30 Search Results Found For: "Swug"

Say goodbye to the annoyingly ubiquitous “struggle bus” and hello to the swug truck, your ticket to a sexily aimless and disaffected senior year. Roll a die to start the game of (senior year) life — then simply follow the directions dictated by the spaces. To spice things up, turn it into a drinking game (winner pays!). WKND wishes you godspeed. Be warned that this game is predictive of actual outcome.

Laurie Wang
Where Did All the SWUGs Go?

Suddenly I thought it, and there it was. SWUG, that word, that acronym (Senior Washed Up Girl) that haunted this campus last year. And now it was here again, floating between me and this pale and tangled version of myself reflected in the harsh florescent light.

LIN: To the SWUGs, fight for love

I want every Yale woman to be able to say she fought for more than the freedom to hookup indiscriminately and care for nothing as she rode out her final days of college.

SAVERIN: Reconsider SWUG

I don’t want to keep pinning everything that happens in the lives of senior women to one acronym.


A SWUG — a Senior Washed Up Girl — should be the modern young feminist ideal. But for SWUGs like myself, that’s not quite how it pans out.

The Good, the Bad and the SWUGly

Two days before “SWUGLIFE: A Colloquium,” a commenter on the Facebook event page asked, “IS THIS REAL LIFE.” It was. (For those I’ve lost already, […]

TAYLOR: SWUG is an ethos

I knew in my heart that it would happen — that we, the class of 2013, were heading for something huge, something colossal and threatening. […]

DRIMAL: Profile of a SWUG

By definition a SWUG is a senior washed-up girl, but I believe this explanation, given to us by Urban Dictionary, is inadequate. A SWUG, in […]

Hallowoads in One Act

Entering the otherworldly realm of Hallowoads stone-cold sober with a blown-up Donald Trump mask is probably not the best start to a night, but it’s […]

What the Horfux?

This past summer was the last time I knew I would be at home for an extended stay. So, of course, that meant it was […]

How WKND learned to stop worrying and love the precipice: an epic

Emily Xiao ’18 gazed at the eclipse outside the window and wondered aloud if the blood moon was some sort of metaphor for the year to come. “Should we be worried?” she asked morosely.