“Don’t Call Me A SWUG”
Written by Bwog Staff
Seemingly in response to Yale Daily News’s recent #SWUGNation feature and the subsequent NYMag piece that followed, an anonymous tipster sent in her own lifestyle manifesto. Read below to discover the provocative tale of the Columbia SNAG: Senior Not Amused Girl.
They call it a “darty” (a daytime party), and the one he begged us to come to at his frat last weekend was as laughable as the thought of being washed up at 21. The Koronet’s guys know our names. We can shotgun faster than any Delta Sig, and while our skinny jeans aren’t as tight as theirs, they’re harder to get into. Veni, vidi, vici. We came, we pre-gamed, and we hope you didn’t exhaust your right hand playing pong.
SWUG? No. We’re the girls who rejected you before your interviewers did. We don’t Lean In—we sit at the head of the table.
The embrace of #swuglife is as amusing as the source of its etymological origin. Of course, one should expect nothing less from girls who choose to spend their weekends kissing frogs at Toad’s. Partaking in SWUGhood must feel like plunging into the excrement of Dante’s third circle.
Enter the SNAG. Senior Not Amused Girl.
Who is the SNAG? She’s the girl who promised she would never go on another date with a college boy, but now finds herself entertaining texts from the senior she’ll unavoidably reject. She thinks this is funny.
Sure, she danced on the bar in his frat’s basement, while watching him slip his hand under that freshman’s BCBG bandage skirt. He sent her a 3 AM Snapchat anyway, and unfortunately for the freshman, it lasts just as long as he does.
But unlike the SWUG, there’s more to the SNAG than male-centric (in)validation.
Guys are one facet of SNAG life, as is white wine, sarcasm, and testing boundaries.
The SNAG begins her day with Bloomberg TV, The New York Times, and Gawker… obviously. Her interests include apathy, apartment hunting, online shopping, and happy hour. The SNAG loves spending time with her fellow SNAGs. She has found valuable and fulfilling friendships amongst her peers. With them, she enjoys Breakfast at Tiffany’s and lunch at Fred’s. The SNAG does her homework when she deems it interesting. And when it’s not, you can find her bronzing on the Steps, brunching at Community, and being a bad ass betch. Do not expect the SNAG to stay put for long as she is eccentric, with a proclivity for impromptu trips and bursts of spontaneity.
As for finding a husband while still in school… has Patterson recently visited an Ivy League campus and interacted with the “men” here? The SNAG enjoys mutual respect and mature company. The SNAG does not allow herself to be treated poorly. Unfortunately, that’s all most guys her age know how to do. From ignoring her in public to parading around with downgrades, the modern day university man is more of a caricature than a thoughtful suitor. The SNAG wishes this weren’t true, but she has been disappointed far too many times. She doesn’t think she’s inherently better than the freshmen or the boys, she just knows better.
The SNAG sets her own standards. For some, hooking up may not happen until she’s in a committed relationship. For others, it may happen within 30 seconds of a drunken bar interaction or a Heights margarita. Regardless, she decides who and what she wants, and she gets “it” on her terms, when she wants. She doesn’t allow anyone to decide this for her, especially not a college boy who openly describes her female peers as having been through the “meat grinder.” She’ll politely decline; her Louboutins only take her as far as Meatpacking.
While there may be a liter of Yellowtail in the fridge, everything about her demeanor implies top shelf. She regularly wears Greek letters, but the only one of true import is “Alpha.”
She met the Columbia 3L on a rooftop during a Bacchanal after party, where he bored her with stories of his alma mater in New Haven until she sent him to fetch more beers. He returned with a penchant for conversation.
“So at Yale, a lot of the girls would call themselves SWUGs. Have you heard of that?”
“Yes. I’m a SNAG though.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I definitely agree.”
Even if she goes out every day that ends in “y,” you can rest assured that after a few drops of Visine and an Oren’s soy latte, she’ll be bright-eyed and sharp-tongued in your morning seminar. She’ll openly correct your interpretation of trickle-down economics and destroy your half-ass argument, making you turn as bright as the pastel polo you’re attempting to pull off in Hamilton. Leave the lettered pinnie in the brownstone; you know that you’re not even close to getting any playing time. She’s interested in neither you, your Eskimo bros, or the less-than-thrilling games you want to play.
The SNAG acts as if she sits on an Iron Throne, even when her castle is 209. Her domain is Morningside, her ale of choice a Lionshead draft from Mel’s. She can seamlessly weave 2Chainz and Dostoevsky into a conversation, making you walk away thinking “she’s diffrent.” And that’s because she is. Not everyone can be a SNAG, and for that she thanks the SWUGs. Those who know, know.
SNAG is not merely an acronym; it’s a lifestyle. It is a self-awareness that comes with growing up, recognizing your worth, and making sure the people in your life deserve to be there in the first place. SNAGs don’t need to rely on a faulty confidence contingent on their male peers, because they have learned to rely on themselves and those they respect and care for. #SNAGsNotSWUGs.
See you at Senior Night.
Young SNAG via Shutterstock