You wear a fedora

Congratulations, it appears you have successfully invented the world’s first time machine and traveled back to the year 2002 in order to steal Justin Timberlake’s sense of style.  Why don’t you cry me a river because you certainly aren’t bringing sexyback any time soon.

While you’re at it, why don’t you use your time machine to stop by the late 80s to warn young you that the hi-top fade, rope chain, and MC Hammer pants look won’t last either.

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You are not a good dancer

Although he thinks that with his dance and breaking skills he should be in the finals of the Red Bull BC One b-boy battle, when he gets out on the dance floor the question arises as to who will get hurt first – him or those dancing around him.  Although he has “mastered” the likes of the Electric Slide, the Hustle, and the YMCA dance, people often ask if he is okay when he dances because it appears to the casual onlooker that he is having some type of seizure on the dance floor.  God forbid if he ever discovers MTV or Youtube because I don’t know if we can handle his loose (and by loose I mean train wreck) interpretations of Jerkin’, the Stanky Legg, the Ricky Bobby, or Swag Surfin’.

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You are the creepy old guy at the club

You and your friends decided to switch it up a little and not go to your regular hangout.  Instead, someone suggested going out to the local bar with a DJ and dance floor.  Sounds good everyone thinks; however, little did they know those were famous last words.  You arrive, get a lay of the place, and head over to the bar for the first round of drinks.  After the third round, the women in your group are swaying to the beat and singing along to the chorus of the music playing.  As anyone knows when you’re out with girls in a club, those are two of the universal signs that it’s time to move out to the dance floor before someone tries to get up and dance on the table or a chair.  Preemptively cutting off a scene with a bouncer or having someone crumpled up in a ball on the floor with a twisted ankle, everyone picks up their drinks and heads to a nice looking spot on the dance floor.  You’re feeling the song and have just enough liquid courage to be coordinated and look pretty good out there.  Things are going well and everyone is having a great time until you notice him dancing alone behind one of the girls in the group.  He didn’t come with you, no one seems to know him, and no one invited him over to dance with you guys.  So the question on everyone’s mind is who exactly is he?  In case you haven’t figured it out – spoiler alert – he’s the creepy old guy at the club.

We’ve all encountered him on a night out with friends.  Similar to the guy who pops into other people’s photographs, he’s the guy who creeps around in the shadows of the club only to emerge at opportune times when he can slither onto the floor and dance with unsuspecting ladies.  Materializing on 80s Night or other events that cater to women such as “Ladies Night” or half-priced martini drink specials, he always appears to be the one club goer who is out of place.  Wearing a Member’s Only windbreaker, “mom jeans”, and sensible sneakers, he hangs out on the sidelines until he locks on to an unsuspecting target.  Doing what can only be described as an awkward shuffle and head bob, he slowly moves towards circles of friends, and especially women, on the dance floor.  Careful not to draw attention to himself, he doesn’t directly ask anyone to dance.  He tries to remain inconspicuous while dancing behind and alongside women preoccupied with their friends and having a good time.  But if he is ever caught or levied nasty glances by the group, he sheepishly dance-shuffles back to the shadows to stalk his next target.

You almost feel sorry for him – the key word being almost.  Hey, he’s got a pretty good life.  He’s got his own efficiency apartment with a futon, a sweet black light, a terrarium with a pet snake, and his own mini-fridge well stocked with Hot Pockets.  He drives a 1987 Toyota Corolla in near average condition.  He’s got a good job as a telemarketer for a male-enhancement supplement company.  And he’s got the entire box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for his viewing pleasure.  This tiny dancer is certainly living the high life so please don’t pity him and his club behavior.

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You consider Guitar Hero a musical instrument

We’ve all seen him at the local video arcade or Chuck-E-Cheese.  Formerly hooked on Dance Dance Revolution, his new addiction is Guitar Hero.  After a riveting game of whack-a-mole and an awkward trip to the ball pit, he exchanges his paycheck for a stack of game tokens.  Even after a few coughs and remarks from parents commenting on letting the kids have a chance to play, he has no qualms about making everyone wait in line as he tries to achieve “Guitar God” status regardless of how long or how much money it takes.  Little Suzy is just going to have to wait even though it is her birthday.

He seems to forget that Guitar Hero is a video game and not a real musical instrument.  Although he has been consistently reminded by friends and acquaintances not to take it so seriously (just like when he plays pick up basketball), he is oblivious to the obvious.  He downloads music to his iPod based on what songs are on the latest version of Guitar Hero or popular on the Guitar Hero music catalogue.  He spends his free time watching Youtube videos of others playing Guitar Hero to “brush up on his technique” and really figure out how to “shred.”  Once he gets his confidence up, he plans on going to the local sports bar for the Guitar Hero “open mic” night to “kill it.”  Hopefully someone reminds him what happens when he reaches the magical 1,000,000 points level prior to his public debut…

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You drive a custom van

While rocking Joe Dirt facial hair and a Van Halen 1978 World Tour t-shirt, he drives around wishing he was in an old school Hot Wheels’ van or that he was Shaggy from Scooby Doo and hanging out with Daphne in the backseat of the Mystery Machine about to get to second base.

He has installed an eight-track and blares the likes of Kiss’ “Rock and Roll All Night” (1975), Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold” (1975), Foghat’s “Slow Ride” (1975), Kansas’ “Carry on Wayward Son” (1976), Styx’s “Renegade” (1978), Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” (1978), Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” (1981) taking him back to the days when custom vans were the end all and be all of cool even though he never was.

He has picked one of the ubiquitous van designs such as a wizardly sorcerer, a semi-clothed cave woman, mighty Thor, a ferocious tiger, a curvy lady in some stage of undress, a mountainscape, or smoldering flames.  On the interior, he has channeled his inner 70s porn star and brought back the dated designs such as a bobble head doll on the dashboard, wall-to-wall shag carpet, a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, a lava lamp, bean bag chairs, Christmas lights around the roof, and a waterbed in the back.

Sounding like Wooderson from Dazed and Confused, he has no problem telling you what he’s got under the hood: “We got 4:11 Positrac outback, 750 double pumper, Edelbrock intake, bored over 30, 11 to 1 pop-up pistons, turbo-jet 390 horsepower.”  Apparently none of us know that much about cars because we are all still confused as to how he could fit an engine like that into his van.

But don’t worry if the van’s a rockin’ because nobody is knockin’ and he’s probably inside by himself relieving his past glory days.

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You might be “That Guy” if you wear guyliner

Although there is a common misconception that guyliner is a new phenomena, its roots can be traced back to the likes of David Bowie, Alice Cooper, and Ozzy Osbourne.  Originally meant to shock and scare the mainstream, guyliner has been embraced as a fashion statement by the likes of “musicians” and other emo or scene-types like Pete Wentz, Jared Leto, and the lead singer of Tokyo Hotel.

Girls say it’s sexy on a guy and that guys should try it.  Really?!? Come on, really?  A scrawny, pale emo kid weighing a buck-fifteen from the suburbs dressed in all black or skinny jeans with an unnecessarily small t-shirt is not going to be sexy no matter what they do.  Having to go to the makeup counter at Macy’s for beauty product supplies or sharing make-up with female acquaintances does not make you cool, a badass, a rocker, or even a dude.*

You’re just “That Guy.”

* Please note that Johnny Depp is the lone exception of being able to pull off wearing guyliner regardless of whether it is in a movie (aka Captain Jack Sparrow) or not.

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You might be “That Guy” if you are a guido

The guido is located almost exclusively in New York or New Jersey and rarely travels outside of the tri-state area.  Only during the summer months does he travel outside of his natural habitat to migrate east to the Jersey Shore where he rents a house for the entire summer with twenty other guidos or guidettes (female guidos).

During the fall, winter, and spring, you will most likely find him working in the food service industry or doing some kind of construction.  When not working, he will spend his time at the gym lifting weights in anticipation of summer or visiting a tanning salon until he gets an unnatural shade of brown (or orange if he self tans because he has a bodybuilding contest this weekend in Atlantic City).  Some say he is nocturnal because he is spotted at dance clubs every evening that focus exclusively on club, house, hip-hop, or eurotrash music.  His favorite dance move is the guido fist pump which consists of pumping a clenched fist in the air to the beat of the music as you take off your shirt to show off your unnaturally tan and ‘roid ripped body.  His drink of choice is Miller/Bud Lite or anything that contains either Jägermeister or Red Bull.

He is very easy to spot.  As already mentioned, he will be unusually tan or orange in color and muscular from being an amateur body builder.  His hair will be exceptionally gelled and almost certainly spiked up.  He will be wearing some kind of gold chain around his neck and oversized fake diamond earrings in both ears he most likely borrowed from his guidette sister.  His outfit consists of designer name brand jeans or trackpants and a shirt with a zipper that is so tight that it must have been bought at Baby Gap for Guidos (otherwise he wears a tanktop, an unbuttoned shirt, or no shirt at all).  When a picture is taken of him, he most likely leans back and puckers his lips for no apparent reason.

If you are still unsure how to spot him, see the excellent documentary Guido Beach.

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You might be “That Guy” if you are sensitive and play the acoustic guitar

We’ve all encountered “That Guy” at one point in our lives.  He most likely emerges at some point in late high school playing Stairway to Heaven or something by AC/DC in a garage band.  In college, he sits on his porch or in the quad playing for a group of girls.  At this point in his life, he has moved up to playing Dave Matthews Band or something from an indie group like the Shins, the Decembrists, or Death Cab for Cutie.  Once he graduates with a philosophy, art history, or creative writing degree, he moves to “the city” to pursue his dreams of being a famous singer/songwriter who becomes rich and famous while never selling out.  This almost certainly means he will wind up in New York City; however, he may also go to other cities such as Austin, San Francisco, or Portland.  He will dabble with writing his own material and play in local fair trade coffee shops and bars that serve drinks in mason jars on open mike night hoping to get his big break.  He plays a fifteen minute set with three of his own songs and closes the show with a slowed down acoustic version of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.”

After never making it big because he refused to sell out and produce commercial radio-friendly music, he longs to return to the days of sitting in the quad on a Tuesday afternoon impressing the ladies with his overly-nasally, slightly out of tune, sing-speak, Jason Mraz sounding, sensitive guy with an acoustic guitar crooning.

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