Difficult.
It’s one of the worst things you can call a woman.
A label for the Australian of the Year who didn’t smile when photographed beside the then-prime minister, for the popular Gossip Girl actor engaged in a long and ongoing legal battle over her treatment on set, the Grammy-winning singer who refuses to be yelled at by paparazzi.
It’s a word that’s hurled with malice — not just as a descriptor, but to remind women of the cost of taking up too much space or expressing too many opinions.
Dee Salmin knows the warning well. In her teens and early 20s, she did everything in her power to be the opposite of difficult.
She was the cool girl. The girl who pretended she was someone she wasn’t, downplayed her feelings and held back from saying what she really felt.
Her dating life was littered with an assortment of men who she allowed to treat her like rubbish, finding her self-worth in the crumbs of validation they tossed her way.
There was the guy she’d drive three hours every weekend to see, who barely cared about her existence. And the one who took her on a date, then asked for petrol for the drive home. She’d sit on the beach for hours on end waiting for her surfer boyfriend, or read up on Australia’s political history and global economics for the one studying politics.
Then something shifted. She started documenting the shedding of this cool girl persona — first in the podcast series, The No Chill Girl, and now in her debut book.
“I took up space and voiced my opinions, I spoke at length about things that made men uncomfortable . . . I was loud. I said no and set boundaries. I told men when they disappointed me. And was honest about who I was and what I wanted,” she writes in her part-memoir, part-manifesto: It’s Not Love, Actually.
“I got called ‘too much’, ‘abrasive’, ‘crazy’, ‘difficult’, and ‘high-maintenance’, but ironically, everything I was so scared of being called in the past ended up being what I loved most about myself.
In March, Salmin walked into Melbourne Fashion Week wearing a white singlet with the word difficult painted in black across her chest, paired with a micro mini, wraparound sunglasses and a fearless attitude.
“The reason why I wanted to wear that was because there was so much conversation happening online, so much backlash around Grace Tame,” she tells STM.
“But the reason why I wanted to paint that on the shirt and wore it was to show solidarity to every single woman out there who has ever been made to feel they’re difficult or that they’re too much.
“I resonate with that experience of feeling like you’re too much. I have always been quite strong, I’m a strong person in my values and beliefs and I feel like for a lot of my teenage years and early 20s that was seen as something that was difficult with guys.
“Now looking back I can see that we live in a culture that has made so many women feel that way about themselves, we have these ideas of gender that we’ve grown up with in Western society that women are supposed to be quiet and submissive and not too loud, don’t draw attention . . . For me now, realising as women you never really win so to be able to embrace those parts of yourself . . . is something I want to get across to women.”
It’s Not Love, Actually is a vulnerable mix of personal stories from Salmin’s dating past interwoven with actionable advice and expert insight intended to empower readers to discover a better and healthier relationship with a partner or themselves. Dedicated to “baby Dee”, Salmin describes it as the guide she wished she could have read growing up.
Many will know Salmin as co-host of The Hook Up — triple j’s series on love, sex and relationships that explores everything from miscarriage to kinks and fetishes, break-ups to AI relationships.
Others recognise her as a content creator and fashion icon known for her bold outfits and thrifted finds. Some might know her as the partner of Collingwood captain Darcy Moore.
She also goes by “gonad stealing feminist witch” , a slur left by a troll that she wears with pride on her Instagram bio.
Now, she’s adding author to the mix.
It’s a long way from the girl who grew up in Scarborough not quite fitting the mould. Dee (short for Dariya) is the oldest of three children. Her parents — her mother Australian, her father Russian — got married after knowing each other for 10 days and not speaking the same language.
After studying a Bachelor of Arts and being “low level good at everything but not extremely good at anything” she was accepted to the West Australian Academy of Performing Arts (WAAPA) where she earned top marks for her assignments.
It was here that she fell in love with storytelling through radio and podcasting which prompted a move to Bunbury where she worked for the ABC for over two years. A role with triple j was always the dream, and in 2022 she got the hosting gig with The Hook Up in Melbourne.
In this role Salmin is both teacher and student, as she interviews experts and listeners — many of the topics explored are sent through by its audience in DMs and voice memos.
“Being able to do stories . . . where they would never actually come to fruition unless we had built that trust with our audience is probably the best part of my job — I love it so much,” she says.
“Being able to have conversations with young people that hopefully shift the way they have sex, date and enter into relationships, and give them that sex education that they never would have had in high school.”
Knowing the challenges gen Z face, mixed with her own experiences, is a strength of the book as it offers a plethora of stories and viewpoints, from how to decentre men to exploring topics such as situationships, why you’re not his mum or therapist, and how to build a village.
Its title doubles as a nod to the popular film Salmin watches every Christmas, and her greatest fear.
In the book’s opening pages she reveals that ending up like the character Karen (played by Emma Thompson) when she realises her husband is having an affair, leaves her in tears every watch.
It’s a scene that evokes a visceral response in most women who watch it — sadness, frustration, rage — not just because they’re heartbroken for Karen, but because the disrespect that Harry (the late Alan Rickman) shows his wife, the mother of his children and the woman who has loved and made sacrifices for him, is an all-too familiar story.
If it weren’t for Salmin’s time going “boy sober” — a three-year period of celibacy and detox from dating — she might have found herself opening a Joni Mitchell CD rather than a ruby necklace one day.
Instead, following her years away from the dating scene, she emerged more comfortable and at peace with herself, and wasn’t willing to put up with mediocre men serving up the bare-minimum.
Moore entered her life at the right time in 2023 — they met through a mutual friend and dating began slow and intentionally which has continued throughout their relationship.
After doing so much work on herself, Salmin says it was time and trust that allowed her to let him in.
“It’s really important to watch someone’s actions and see if they say certain things — do they follow through?” she says.
“I think one of the biggest green flags about him was that some of the conversations we had on our first date — that I really like about him and was intrigued by, (such as) the way he spoke about his sisters and his mum and family, and the things he loved and was passionate about with reading and music — that was all true . . . he was exactly the type of man with integrity that everyone says he was.”
The two recently moved in with one another, following six months of chatting about it.
Whether readers are similarly open to their perfect match, hoping to find more love for themselves, or are ready to embrace their “difficult” side, Salmin hopes the book might help point them in the right direction.
“If anyone takes anything away from the book, I hope that they love themselves a little bit more, or have more empathy and kindness. I’ll be over the moon.”