There are many disadvantages to attending a small-scale university. You might know everyone you pass on the street, class sizes are small, and Division 3 student-athletes trample campus with undeserved ego for four years. Despite these marginal setbacks, small schools tend to have one benefit over their larger counterparts: no Greek life. I’ve recently returned from my biannual pilgrimage to Syracuse, the northeast’s sleeper Mecca of debauchery. Suddenly, Greek life has reentered my lexicon. It’s not really important whether Greek life hosts fun parties; with enough poison in your blood any event can be interesting. The biggest issue that Greek life faces is not that they’re fighting to stay relevant, the biggest issue with them is that they still are relevant.
Frat parties elicit some of the worst behavior college students have to offer– the kind of puffed-chest bravado that’s more commonly found among inmates than teenagers. Upon second thought, the childish pushing, fighting, grabbing and name-calling is more like Romper Room than prison. I can recall getting rejected entry from a frat party once, much to my ambivalence. Although a party can be fun, especially with poison provided, the particular stench of testosterone and vomit native to a frat basement didn’t really appeal to me that day. Their so-called bouncer, a freshman tasked with stopping men from entering, tried to reassure me that it wasn’t me, it was just the rules. If I was ambivalent before, I was catatonic now. There’s only so much a person can stomach when being patronized by a bouncer who looks closer to Pre-K than Pre-Med. His apologies made it feel as though he was more upset that I got rejected than I was. When I found out the party contained all of ten people, my theory was proven. And I wasn’t allowed in that elite club? A tragedy to say the least.
It’s shocking to me that this is considered a good interaction with a fraternity. While I did get into later parties, I never forgot the feeling of radiant masculinity at the door of that first one. Such radiance enlightened me and likely terrified any woman in the building holding an open container. On the topic of relevance, fraternities serve as a modern ode to the masculinity of days past. A place where young, well-off men hold all the cards, and can play them with impunity. If they didn’t have weekly greasy parties, what purpose would they serve in the 21st century?
Although frat boys tend to walk around with the pride of an Olympic gold medalist or a Nobel laureate, their time at the top of the college food chain has a shelf life.The ultimate bait-and-switch, their theatrical display of exclusivity at the door promises a party worth waiting for– a promise which rarely delivers.
While frat basements are hardly Studio 54, what they lack in good music and friendliness, they make up for with atmosphere. The inside of a frat house might as well be that of an abandoned building. Without so much as furniture or door, at least there’s ample room to stand in place while Chad tries out his DJ set on a crowd of drunk business majors. While being clown-carred into a basement with no ventilation is appealing to doe-eyed freshmen, by the time students turn 21 the allure of sticky floors and thick air has long faded. A great party is a subjective thing, and to those freshmen waiting to get inside those basements, I just hope it’s not the subject of their nightmares.
It’s really not important whether or not fraternities host good parties. What they really serve as is a watering hole. The one aspect that keeps me coming back to them is the opportunity to people-watch. Like Jane Goodall studying the chimps, I look around at frat parties and witness the heterosexual mating rituals of a species unknown. The parties are the backdrops to humankind’s most animalistic tendencies, and watching them is like a live nature documentary. Instead of the Serengeti, it’s DKE’s basement. Instead of narration from David Attenborough, you’ll hear a hoarse-voiced teenager asking you for a cigarette. Instead of a gazelle being hunted by a lion, you’ll see a copy-paste student athlete breathing fetid breath on a blonde stranger. Nature is beautiful.
As someone who can’t be bothered to do something I don’t like for even 15 minutes, I’ve decided to skip the ostentatious pageant at the door and find fun elsewhere. One thing I’ve learned is that it’s okay to skip the frat party and sit at the grown-ups’ table instead sometimes. Besides, in a frat basement, you’ll never find a Smoking Section.
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The Smoking Section is where I observe the world at large, and put a magnifying glass on a subject we all hold dear to our hearts. As a member of Gen Z, I think it’s important that we take a step back and remember that life is not that serious, and no topic is too good to ridicule. In the Smoking Section, we take a step outside of the party for a breath of less-fresh air. Here if you don’t have anything nice to say, pull up a chair next to me.
@schmidtconrad
