Defining “Douchebags”: Part II – Physical Characteristics

Douchebags are idiots with flare, but what does that look like? In Part II of “Defining Douchebags,” we’ll take a look at some common physical attributes. You can’t judge a Douchebag by its collard shirt; even some of the fellas in these pictures might not be Douchebags. Just because it dresses like a douche doesn’t mean it is one, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a Douchebag Uniform.

Ed Hardy – This one is so easy that it’s intellectually painful. I mean, really guys? How can you not see that everybody else not wearing an Ed Hardy anything thinks you’re a complete tool (note: “Tools” are the slightly less intelligent cousins of Douchebags).
Axe Body Spray – Sorry guys, it’s pretty douchey. I get it. It smells good. Easy to use and, frankly, their advertising is sometimes just right. But six out of ten douchebags are using this stuff when their weekend cologne runs out.
Spiked Hair – You only tend to see this from inland folks anymore. I don’t know what the saturation rate is for styles these days, maybe twenty years? So since this style went out around 98′ along the coast we’ve probably got another eight years of it on those Bridge & Tunnel nights.
Tribal/Asian Tattoos – Clearly, you’re not in some tribe and, yes, I really, really appreciate the time you’ve put into the gym. I’ve been at the gym lately too, but I wear an old-fashioned tight t-shirt like a decent goddam human being instead of physically marking the area with a third-grade doodle better suited to the graphic designs of a Trapper-Keeper. As for the Asian Tattoos, you’d better be goddam Asian or at least have spent some time learning the language for your semester as an English teacher. ”It means Peace?” Bullshit, we can all read. It clearly says, “Douchebag.”
The “Wife-Beater” tank-top as your sole shirt – unless you’re at home doing some kind of chore, this doesn’t qualify as an outfit. I will grant that they are incredibly comfortable so let’s let this be the deciding factor: if at some point you are wearing this in any venue where currency is exchanged besides a liquor store, you have overstepped.
Pink-Shirt/Popped-Collar - I think this started as a kind of I’m-Not-A-Douche move by a lot of D-Bags who thought they could throw the scent just because they were wearing pink.
The Interesting Goatee - The Goatee was interesting for about six months total when three French guys did it in the nineteen-thirties. These guys were sullen as shit and always smoking. Also, they never spoke to you, they only answered questions, and usually ended sentences with, “But of course,” just to point out how much of an ignorant asshole you are. Basic goatee? Fine, this just means you really enjoy baseball. Goatee with any shape to it: Douchebag.
Sunglasses – I’m not even going to mention the It’s-Not-Dark thing. I’m just going to mention Haiti, then point to your sunglasses on your ridiculous goddam head, then mention Haiti again.
Hand Gestures – I’m assuming one of two things: either you’re deaf or signaling the wing placement of a taxiing jet. Anything else means your hands are doing the talking and, frankly, most people’s hands are real morons.

A special note: The Stripey Dress Shirt. I cannot stress this one enough. It’s not that the normal guy doesn’t own a striped dress-shirt, just that he would never wear one out if the wedding, funeral, or work didn’t call for it. Really the whole bullshit dress/casual thing, the untucked stripey shirt with the beltless jeans? Oh, did you roll the sleeves up. Oh, are those sandals? My god you’re easy-going.

Here’s an experiment for the striped shirt. Head to the Matrix in the Marina on Fillmore. Look around. Count the number of guys in striped dress-shirts. Give up? Of course you did, because it’s physically impossible for a human being to count higher than 4,367 in a single evening. Oh, and a quick warning: If you’re out and you are the guy in the stripey shirt, consider that you may, in fact, be a Douchebag. Back in eleventh grade, when every item of clothing you bought was from Express for Men, you had an excuse. As college approached, you had a choice: grow up, or continue on a path towards douchebaggery.