How to Win Men’s Rush

By Stacy Livingston, The Dartmouth Staff | 4/7/15 3:50am

Pre-rush season is upon us once again, and you can smell the pheromones and angst from Webster Avenue to Wheelock Street.
Being a girl during pre-rush is both great and confusing — you could probably stand naked in the middle of the basement during frat pre-rush and dudes would give you a cursory, confused look and then continue to flirt with one another as you stand there. While this shift in your guy friends’ behavior may be mysterious, what’s more mysterious is what happens behind those closed doors of quasi-brotherhood. What really goes on at a frat rush party? Dartbeat reports.

All guys’ pre-rush parties follow six basic steps:

Step one: Shake hands with everyone. Carefully calculate how much crush-force you will put on your handshake so that it says, “I could best you in physical competition, but choose not to because my frat-fate rests in your only slightly feebler hands. Bro.”

Step two: Burritos. If Boloco isn’t catering these events, you’re doing something wrong, brethren. I see World View at FoCo during burrito week, and that line has more than a lot of dudes in it.

Step three: Cut a hole in a box.

Step four: Feats of physical strength. May the odds be ever in your favor, and may you not have eaten too many burritos.

Step five: Hair-braiding and pillow fights. Yep, all those times guys have asked what you did with a girl friend in that scoff-y, ‘what, did you braid each other’s hair and have pillow fights’ way, it’s because they’re jealous. They know how to fishtail, too. Waterfall braids, French braids, they’re all about it. Also this.

Step six (six six): One potential new member is sacrificed to Dionysus, Greek god of the Bro Nod and Good Time. Rushees still in attendance are sworn into secrecy and the pact of fraternity. There is a thunderclap, and rain starts to fall. You make eye contact with your new pledge trainer as raindrops drip from your hair onto your Nantucket Red shorts, growing darker with rain and salty tears. You’re a brother now, Harry.

Stacy Livingston, The Dartmouth Staff