Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

I just watched an Old Spice commercial. They’re trying to – er, “spice” up their brand from the old man image. It won’t work for me, because my dad wore Old Spice. But I digress.

Are there any nice-smelling body products for men that aren’t douchey?

I use Arid XX unscented on my pits, and one of those no-brand ocean sniff body wash things, but if I want to get a prize stink on, where should I shop?

We need a tight list of douche-resistant flavor enhancements, for the sake of the hotts!

I’m finishing my PhD in evolutionary biology, a process from which I find occasional escape at HCwDB.com. During quiet moments here in my academic ivory tower, and by ivory tower I mean roach-infested storage closet of an office, I casually ponder both pear and the evolutionary dynamics of douchebaggery.

The hallmarks of baggery are easily recognized (Louis 2008) and may be influenced by elements such as product branding or sexual selection (John-from-Vegas 2009; Sir-Hate-A-Douche 2010).

However I suspect the origins of douchebaggery, as you have suggested (Louis 2007), lie within a more unifying principle.

Recently, a reader at HCwDB.com asked a particularly insightful question “Does a Douchebag know he is a Douchebag?” (Jamie 2011).

I propose the answer is No, and it’s here that a unifying principle may be found. Self-deception, particularly as articulated in Robert Trivers’s evolutionary theory of self-deception (Trivers 2000; Trivers 2002) could explain the douchadox, and become a central element supporting a Douchebag theory.

Trivers proposes; “For a solitary organism, the prospects seem difficult, if not hopeless. In trying to deal effectively with a complex, changing world, where is the benefit in misrepresenting reality to oneself? Only in interactions with other organisms, especially con-specifics, would several benefits seem to arise. Because deception is easily selected between individuals, it may also generate self-deception, the better to hide ongoing deception from detection by others. In this view, the conscious mind is, in part, a social front, maintained to deceive others — who more readily attend to its manifestations than to those of the actor’s unconscious mind.” (Trivers 2002)

In essence, the douchbag or baguette is so deeply unaware of their own douchieness that potential mates interpret the douche’s projections of self importance as honest signals of fitness. Such a Douchebag theory appears consistent with a multi-stage progression of douchebaggery and of course, the existence of oldbags.

If indeed douchebags are victims of their own mind – they deserve our sympathy. And by sympathy I mean mock-induced cognitive dissonance. So in a world without a total perspective vortex device (Adams 1980), which may or may not be helpful anyway (depending on your perspective) I encourage the mock, at least from an escapable distance.

— Charles Douchwin

References:
Adams, D. (1980). The hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy. New York, Harmony Books.

Jamie. (2011). “Ask DB1: The chicken or the bag?” Hot Chicks with Douchebags.com

John-from-Vegas. (2009). “Ask DB1: Blaming the Bleeth?” Hot Chicks with Douchebags.com

Louis, J. (2007). “Rodin’s The Doucher Revisited.” Hot Chicks with Douchebags.com

Louis, J. (2008). Hot Chicks with Douchebags, Simon Spotlight Entertainment.

Trivers, R. (2000). “The Elements of a Scientific Theory of Self-Deception.” Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 907(1): 114-131.

The Cheesy Gordita dribble stains down the front of of Señor Pud-a-bator’s wife-beater makes this scene of debauchery all the more enraging. And what’s with the tiny dog tag bling? Did Diesel start selling micro-dog tags for $80 or is this guy fifteen feet tall?

And oh, Stephanie and Jamie.

Jamie tries her best to looks sexy for the camera with her kissy-face duck lips, knowing full well that in twelve years time her three kids and diabetic cankles will reduce her romantic life to Passions and court TV with the occasional craigslist one night stand.

But Stephanie unknowingly beckons my penile acquiescence with her oblivious smile, matted eyeliner, and nose piercing her friend gave her one night when they were, soooooo drunk (giggle). Mmmmm, Stephanie.

I would zip-line using my own scrotum, bear-ass naked though a dense metallic dildo forest with a rare earth magnet imbedded in my colon, just for the mere opportunity to lick Sbarro pizza grease off the counter of the Claire’s store she bought those ridiculously gaudy hoop earrings at as part of a buy-2-get-1-free promotion.

Damnit, I need to get out more.