Popsugar boys are pretty-boys with sparkly eyes and dimpley-smiles. And, to maximize their sex appeal, they generally play guitar or write poetry. If you listen to them talk for too long their magnetism becomes greatly diminished. Their beauty initially eclipses their personalities…until their personalities inevitably eclipse their beauty. This works with both genders. There are popsugar girls too.

In the wake of my 10-year-long relationship, I dated a slew of dreamy-eyes poets, musicians, philosophers and dreamers. They all exhibited varying winning traits – like being ex-rockstar, unemployed burnouts now living with their mothers.

Rosco, my previous boyfriend and current bestie has dubbed these morally dubious, wildly attractive artists “popsugar boys.” I know. My ex and I discuss our dating lives with each other. We are weird like that.

In the first year after our breakup, I went out with something like seven popsugar boys.

Generally, it was just a date or two. These dates entail clapping enthusiastically after their questionable guitar renditions of “Stairway to Heaven” then occasionally making out with them in the back of their beat-up Chevys – like the country song Chattahoochee. “…I fogged up the windows in my old Chevy…” Or, perhaps more accurately, like High School.

Then I would spot another shiny pretty-boy with poetry at the tip of his tongue, and cast aside the last one like an empty milk carton.

The luster of outward beauty that would initially lure me in would inevitably fester into repulsion. This would typically happen by about the third week of breathing in the wretched smell of onions lingering on “popsugar boy’s” hoodie. The onion aroma was probably from his mother’s cooking as well as his failure to ever wash said hoodie.

Truthfully, that only happened once. It was the ex-rockstar and he was the only one who had actually lived with his mother. However, it did manage to firmly impress upon me the fact that I was a hopeless addict –  for soulful eyes and musicianship.

This popsugar boy – a German Justin Beeber – had once been a legend. He had spent his 20s touring the US and EU. He had been the iconic face in a popular gothic clothing store commercial in both Germany and Romania. But, his iTunes albums, written and produced every year for a decade were the product of his youthful glory days. He was now 32 and retired. And living with his mother. And smelling like onions.

Another one of these popsugar boys had just completed his MFA in poetry. He had curly blond locks, deeply tanned skin, and glasses that gave him that sexy-nerd appeal. He would read me his Walk Whitman-like opuses meditating on the spine of a leaf, and then tying it into some cosmic revelation. Then he would go outside to snort a line and smoke a cigarette.

Another one was a sweet-taking Spanish painter who conveniently forgot to mention that he was living with his baby mama. He would text me things like:

I am sending you tonight my love…from my hands, my eyes, my nails, from my lips. Pintar, photografiar…consists en mirar. Mirar y aprender a VER.

Then he would knock out some poetry about how the moon was like a pendulous fruit. Popsugar boys are always waxing eloquent about the moon. Moon poetry is a lethal weapon – especially for English majors like me.

Watch out for these popsugar boys. They are sex and poetry. Sugar for the soul. And you will OD quickly and end up with a queasy stomach full of regret and a bunch of poems about the moon.

I should write a dating book for men called “How to maximize your sex appeal” with samples of moon references to woo the ladies.

…tonight, the moon is hanging so low you can tap it with your toe…

My book would get you laid in a heartbeat.

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