At this point, it barely requires mentioning that the bogan lusts for celebrity and its trappings with a fervour that would shame the randiest 13 year-old bogan upon the discovery of RedTube. Of course, the bogan is more than happy to live vicariously through those who can achieve fame in their place and sportspeople are among the most prominent of these. They are often local, and are willing to engage in maxtreme behaviour in public which the bogan can be outraged at, then forgive. There is, however, a celebrity that appeals even more greatly to the bogan than the footballer or cricketer. Their girlfriend.
By their early twenties, even the most self-deluded male bogan has reached the conclusion that it is not destined for a lifetime of sporting glory and fawning groupies, instead spending their time at the local footy club drinking Mexican beer and discussing how awesome it would be for all seven of them to shag one chick.
The femme-bogue, however, has an alternative. One she can cling to for at least another decade. One that is more appealing, as it requires little more effort than the willingness to endure multiple penetrations from seven smashed athletes. She still has a chance to be a WAG. The WAG is, to the bogan, famous, yet has achieved little, if anything, beyond appearing on the cover of Zoo Magazine under the guise of being Nathan Bracken’s missus. She has a bloke at her side willing and able to fork over for cosmetic enhancements of all sorts, and actively encourages her desire to paste herself a sinister shade of orange and bare her newly-massive cans in the mens’ magazines or red carpet.
Moreover, the WAG has only two genuine obligations; to attend football matches (watching said matches is optional) and stapling an expensive-looking dress covered in sequins to its breasts once a year at the sport’s awards night. Beyond this, the WAG can pursue any and all goals it chooses; from hosting a travel show to interviewing other WAGs on the red carpet.
The result of all of this culminates in the femme-bogue deciding that becoming a WAG is her calling. Her destiny. It is what she was put on Earth to do. This results in weekly pilgrimages to weekend haunts known for containing athletes, where the femme-bogues stalk their prey with a single-minded, ruthless determination more commonly witnessed among rutting caribou. By the end of the night, the female bogan has passed out in a tangle of arms, legs, sequins and shame and its male counterpart is in the hospital, having been glassed in the side of the face by the half back flanker it thought was hitting on its missus.