A Bwogger ruminates on the Columbia frat scene and the brothers that welcome us into it.

To all the boys at the frat house door,


You occupy such a weird niche in the Columbia social scene. You are St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, determining who gets to enter what we consider to be a good party at this school. Say what you want about frat culture, but the brothers are currently leading the resistance to the Columbia War on Fun. For that, I thank you. Where else can I drink jungle juice and dance to throwbacks, and deftly avoid people who I haven’t spoken to since NSOP, all without a fake ID?


But to those of you stationed at the door, I have to ask you about your methods. It takes a special blend of crowd control/logistics/party planning/objectification to decide who is allowed entrance. Some of you do this with grace, citing fire codes and maximum occupancies while chatting pleasantly to the shivering hordes waiting on the stoop (Sometimes, I’ve even gotten snacks from frat brothers while in line. I highly recommend this maneuver, 5/5 stars). But, some of you do not possess this gravitas. You seem to relish yelling at the crowd. Is this a fun power trip for you? Screaming at people to get on the other side of the street? Is this a reflection of a deeper insecurity? Or perhaps a concerning manifestation of toxic masculinity? It is just a party, my dude. To quote Kourtney Kardashian, “There’s people that are people dying. (sic)” To all the boys at the frat house door, I hope that one day you can find peace. And, maybe be a little nicer to the people who are willing to pay actual money to get into your party. 


With love,

A Bwogger

Frat row via Flickr