The 1740s 'Order of the Pug' secret barking rituals

When the Pope tried to cancel secret societies in 1738, the Catholic elite didn't go home—they went full "pet play." They founded the Order of the Pug, a club so exclusive and unhinged it makes modern frat hazing look like a quiet tea party.

To join, these high-society "main characters" had to wear dog collars, scratch at the door, and bark their heads off. The grand finale involved kissing the backside of a porcelain pug statue to prove their absolute loyalty to the pack.

It was a massive, barking middle finger to the Vatican’s authority, proving that if you tell the rich they can't have a club, they will just start a much weirder one.

Wait, why a pug? That's literally the least intimidating dog ever.

Actually, that was the point. In the 18th century, pugs were the ultimate status symbol—the "Birkin bag" of dogs. They represented loyalty and a certain "if you know, you know" vibe among the elite.

Choosing a pug was a deliberate flex. It signaled these nobles weren't scary revolutionaries; they were just a pack of "besties" being loyal to each other.

By making a goofy lapdog their mascot, they were basically trolling the Vatican for taking secret societies so seriously.

So did they actually let women into this barking madness?

Plot twist: the Pugs were way ahead of their time. While the Freemasons were strictly 'no girls allowed,' this order was a co-ed fever dream. They didn't just let women in; they let them run the show.

Women could hold the title of 'Grand Mistress,' proving high-society ladies were just as down to bark and kiss porcelain dog butts as the men. It was the ultimate inclusive 'it-crowd' hangout.

By opening the guest list, they made the Pope's ban look even more outdated. It was 18th-century rebellion with a side of girl power.

Was this 'Grand Mistress' actually powerful or just a figurehead for the drama?

Oh, she was the real deal. In a world where women were usually just "plus-ones," the Grand Mistress had actual veto power. Every year, the leadership swapped between a man and a woman, making it a literal 50/50 power split.

Imagine the Vatican’s face when they realized these "Grand Mistresses" were signing off on the club's secret tea. It wasn't just about barking; it was about showing the Pope that women could handle "secret business" just as well as the boys.

It was basically the 18th-century version of a co-ed executive board, proving that the Pugs weren't just trolling with dogs—they were trolling with gender roles too.

Seriously, did these high society egos actually handle a woman calling the shots?

Believe it or not, they lived for it. In a society where everything was stiff and traditional, the Order of the Pug was their "safe space" to be unconventional. Letting a woman hold the veto power was the ultimate rebellious thrill.

These Grand Mistresses were the ultimate gatekeepers. If she didn't like your vibe, you weren't getting in to bark, no matter how many titles you had.

It was a total power flip. For these guys, taking orders from a woman was the loudest way to scream they were done with the Vatican's "old boys' club" rules.