This is a slightly modified version of a post that originally appeared on Brown’s only female comedy website, The RIB. To view more of its fantastically hilarious content, please check out its website.
An article published by NY magazine recently reported a surge in a self-proclaimed SWUG (“senior washed up girl”) culture at our fellow (although obviously inferior in both style and worldly intellect) Ivy in New Haven. After reading through some poorly composed comments, undoubtedly written by men, I stumbled upon this fact: the popularized term, SWUG was coined by none other than a Brown female around 2005. On pondering this fact, I have realized that the probable reasoning behind this is not only that Brown women are the most creative of all, but also have unfortunately shared this cursed identity in full force for too long. What defines the original SWUG–the Brown SWUG? Don’t worry: I will use my personal experience to fill you in.
You start off senior year with these grand ideas—I’m going to go out every night, spend every sunny day on the Main Green, never miss a Wednesday night Whiskey, cook fancy dinners with extravagant drinks from Ina Garten’s recipe collection, and, most importantly, pursue every attractive underclassman that I want…because face it, I’m a senior and the shit. Not to say I haven’t enjoyed myself thus far, but I certainly fell short of my initial goals; I’m sure many of my classmates would agree that they feel the same way. Thus, we have fallen into the SWUG lyfe.
By day, we are seen SWUG-gin’ around campus, owning our shit. We’re looking at underclassmen who think they’re the shit, and scoffing, not giving a shit. We feel no shame in repeating outfits or looking like we just woke up. We know every spot to study, EAT, and drink, and we know the ideal times to do so. People know who we are, and we know it. Yes, during the day, it seems like we are bosses in every way. Then the sun goes down, and things get a little questionable.
In September, we came back to Brown with a vengeance. Went out every night, got hammered, woke up, and did it again. We flirted with younger boys, gazed at handsome athletes, and predicted our senior slut conquests. Then we watched as freshman girls trickled in—first at house parties… then at our beloved Whiskey… and then essentially everywhere else. With their tight neon skirts, superior hipster glasses, and excellent pre-freshman-15 physiques, they stole our limelight. Our boys were taken: Bye, bye freshman dreamboats. Farewell sophomores with the faces that could grace GQ. Adieu even to the juniors and seniors, even the ones we’ve already conquered. Now when we text them or excessively flirt—stooping down even to the level of freshmen or sophomores, or shamelessly using your dog in a pick-up line (guilty)—we end up at a dead-end while some bitty takes the fucking highway. Suddenly, we are old and used like “Party in the USA” at a Sigma party, and, although we have a don’t give a fuck motto, the freshman are perceived as easy, so the cockblocking continues.
So what now, you ask? Now we revel in spending our Friday nights in bed while we watch Netflix, because it means it’s not a Friday night spent in the SciLi basement. We’ve given up on Brown men, because we know we are the shit and they are too blinded by the freshmen’s neon glow to perceive it. We get drunk with our fellow SWUGs or gay BFFs, watch Girls, and then fall asleep surrounded by candy wrappers. We go to parties—sometimes—but we don’t care what we wear and usually end the night blackout in with a box of pizza while we blast Beyonce. We are no longer able to recuperate from a night of tequila shots and are unable to emerge until the next week–our bodies aren’t as forgiving as they used to be.
Honestly, being a SWUG isn’t that bad. I have embraced my lack of sobriety, social interactions, and male attention; instead, I have focused on my amazing friends that make me wish I were a lesbian, and on my efforts to convince younger students to never leave college. Plus, we have so much to look forward to… we are going to be the hot freshmen once again, this time in the real world.