Douchebags don’t live on the internet like you do. Their lives aren’t subject to the same constant, screaming moralism. While you’re at home worrying about the politics of female armpit hair on Saturday night, the modern British douchebag will be at the club.
Molls: Australia’s Female Douchebags
Earlier this year, two young women in Queensland, Australia, were filmed verbally and physically assaulting an old man on a bus while shouting slurs about aboriginal people. The resulting video introduced the world to Australia’s one truly unique contribution to the global taxonomy of douches: the moll. Most countries have loud, irritating, and offensive youths, but only we have the special breed of scrag capable of committing a violent racist act while wearing $40 shoes, $300 sunglasses, and a cocktail dress.
The moll shares several things in common with her male counterpart. She loves drinking and her friends, is not above punching someone in the face, and spends eons getting an outfit together. Her dresses resemble those worn by early-2000s Latin Grammy Award winners. She gets her tan from a can and works in places with names like Ice, Magnetic, or Xposed. At times, she’s indistinguishable from any other young woman. What sets her apart is the pure primal aggression with which she lives her life—she controls every situation through a terrifying mix of heightened competitive sexuality, simmering violence, and a confidence derived from a dozen or so watermelon Cruisers.Before dark they stalk suburban malls in tracksuits and $40 worth of makeup, calling shop assistants bitches for not sharing their staff discount at Cotton on Body [sort of the Aussie equivalent to Victoria’s Secret]. When night falls they shed their fleecy skins and emerge as screeching and bedazzled butterflies. It’s maximum impact with zero body hair.
The cornerstone of all their social interactions is alcohol. In the early evening they pre-game with friends on the back decks of their parents’ houses. Living at home has its advantages: You never have to learn to do laundry, you get to use your dad’s good stereo to listen to Jason Derulo, and you can pour the savings into drinking alcopops with your BFFs every Friday and Saturday night.
They have highly complicated female friendships which were formed in the first few days of high school and have been tested by years of online passive aggression. You’ll know who they are before you meet them because of the thousands of selfies they post every time they come within 15 yards of a bathroom. You’ll also know what all their friend’s bathrooms look like (spoiler alert: purple towels). These are the women they get shitfaced with before going out to meet the guys they will drink under the table. Drinking serves several purposes: It limbers them up enough to both flash the party photographer at the club and, if the mood strikes, punch someone in the face.
“Given the strange tension in the room, I felt it necessary to break the ice and mention to him that I was a big fan and, in fact, a little nervous. Woody said, “don’t be” and jumped off the edge of the couch, placing himself on the seat, removing his slippers, and stretching his legs out across the table in front of me—gyrating and rubbing his socked feet mere centimeters from my knees as he glared. After a minute or two of fumbling with my iPhone recorder, I finally managed to start the interview.”
VICE’s Annette Lamothe Ramos interviewed Woody Harrelson immediately after his failed reddit AMA. It went terribly.
Read the interview: I used to love Woody Harrelson, but now I think he’s a scumbag