it, though, and I feel better about it. Just curious, could you write like a sidebar blog about the Bro train. It would be a nice capper to the evening…

Dude (har!), that was great. Incredibly long, but great. I think I stopped halfway through “That Guy” to shave, and then again after the serial killer’s average height.

I’ll have you know that I actually logged into my Blogspot account for the first time in three years to write this comment. So here it goes:

Good job

– Lee VB

Update: Please disregard the last paragraph. It was written before I realized that my Blog password has been forgoten. In its place I offer you this: one free Coors Light (that’s right, look me up on your list, see if I care) at Quinn’s.

Oh, and if you or anybody else out there knows my password to, I’ll personally tie your shoes. Once.

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