To anyone that takes the time to read this article, I need you to know that there was much consideration before any words appeared on this page.
I thought about my own faults, about whether or not I was being hypersensitive. I thought about whether or not people would regard me, or this organization, as trying to convince you that men are evil. I thought about the boys who could be pigeonholed by the descriptions that follow, and how that was ultimately unfair to them. I also thought to myself, very briefly, that maybe this was just boys being boys on a college campus. And then it hit me: how was that a valid justification? What about all the other girls out there who come home on Friday and Saturday nights having experienced so much worse?
Most of us have witnessed the horrific decisions regarding sexual assault and harassment that have plagued our media streams lately. We’ve all wondered when this apparent disregard for such atrocities will end. Fortunately, my story is not as tragic as the ones we’ve been hearing about, but there’s a chance that if we’re less afraid to talk about these smaller instances, those around us will have a more appropriate scale to judge the massive injustices that occur everyday.
And so the story begins.
It was the first full weekend back at UMass. After being rejected entrance to a fraternity that was more focused on recruiting freshmen than the ratio we presented (four girls to zero boys—impressive, considering frat standards), my friends and I moved on to Phillips Street. As juniors, we were sure to have a killer time. This Friday night, however, turned out quite differently than we anticipated.
After our first failed attempt, we were standing below a white balcony—unsuspecting, and dressed fairly conservatively, all things considered—contemplating our next adventure for that evening.
Hopeless romantics like me see interactions between ground and balcony in a certain light, but this was not a Romeo and Juliet moment. The moon was pale and sick, not because of the fairness of any young maiden, but because a few reckless young men chose to spill streams of cheap beer on us down below.
As if our dampened and sticky clothes weren’t enough, one of my friends was taunted for her lack of sleeves (isn’t that the concept of a tank top?), and another was dismissed as a blonde wh*re. It’s important to note that besides standing on a sidewalk near their house, we didn’t instigate this kind of attention in any way. At that point, we chose to retaliate in self-defense. We told them to enjoy their lonely nights, and that their insults were just confusing, not hurtful.
Their tactics only increased. They called me fat, and one boy thought it was pertinent to note that I probably weighed more than him—which, I might add, didn’t seem difficult to accomplish. After a bout of slut-shaming, beer throwing, and the overall spectacle my friends and I had become, we decided to move on. However, we did so feeling humiliated. During efforts to laugh and shrug the ordeal off, there were tears and plenty of hushed profanities. We were ultimately shocked that any human being could find such amusement in verbally abusing us. What satisfaction could these boys gain from shaming us for the same qualities they hunt for every weekend?
From their vantage point, they felt empowered. To them, the letters above their front door served as some sort of license to evaluate and degrade us on our physical appearance. And we walked away feeling dirty, ashamed, unattractive, angry and unworthy.
Good news: I didn’t choose to skip any meals the next day, my friends didn’t stop wearing tank tops, and they didn’t dye their blonde hair. But we did feel like meat, like we were less than human in the eyes of these boys.
I’d made it through almost three years of college without dealing with this type of interaction. After that incident, I started to find that entire culture more unsettling than ever. I had—up until that point—been fairly proud of the kind of men that I’ve met through my school. I felt safe going to parties.
Imagine if we were a group of vulnerable freshman girls. Imagine if we were in the house and things turned physical.
I hope that this article at least brings some awareness to the cons of college party culture. I want Collegiettes to learn that ugly words like we heard that night are meaningless: that boys like that cannot define your value and self-worth. I also hope a few guys read this and think twice before joining this culture, or standing by and letting it happen. This world is not perfect, but we can all try to make it just a little better.