I am instantly hit by an unforgiving wave of humidity and booming trap music. There are tons of people around me dancing, drinking and making out, but they all seem adrift. My frat shoes slide across the grimy floor as I squeeze my way past the mass of faceless, nameless and nondescript bodies. I wonder, why am I here? Literally what is my purpose in being here right now? This actually sucks. And nothing makes the party or the interactions any better because no one can hear over the obnoxious music to hold a conversation. I quickly locate the nearest exit, the window! And climb out, unbothered by the short lived fall before I reach the ground, desperate for fresh air.
UVA is home to the “work hard, play hard” mentality, but what are we working towards, really? Sometimes it seems like we’re only working towards weekend nights of being trapped in the stifling heat of frat parties, our legs glued to sticky floors encrusted in parties of weeks past.
But I was her for the night. My costume for the night: a tight little top and a bland skirt that simply weren’t me. I wanted to claw them off in exchange for my signature New Rock boots and dangly dice earrings.
As I get ready, I meticulously perfect my foundation in my tiny desktop dorm room mirror. I cannot leave until every blemish is smoothed over and I am doused in my Victoria Secrets bombshell perfume I’ve sworn by since high school. I want to appear effortlessly flawless, but there is nothing effortless about my silky smooth armpits or the tight corset I’ve chosen to wear that makes sitting down unbearable.
I’ve been assigned an alternate identity to enter the party. A name I have never heard in my life that belonged to a girl I would never know. But I was her for the night. My costume for the night: a tight little top and a bland skirt that simply weren’t me. I wanted to claw them off in exchange for my signature New Rock boots and dangly dice earrings. My outfit was simply not a serve. I was only serving the demands of the male gaze—the sacrifice for gaining entry to the gnarly, dimly lit sweaty frat basement.
Fraternity parties often seem to champion beliefs cultivated by the patriarchy. Who gets in, and why? Girls willing to be picked apart by a discriminatory system that upholds unrealistic and discriminatory beauty standards. It’s customary for people to get “sloshed” from drinking in preparation to even feel comfortable entering these spaces. I have never spoken to anyone who enjoyed going to a frat party completely sober. It would be like showing up to class without your favorite pen to write with—blasphemous. In this sense, frats encourage guests to drink exorbitant amounts of alcohol, creating a vulnerable scenario in which everyone’s guard is down. Women become even more vulnerable to violence and harassment, further extending the frats’ patriarchal presence.
There’s a constant pressure to know what is going on and where at all times.
Once second year rolled around, I decided to face reality and admit, I do not like going to frat parties. Something so simple that I had known all along. Gratifying moments shouting Dancing Queen at the top of my lungs failed to conceal the wave of anxiety and confusion I felt after arriving home from a party. The fun loving extroverted mask I so often put on to enjoy a party did not transform my intrinsic emotions. The mask only cultivated an imaginary outward persona for a group who didn’t even care to know my real name. They checked off whatever name was on the list, treating me and all the other girls like disposable party favors.
I am fascinated by the alluring hold that frat parties still have on many. Leading up to the weekend, I overhear conversations about the many doorlist invites girls are anticipating as groups figure out “what the move is.” There’s a constant pressure to know what is going on and where at all times.
Maybe it’s the rush of potentially meeting “the one” who you’ll spend the night with and then never see again after the following morning. Maybe it’s exciting to dress up and attend an event with the girls, that is actually for the guys? I don’t know. But what I do know is that removing myself from these environments and choosing to surround myself with those who are closest to me has been the best decision for me in college.
The destination of my night no longer dictates how much fun I have—the crowd I surround myself with is the true barometer.
I have now found alternative ways to enjoy myself and the presence of others without having to adopt a facade. I have made best friends waiting in the bathroom line at house shows, and often lose track of time getting ready with friends prior to going out because of how much fun we have simply in each other's presence. These moments are real.
I don’t need a mask to enjoy time spent with the people closest to me who I care about. The destination of my night no longer dictates how much fun I have—the crowd I surround myself with is the true barometer. I can rest easy in the comfort of my bedroom without any “FOMO” creeping up on me because I am accepted by those who matter the most to me—including myself.
