Welcome to the Red Flag Fan Club
What is a “red flag” and do they really fuck better?
I remember the first time I heard the phrase “red flags fuck better,” I immediately thought of this guy I dated - George*. George wasn’t really his name, of course, but this dude looked so much like the missing link between us and Cromagnon man that I felt a primate inspired moniker was fitting. When I say he looked like an ape, I really mean it. He had a wide, exceptionally round head with fuzzy sparse black hair and deep wrinkles all over his scalp. He was very muscular, pretty fucking dumb and whenever I’d watch him tinker with something in the garage or use his phone, it looked like introducing technology to a wild animal for the first time. He turned out to be a real piece of shit, like the foulest mother fucker on Earth, but guess what? He was a pretty great lay.
What “Red Flag” Really Means
In dating, friendships, work, and life, “red flags” usually refer to the warning signs we’re supposed to avoid - patterns, behaviors, or situations that signal trouble, or gut feelings that tell us something isn’t aligned. It might be inconsistency. Lack of accountability. Love bombing. Emotional unavailability. Or just that quiet internal voice that says, this probably won’t end well.
George was a walking red flag. The first time I met him was in a bar. Ding. In my bar to be exact. Ding ding. He got fairly drunk. He left his number on a piece of paper, illegible as all hell. His friend paid his tab because he was “between jobs”. He drove some busted piece of shit 1990-something Corvette that he peeled out of the parking lot like a drunk asshole. All tell tail signs. I tossed the paper. But a month later I ran into him again, drunk, still unemployed, but this time we went out and you know what I did? I took him home.
Most people already know what their red flags are. That’s the part no one talks about. When I let George ruin my life, it wasn’t because I didn’t see the signs. Never answered his phone but texted back immediately. Got mad when I asked where he was or who he was with. He never introduced me as his girl. Blah blah blah. All indicators that this situation would blow up in my face. But I did it anyway.
You Already Know the Warning Signs
You know what a red flag is usually before you’ve even identified it. Jail time? Yup. Baby mamas? Absolutely. An unbelievable affinity for porn? Well, they’re men so… But red flags can be more than just the basic no-nos. A feeling in your stomach. An intuition something isn’t right. An adverse reaction to a comment or action. Red flags aren’t always dramatic. Sometimes they’re subtle. Sometimes they’re familiar. Sometimes they feel exciting. And sometimes they don’t feel like red flags at all — they feel like chemistry, potential, or hope. Even if you can’t pinpoint it in the moment, your body knows something isn’t right and tells you. What we think is “butterflies” is really a visceral reaction to fuckboy behavior. Our body is literally screaming don’t fuck that guy!!!
Admission to the Red Flags Fan Club
The phrase “red flags” has become cultural shorthand for knowing exactly what you’re walking into. That’s what the Red Flag Fan Club is all about - not self improvement, not playing it safe, and definitely not pretending we didn’t know better. It’s a proclamation of self-awareness. And that awareness - whether you act on it or not - is power.
Why Self-Awareness is the New Power Move
Recognizing red flags doesn’t automatically mean you walk away. It means you see clearly. You understand the pattern. You know the risk. And from there, you get to decide what happens next. Knowing better doesn’t mean you owe anyone an explanation or an apology. Self-awareness isn’t about perfection - it’s about clarity. Around here, we respect clarity — even when it comes with consequences.
This is where The Red Flags Fan Club was born. It exists in that space between knowing and choosing. Between being warned and doing it anyway. There’s power in that honestly. And power changes everything. This collection isn’t about moralizing your decisions or pretending you’re above it all. It’s about owning your self-awareness without needing to justify it. About admitting you saw the warning signs and still showed up. About dressing for the reality instead of the fantasy.
And let’s not forget - it’s fun! Everyone loves a bad boy for a reason. I’ve left a trail of fuckboys in my wake. Were they all mistakes? Obviously. Did I have a fucking blast? Definitely. Acceptance is the first step to admitting you have a problem. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’ll choose a good time over heartbreak every time.
Red flags don’t make you weak.
Ignoring your own instincts does.
