I woke up Saturday morning circa 8am—hours earlier than intended—to the sweet serenade of a surprisingly feminine country song blasting from the fraternity house behind my apartment. I peered out my window to see the blazer-and-khaki-clad men congregating on their columned porch (solo cups already in hand) and realized it was the Christmas of Greek Life here on grounds: Boys Bid Night.
The thirty-two IFC frats gathered at their respective houses, chick-magnet Labrador retrievers on leashes, ready to make the pilgrimage towards first year dorms. As they trekked to their old stomping grounds, first year boys anxiously awaited their chance to run out and be tossed around by their potential brothers and accept their bid cards. Older students came to watch the ceremonious rite of passage and to check out the fresh meat, but the best part of the day was to come.
Twelve days after ISC Sorority bid night, the anticipation was reaching its climax. As the bells at the Chapel rang struck ten o’clock, sorority girls roamed the streets in packs. In recent years, the effort has been to look as tacky and ridiculous as possible, encouraging sororities to purchase fanny packs, hats, and glasses and to of course rock the highly anticipated Boys Bid Night shirts and cups. Variations of TriDelt’s “I solemnly swear I am up to no good” to Chi O’s “Life in the FRAT Lane” swarmed the doors, eager to leave their mark (literally) on the sharpie- covered pledges. Second years generally assigned to man-on-man defense followed around their own first year buddy to ensure the safety of the girls who have never experienced the infamous Tour de Frat.
BBN is a free-for-all. It’s a fourth year pledge class trying to make it to every fraternity before they graduate. It’s a goal to kiss ___ boys in one night. It’s a chance to run around wearing spandex and sneakers and not be questioned. It’s a chance to go to that frat you’ve never visited and introduce yourself to that guy in your Econ class you haven’t had the courage to talk to yet. It’s a time to wear “If found please return to…” name tags. And it’s everyone’s excuse to celebrate the start of pledge season.
Sorry boys: just wait until next year when you’re the ones waking me up at 8am on a Saturday blasting your “Wagon Wheel,” eager to toss around the next batch of poor souls in charge of doing your laundry. Until then, we girls will start brainstorming catchy t-shirt phrases and stockpiling anything neon: TSM.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UVA chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.