It’s become the mantra of college students nationwide-from the keg-standing frat boys at the wildest state schools to the appletini-sipping snobs of the Ivies-and its profundity grows with each utterance.

“Hey,” we remind each other: “You’re not an alcoholic ‘til you graduate.”

And technically-according to the Stanford lexicon, anyway-you’re not. Every time tequila makes your clothes fall off, your friends can just smile and shake their heads. You’re not an alcoholic; you’re an alchy.

As we know all too well, Stanford students love to abbreve. Whether you’re on your way to MemChu, FloMo, or the CoHo, a breezy two-syllable term likely exists to describe your destination. And however much critics of this Stanford code complain, these abbreviations do contribute to life on the Farm. After all, they are one of many traditions — Tree Week, the Wacky Walk, and, of course, FMOTQ — that contribute to our quirky campus identity.

But is this truly the sum of their importance?

My old high school was notorious for the eating disorders that ravaged its all-female student body. Yet, as teenagers more concerned with how flat our (dress code-violating) bare midriffs appeared, we couldn’t care less about our health. The abbreviation “rex” — for anorexic — began to circulate. “Ohmigod,” my friends and I would whisper to each other, half in disgust, half in envy. “That girl is totally rex.”

Historical linguistics teaches that the creation of a new word is rarely insignificant. Like “rex,” the birth of “alchy” is no exception. Its rise to prominence has provided us with an alternative to its scarier, more serious original. Essentially, the meaning of “alchy” has evolved far beyond that of its progenitor: Unlike “alcoholic,” which connotates a struggle with a crippling disease, alchies partake in excessively heavy drinking as if it were an enjoyable — but harmless — hobby. The abbreviated form removes all implications of dependence, obsession, abuse or depression.

This is not to say that Stanford, or any other school, is facing an epidemic of alcoholism, cleverly concealed by a playful abbreviation. Yet this semantic shift is not entirely innocuous. As the rise of “rex” reflected our warped body images, social acceptance of “alchies” may be a reflection of our changing mores, an increasing acceptance of a culture of alcohol.

Five hundred years ago, the word “knave” meant only “servant.” But, as attitudes toward the lower classes became increasingly negative, so did the word’s meaning. It is now used to describe someone of low character, one who is dishonorable and deceitful. Similarly, the arrival of alchy may indicate a change in our mindset-and just how numb we’ve become to the excesses of college life.