Each year, graduating editors are given 30 final column inches — “30” was historically used to signify the end of a story — to reflect on their time at The Hatchet, published in the final issues of the year.
At GW, it’s not the general school spirit, the slogan, the song that defines you as a student. It’s your individual propensity to be involved in something bigger than yourself. I vividly remember walking into my first Hatchet open house in September of 2021, feeling exactly that. Feeling like I was walking into something bigger, grander than I ever could be. Feeling like I could take something from this experience, beyond another title on a resume, to impart throughout the rest of my life. However, after experiencing what these past 3 years have held, I can affirm that this place will also take a part of me for as long as it exists.
It all started on that random day in April 2022 when Jarrod texted me to be a part of the social section. After just coming out of a trivial semester producing the Hatchet’s culture podcast, with honestly little interest in student journalism, I approached it with a proactive mentality. The decision was daunting, especially for first-year me, who was terrified of 8 a.m. Slack pings and hesitant to step back into a role that would force me to ask myself: “Why? Why am I here? What am I doing?” But deep down, I knew I had more to give and way more to learn. So I threw a Hail Mary, signed into The GW Hatchet on every platform and made the decision that would come to define my college years.
If you have taken a look at The Hatchet’s social media recently, it’s fair to say that it looks professional, consistent (aside from the occasional ad) and well-thought out. That surely was not the case when I started. It was bare bones, rarely attended to and was merely another subsidiary factor to what was a minuscule multi-media effort. Almost three years later, we’ve undone that notion and turned it, along with the entirety of multimedia, into a vital part of this publication.
Doing so was far from easy. To think that it was all the way in the beginning of Volume 119 when I first started posting weekly content makes it seem like this whole experience has been a slow yet victorious siege on the mind. The beginning of my sophomore year was the first battle, when I experimented daily with layouts, colors, typefaces and logos alongside experiencing the growing pains of solidifying a visual language. With every typo, misnomer and error that made its way onto the feed (which still do), I slowly began to form a vision of what socials could potentially look like for The Hatchet: a combined effort between all of multimedia and every written section to present student journalism at its best. It wasn’t until that November, when we got our first post with over 1,000 likes, that I realized I could be on to something. Every time that number shot up, first by the hundreds and then by the thousands, was a personal victory near to my heart, though never acknowledged publicly and always overshadowed by the priority of news.
By the end of sophomore year and the start of Volume 120, I became confident in the relatively unknown position of social media director. Its mysticism rested with me, and I assured myself that what I was doing was important, regardless of its lack of acknowledgement within or outside of The Hatchet. Because every so often, I would walk from class to class and see someone riffing with their friends about what I just posted on The Hatchet’s story and knew I was making some form of impact. I took solace in every grid comment, story like, Reel view and newsletter click knowing that I was doing something to help this paper and our community in general.
By the end of my junior year and the start of Volume 121, when the Hatchet’s social media presence reached its peak, I concluded that The Hatchet’s social media was, and always had been, a reflection of myself. Since that fateful April day, it’s evolved into a culmination of editorial prowess, profound commitment and a unique aesthetic that everyone on this campus recognizes, so much so that every Hatchet parody account has tried to recreate it. It’s something I genuinely take great pride in, knowing that I developed it into something that represents the excellence of student journalism.
From naive podcast first-year to social media director, I never imagined I’d be the one waking up at 8 a.m. and pinging group chats, ruminating on design language and copy tones and learning to create content that always informs, mostly inspires and sometimes just makes people laugh.
Over the past year, as my time at GW has approached its end, I began to struggle with the same questions that plagued me so long ago: “Why? Why am I here? What am I doing?” As much as I hate to admit it, The Hatchet is a part of that answer. As much as I hate to admit it, The Hatchet has shown me where I am, who I am and why I am today. It’s shown me that resilience exists alongside rest. That empathy lives alongside empowerment. That who you are is always determined by why you are.
The Hatchet has been a friend — and, at many times, an enemy. But it has always been there, giving me a reason to keep going either way. So while I may end this volume by signing off the staff roster, signing out is virtually impossible. Because as long as this paper and its social media exists, it’ll carry a part of me, and my influence, right alongside it.
To those people who showed me why I am:
Max Gaffin: Ever since I met you in fall of 2022, I knew you were something special. And after seeing you grow and take on the responsibility of socials, I know you are more than that. I look at you and can’t help but see all the best parts of me, just in smaller, white form. Thank you for your skill, your light, your laughs and your friendship. Take the reins and break the chains, bubs.
Anaya: The best second half of the ice cream sandwich I could ask for. You truly are the espresso-flavored vape: classy, tasteful and are a killer on the tweets. From late editorial boards to ragers (prodo) at 605, we’ve done it all and we will continue to do more, unburdened by what has been. Keep the ragers alive and strong and don’t forget to schedule!
Carmen & Renee: Just when I thought nothing more could come out of my time here, you two came along this semester and showed me the opposite. You both are testaments to that indomitable GW spirit that pushes us to excel at every turn. Carmen, you’ve picked up the Slack where I desperately needed it and would probably be in the gutter without you. Renee, you’ve shown me that there is always more to be done no matter how far you’ve come. I can’t wait to see what you guys accomplish next year and please keep the multimedia studio alive!
Grace, Ianne & Faith: The best management that has ever graced the face of the Hatchet (I tried to find a better word, sorry). This volume, led by decisiveness, empathy and consistency in responding to all our post captions and story cards, has embedded you in Hatchet history among the greats.
Sage: Your excellence in crafting frames exceeds my skill set tenfold. Last year, I was a staunch secret admirer of your work, always privy to give it as much spotlight on the feed as I could. This semester I learned that you thought the same about some of my work, something that genuinely validated me beyond belief. Last year, I was proud to call you a colleague, and this year I’m proud to call you a friend.
Nick Aguirre & Josh: The Hatchet gang I didn’t know I needed. Your passion for what y’all do has made me realize that our generation isn’t cooked after all. I look forward to at least one more night filled with beers and wings before we endure the terrors of the employment market.
Ava: If I knew your singing was on par with your video editing capability, I would’ve asked you to make the Hatchet theme song (and accompanying music video) a long time ago! Let’s run it while we have some time.
Jennifer: The realest there is on staff. As unapologetically honest as you can get, you’ve equally encouraged me at times when I didn’t know if I was really even making a difference. That meant the world to me then and means the world to me now.
Carly: I’ve realized you’ve seen me at more stages in my life than most of my closest friends and definitely more than most people on staff. For that, I can’t help but be grateful that you haven’t sent more of those horrendous videos to the ed all. While I have long left my thespian past behind, I’m always down to run back to the Addams Family for old times sake.
Multimedia in general: Your work across the volumes has been a constant reminder of why I stayed. Again and again, you’ve shown that what we do here is bigger than any one of us. Your creativity, heart and hustle have inspired me more than you know and have kept me going when I lost my way.
An & Nicholas Anastácio: Realizing there were people on this paper I could genuinely nerd out with about design and typography nonsense meant everything. You strengthened my why and gave me the confidence to lean fully into my vision, both on socials and in my creative work as a whole. Hopefully our futures are less defined by hex codes and more by the kinds of conversations we shared.
Zach Blackburn & Nick Pasion: The dynamic duo that encouraged me at times when I felt my worst and probably had more faith in me than I had in myself. Your realness, determination and friendship over Vol. 120 was the best thing I could ask for during a time where I felt anything but those things. May many Hatchet alumni association events await us.
Julia & Abby: Even though it’s been so long since those Vol. 119 days, you were both such a big part of my intro to social, and I haven’t forgotten that. Thanks for letting me learn alongside you and for setting the bar. Had to give you your flowers!
Jarrod: If it weren’t for the bridge you built (please tell me you get that reference) to bring me onto the social team, I wouldn’t have had the chance to make an impact — or become the person I am now. Yours in __… yeah, let’s not go there.
Sejal: You brought me into the world of student journalism and showed me that it’s not just defined by sleepless nights and pretentious editors (though they definitely lurk) but mainly by the friends you make along the way. Thank you for showing me the heart behind the headlines.
Sarah Sachs: You saw the vision! If it weren’t for you planting the Hatchet seed and pulling me onto the long-forgotten culture podcast, none of this would’ve happened. You opened the door, and I just ran with it. Forever grateful.
All my normal, non-Hatchet friends: Rest assured you’ll never have to hear me complain about the rigors of social media direction again. No more sesh-disrupting posts and no more medial overthinking that probably could’ve been avoided with a deep breath and a better night’s sleep. Peace at last.
My mentors (Prof. Park, Prof. Huertas, Noreen, JB, Caroline and Cat): You all helped water the seed that grew into who I am today. Without your guidance, I’d be just a wayward weed, tangled in uncertainty. Now, the real world awaits, and I carry your impact with me.
Joel, Zach, Mama, & Dad: You’re probably tired of hearing all my complaints about this newspaper, so much so that you probably hate it more than I do. But read this and know it made me who I am today. And if you love me, you should love it, too.
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