As this year's beloved Homecoming weekend approaches, in sync with perfect fall weather and visibly heightened anticipation, I can't help but feel nostalgic as I remember my own freshman Homecoming weekend, when I was so naive, and so utterly clueless. I think back on my first big weekend, my first big dive into Dartmouth social life, and think of how new it all was to me. I remember embracing this new beer-centric lifestyle with full force that weekend, calling all my friends from home on Sunday to brag about the wonders of mediocre beer, general disregard for hygiene and parties to which you didn't necessarily have to wear dresses and heels. I was in heaven. Thinking back on similar phone calls home from various big weekends and sophomore summer -- in which I used drinking beer and barbecuing all day as selling points for why Dartmouth is vastly superior in terms in fun -- I couldn't help but wonder: Since when did my party habits and my idea of a good time become so,well, fratty?
Since women showed up at Dartmouth in 1972, we have been trying to fit into a long-established male culture that doesn't seem to be budging any time soon. It seems our best solution to wriggling our way into social equality has been by adaptation. Essentially, in order to stay afloat and enjoy the Greek social scene, the Dartmouth woman has to know how to party like a Dartmouth man. In the social realm that the frat scene creates, women are often expected to mimic frat boy behavior (give or take a game of pong or two), but only up until a certain point, when the good ol' Dartmouth Double Standard kicks in.
The catch is, women may party like men, but only while retaining some kind of sex appeal. If a boy gets too sloppy in the basement, it's normal and excused. If a girl gets too sloppy in a basement, then she is no longer mimicking male behavior with enough femininity or poise for any of the males' liking, and is therefore deemed an unattractive mess.
Countless times I have heard complaints from men on this campus lamenting that Dartmouth girls don't look like, say, USC girls, that Dartmouth girls don't put enough effort into their appearance, aren't perpetually tan and don't wear heels out at night. But even if they do perfect their appearance, dude, a girl's gotta know how to hang out. At Dartmouth, the line only seems to get more and more blurred between which gender women are supposed to tend towards at what time, taking into account what limited social options we have here. By becoming our own versions of frat boys, are women making waves in the social scene on our own terms, or on the terms the male-dominated scene continues to set out for us for each day the Greek system exists?
When women arrive on campus as freshmen, we are instantly jaded: Here is the Greek system and this is how it is. Take it or leave it. From day one we learn to love a lifestyle that, from an objective person's point of view, is questionable. Take local sororities. Even though they are "women's spaces," the women there usually take advantage of the space to act just like frat boys, only often without actually having any boys present. If Dartmouth is going to be an old boys' club for the rest of eternity, then it's not all that surprising to us women when we self-examine to find ourselves often talking, acting and drinking like boys.
Is it normal? No. But Dartmouth women take pride in the fact that if the only way to break through the gender inequality barrier is by acting the part of the dominating frat boy figure, then at least they're the best around at it.
All in all, I'd say Dartmouth women have come a long way, and I think we've done an impressive job of navigating the murky waters of establishing our presence alongside males both in basements and out. So this Homecoming weekend, frat boys: Cut us some slack. We live in our world and play in yours. Dartmouth women are a species unto themselves and you're stuck with us.
As for all the freshman women celebrating Homecoming this weekend with a "if you can't beat em, join em" mentality for the first time, then props to you. But I warn you: Perfecting the art of the fratty girl is no easy task.
