The first vivid memory of Swag Surfin’ dates back to a significant moment: President Obama’s inauguration ball at Howard University. Although the official release of “Swag Surfin'” by F.L.Y. was in March 2009, the infectious track had already been making waves in mixtapes and clubs for months prior to January 2009. That night, amidst the celebratory atmosphere, people dressed in their finest, linked arms, swayed side to side, and back and forth, instinctively performing the Swag Surfin’ dance. It was almost as if the synchronized movement was innate, or perhaps a few early adopters had already mastered and popularized the dance. Regardless, Swag Surfin’ quickly became more than just a dance; it cemented itself as a cultural cornerstone, not only at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) but also as a powerful ritual within the rich tradition of Black public dance.
The 2000s were a fertile ground for dance crazes, largely fueled by the rise of YouTube. Dances like the Stanky Legg, the Dougie, the Roy, the Jerk, and Whoop Rico emerged and faded, yet Swag Surfin’ has remarkably endured. While “Swag Surfin'” might not have reached the musical influence of Soulja Boy’s “Crank That,” a pivotal moment for YouTube dances, or the timelessness of the Electric Slide, it carved out a unique and lasting space. Fast Life Yungstaz (F.L.Y.), an Atlanta-based hip-hop trio, created the track within the futuristic swag genre – a melodic fusion of trap rap, snap music, and rock influences popular amongst artists like Roscoe Dash and Travis Porter. This era was known for producing some of hip-hop’s most carefree and exuberant songs. F.L.Y. fit perfectly into this style, exemplified by their album track “Party Time.” Despite not being the biggest name in the scene and “Swag Surfin'” not even breaking into the Top Forty charts initially, the single’s sheer jubilance propelled it into a social phenomenon that outlasted many of their contemporaries.
“Swag Surfin’,” the song, begins with majestic synth horns, unfolding at a tempo that feels deliberately slow for a club hit. A chime then signals the chorus: “Man I got that swag,” the word “swag” deliberately drawn out. “My hat matchin’ my bag”—again, stretched over three beats on “bag.” Even before the bass drops, which takes a further twenty seconds, people instinctively reach for each other, swaying in unison. “Swag Surfin’” became the perfect soundtrack to capture the optimism and euphoria of the early Obama era. The lyrics themselves mirror this positive energy, depicting fresh outfits, surrounded by friends and attractive company. There’s no conflict, no negativity, just pure joy and feeling good.
Dance, like food, fashion, and slang, functions as a cultural artifact, passed down through generations as a testament to shared identity. Pinpointing the exact moment you learned a dance step is often impossible, yet the opening bars of Frankie Beverly and Maze’s “Before I Let Go” or Cameo’s “Candy” can instantly trigger scores of people into the Electric Slide. College campuses, especially HBCUs, serve as crucial hubs for this cultural exchange. Many students arrive already familiar with classics like DJ Casper’s “Cha Cha Slide,” but regional variations, like the more dynamic Midwestern version by DJ Chip, are quickly adopted into the collective repertoire. Every region boasts its unique dances: D.C.’s “beating your feet,” Baltimore’s “rocking off,” Chicago’s footworking, New Orleans’s bounce, among others. Then there are universally embraced line dances like the Cupid Shuffle and the Wobble, transcending geographical origins to become part of a broader Black cultural memory. However, unlike these dances with their widespread appeal, videos of a flawlessly executed Swag Surf consistently garner thousands of retweets, remaining a captivating spectacle every time.
What makes Swag Surfin’ so uniquely compelling? Firstly, its remarkable simplicity. There’s no complicated choreography or steps to memorize; it’s largely a stationary dance focused on knee, hip, and shoulder movements. But beyond its ease, there’s a profound sense of connection and unity inherent in the physical act of linking arms, a shared agreement that no other popular dance quite captures. This isn’t a spectator activity; participation is almost mandatory, drawn in by the outstretched arms of those around you. When those opening horn blasts resonate, strangers dissolve into a collective of friends, brothers, and sisters. Even over a decade later, the sheer joy of people connected, swaying in perfect rhythm and synchronization, remains a beautiful and powerful experience. Whether at a club, a wedding, a graduation, or even the White House, this song compels you to put your arm around your neighbor, regardless of familiarity, and sway—left to right, left to right—affirming together, “Man, I got that swa-a-ag.”
