A Night Life Dissection

My introduction to the Harvard party scene came at the beginning of last fall when I entered the Pforzheimer Bell Tower room for what I thought would be a night of harmless and much needed fun. I’m not quite sure what I had imagined this mystical Bell Tower would be before entering, but I assume that as I stood in line I intended to enter a big open space with lots of attractive young people dancing to some good music and generally making fools of themselves, as college students tend to do on a typical Friday night.

Just about the only part of the above statement that turned out to be true was the very last part. To my shock, what I found was a crowded space the size of my parent’s living room, an interesting mix of fashion styles that one might find acceptable only if it were Halloween (it was September), and people moving their bodies around in a way that I think was supposed to be “dancing” (although my transfer friends and I stood in the middle of the floor with our mouths hanging open for about 30 seconds as we tried to assure ourselves of that). Was this, I wondered, the social life I was to expect for the next three years? For a brief moment, I considered packing my bags and running back to UCLA. I think it is likely that even non-transfer students have considered doing something similar at some point in their Harvard career.

A typical Harvard dorm party consists of only two things for sure: overcrowding, which guarantees you will rub up against at least three sweaty strangers, and the presence of overworked and sexually starved 18 to 23 year-olds, which guarantees you will rub up against at least three more. You would think that as Harvard students we would have mastered those puzzles they give you in kindergarten where you try to fit circles and squares into similarly-shaped wooden holes. Apparently, neither students nor the Administration deserve such credit, or they might have realized that a mass of 200 plus college students just doesn’t fit into an 18 by 24 foot space.

One explanation for overcrowded dorm parties is simply Harvard’s unique residential housing system. At a great number of other universities the majority of students live off campus after their first or second year. This radically changes their social scene in several ways. For one, parties (and alcohol of any kind for that matter) are generally not allowed in the dorms. The term “dorm party” doesn’t really exist. And two, since students do not live in dorms, they are able to more easily facilitate parties in their fraternity houses and apartment complexes. I am in no way suggesting that Harvard gives up its residential housing system for the sake of drunken revelry. In fact, I think the housing system (while in need of a few improvements) is one of the greatest advantages Harvard has over other universities—but it is worth noting as one of the reasons Harvard parties are different from those at other schools.

Of course, Harvard does have a social scene that is not located in the dorms. I am talking of those houses one might confuse as pretentious fraternities—final clubs. Even more shocking than my first experience of a dorm party was my first experience at a final club. To explain why, let me recount a story of fraternity rush week my freshman year at UCLA. Parallel to the many complaints that final clubs receive about unfair perks exclusive to men, the girls at UCLA protested as frats found new and exciting ways to persuade men to join while the sororities had a strict “lemon-water only” policy. What did the frats offer, one might ask? Lobster dinners at a trendy L.A. restaurant? A trip to New York City? No. They offered free In-N-Out cheeseburgers. And if they really wanted you, they might even have splurged on a side of fries.

In contrast, my most distinct memory of a final club is when I sauntered into one with a couple of girlfriends at 3 a.m. and proceeded to sit on a red leather couch in front of a marble fireplace eating massive pieces of freshly baked carrot cake. The kicker was when a man in a tuxedo approached us and asked in his most proper British accent if we would like anything to drink.

It is not surprising that Harvard’s social scene, like most other aspects of Harvard life, is different from other schools. What is particularly striking to me, however, is that there is no middle ground. Your choices at Harvard pretty much consist of either lavish extravagance or hot and sticky dorm room experiences that require hour-long showers at the end of the night.

In the past few years, Harvard has made improvements in the right direction. Extended party hours, the recent decision by the UC to fund “super parties,” and the changes being made to Loker Commons are all steps towards much-needed alternatives: accessible, larger social spaces that can accommodate greater numbers of students as well as room for both dancing and conversation.

I’m surely not the first to write an article about the Harvard social scene. In fact, if you search the Crimson online archives for the word “party” you’ll get articles reaching back to 1986 that all start out with a variation of the phrase “It’s no secret that the Harvard party scene leaves something to be desired”. That being said, let me leave you with another image from my first Bell Tower party: a random freshman licking the shoulder of my friend after spilling some beer on her as he exclaimed, “No problem, beer is delish!” and then continuing to sing along to Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” At the very least, we’ll all have some very unique (one might even say endearing) stories to tell when we’re older. Oh Harvard, I still love thee!


Jillian N. London ’07 is a philosophy concentrator in Adams House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.