If you haven't read this column yet, brace yourself. Published in the University of Georgia's Red and Black student paper on Friday, and shared all over Facebook today, the (possibly satiric?) piece tells how female undergrads should find a husband. It's simply incredible.
The article begins thusly:
We have four years in college. Well, most of us at least. Only four short years to attain the thing that is most essential in securing our futures.
That’s right ladies, four years to find a husband. Every true woman knows how vital it is to find the right brilliant babe to father their children and replenish their bank accounts. A Southern belle is nothing but a pretty face and pearls without a man to eat her cooking and appreciate her cleaning.
We're two paragraphs in, and I'm already wishing we could get reaction videos of feminists reading this column. (If only to see the face they make when they get to the phrase "appreciate her cleaning." Would their eyes pop out more or less than the guy from the boat scene of "Caddyshack?") That this was published is a more amazing feat than the moon landing.
After establishing her thesis, the columnist, Amber Estes, sets up the dire consequences of not finding a husband at Georgia. She writes that the "hunnies" are fast being taken while the girls' "expiration dates" are "fast approaching." Then, she gives her step-by-step program to "getting a Mrs."
Let's highlight Step 2:
Spend your free time casually moseying around the law school, Ag Hill or Terry. This is where you’ll find the most ambitious guys, which directly correlates to how well they’ll be able to provide for you and your future mini Mr. Perfects. The trick here is to look flawless, seemingly without trying. Nothing screams desperate louder than a girl who is all dolled up in her nicest outfits lounging outside of Terry. Instead, throw on a nice fitting frocket (one that displays your letters loud and proud) and make sure you look your finest.
Is now a good time to mention that Estes is wearing a DG shirt in her columnist headshot? I mean, everyone knows that Tom Friedman rocks his best DKE Spring Formal 2011 frocket in his New York Times headshot, but I do think Estes is still probably blazing some new ground here.
My personal favorite step—and I'm not being sarcastic here, I think it's genuinely funny—is Step 3: "Instagram Everything."
The men will come up to you and flirt during your afternoons on campus, and soon you will be receiving an influx of friend requests. This step is crucial. These boys have only ever seen you in your I-look-good-but-I’m-not-trying attire; they have way higher standards for your going out pictures. Nothing spruces up some mediocre pics like a lighting adjustment and filter on Instagram.
Scene: Palo Alto, CA, Offices of Facebook, April 2012:
Mark Zuckerberg: "I'm stumped. I really don't know about this deal. It seems an awful lot for some crappy photo sharing service that hipsters use to make their photos look like sh*tty Polaroids."
COO Sheryl Sandberg: "But Mark! Haven't you seen how good I look when I use the lighting adjustment and filter for my going out pictures?!"
Zuckerberg: "You're right. You're absolutely right. I would marry you after seeing those pictures if I wasn't already with Priscilla. Let's give them a billion."
Estes then moves into Step 4: "Stay classy." She really lays the metaphors on thick here:
Step 4: On your first date, STAY CLASSY. A man won’t get down on one knee for a woman who is overly willing to get down on both of hers. You want him to see joint bank accounts in your future, not a joint cab ride home to his place.
If there ever was a more perfect paragraph that shows the wildly different goals of men and women when they go on dates, I'm yet to find it. The book "Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus" could just be those three sentences.
Next, the column moves to Step 5, which details how to keep the guy on lock. This includes baking for his fraternity brothers, for some reason:
Once he does make you his girlfriend, the hard-to-get phase must end. Playing coy was fun, but coy does not a trophy wife make. This is the phase where you put this boy on lockdown. Ensure he desires nothing more than his dazzling girlfriend. Bake for his frat brothers, encourage him to do well on his tests, and impress his momma like it’s the last round of recruitment.
I've tried not to be too mean here, just because the columnist is a sophomore girl, after all. And she is encouraging her readers to be good girlfriends, which is nice. But whether it's the grammar of this paragraph or the idea that graduation just has to end in an engagement, this last step hurts me inside:
If you have flawlessly executed steps one through five, that Tiffany’s ring will undoubtedly be sitting pretty on your finger by the time graduation rolls around. Step number six is to simply say yes. Voila, congratulations future Mrs. Dr. Perfect.
Mrs. Dr. Perfect: A title which makes literally no sense. Much like this column.