Instagram And The Female Douchebag


The male douchebag has existed and been detested since time immemorial. There were probably Carthaginians ripping on ancient Roman douchebags for wearing goofy wreaths on their heads and manscaping their nipple hair. “Look at Caesar over there with his dumbass plant hat and smooth man cleavage. I hate that douchebag.”

Present day male douchebags come in all shapes and sizes, but whether it’s the TAPOUT t-shirt wearing meathead, the gel-haired guido with a tanning addiction, or the uncomfortably preppy frat bro, we love to loathe them all. However, a previously well-hidden douchebag that has flown under the radar and remained relatively historically insignificant has recently been thrust into the spotlight via social media. I’m talking about the female douchebag.

Instagram changed the game forever and made it incredibly easy to identify the fem-douche. This is where she posts all manner of inappropriate pictures that she would never share on Facebook or any other form of social media where the normal rules of society still apply. The she-douche is really into herself. Way more into herself than the normal self-obsessed human. She lives for a good gym mirror selfie after an intense ab workout. She doesn’t even care that there are other people in the gym watching her snap pictures of her toned stomach and firm glutes at flattering angles via mirror, and she makes sure to include a geotag of Gold’s Gym so every creepy Instagram follower knows where to find her if they feel like transitioning from social media stalking to real life stalking. Underneath this selfie is usually a bevy of illuminating hashtags: #progress #thinspiration #girlswithabs #strongisthenewsexy #iamthenewsexy #iwouldfuckme #wouldyoufuckme #tellmeimpretty #lookatmybodyihatemydad. With every double-tap, she gets just a little bit wetter, and thinks she has a little more in common with Kim Kardashian or a Victoria’s Secret Model.

The female douchebag, much like the male douchebag, waved bye-bye to shame and remorse long ago. She uses fitness as a thin veil to disguise her generally skanky behavior. Her Instagram account exists solely to broadcast the message that she is hot, and she is only getting hotter by doing squats on the reg. She’s not photographing the perfect sunset, capturing her plate of food in just the right light, or taking pictures of her dog being silly and cute like normal miserable people; she’s just making sure to include at least a few inches of cleavage in that selfie of her holding a martini. She is savvy. She knows her following of 2,762 creepers, comprised mostly of complete strangers and sexual predators, doesn’t really care that she’s enjoying an alcoholic beverage with her friends, but they do care about her funbags. She knows they don’t really care that her city is enjoying perfect summer weather, but they do want to see a neck-down POV shot of her laying out at the pool. She thrives on attention driven by sexuality. Without it, she would die, and the lady d-bag does not wish to die; she wishes to live a long life where as many men as possible have imagined her completely naked, because she’s bombing their feeds with pictures of her almost completely naked.

This girl is the reason you can’t open Instagram in church. Your normal friends post lovely pictures with interesting filters that keep you in the loop on their respectable daily activities, but not the female douchebag. One second you’re saying The Lord’s Prayer, and the next you’re staring at a photo of her twerking upside down at the bar in a skintight dress with her ass hanging out. It’s okay though, because she hashtagged #workhardplayhard. Have fun explaining that one to Saint Peter, you perverted son of a bitch.

She makes it infinitely more difficult to explain what Instagram is to your grandma, because you’re afraid to let granny scroll through your feed when there’s a solid chance the fem-douche you follow has recently uploaded a photo of herself doing downward-facing dog in nothing but boy shorts and a sports bra.

“Who’s this young lady bending over in her undergarments, honey?”

“Oh God! Grandma no! Look away!”

I should make it clear that I’m obviously all for yoga, working out at the gym, and anything else that betters your odds at a long and healthy life and makes you look awesome naked. However, if the only reason you’re doing healthy activities is so that you can bless the world with your body in the form of a scantily clad Instagram post, maybe you need to get your priorities straight. The male douchebag has been ripped apart incessantly for being an annoying, attention-seeking, pathetically lame waste of human flesh, so why not his female counterpart? It’s time we acknowledge that she is alive and well, and now easily identifiable via her hilariously self-serving Instagram account.

You might be asking, “Why don’t you just unfollow her?” Well yeah, but then I’d miss out on all those super hot pics.

We men are just a bunch of thirsty pervs. If you give us something to ogle, we will ogle, and we will double-tap, and we will reinforce the obviously unhealthy behavior that this column intends to make light of, because we are horny morons. I guarantee at least a few dudes reading this thought, “Holy shit I need to download Instagram!” And as we speak, they are being sucked down the rabbit hole of #fitspo pics, never to emerge.

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Ross Bolen

Ross Bolen is a New York Times Bestselling author, co-host of the Oysters, Clams & Cockles: Game of Thrones podcast, co-host of the Back Door Cover sports podcast, 2017 Masters attendee, bigger and more loyal Rockets, Astros and Texans fan than you, cheese enchilada aficionado, and nap god.

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