All 1,346 members of the Class of 2016 signed into Terrace F. Club in the first round of eating club sign-ins, Terrace president Chris St. John ’15 confirmed.
“This was not a computer glitch or some shit,” St. John said. “Everyone wanted to fucking join. Shit.”
When asked whether admission to his club had been capped, or whether the club would utilize a waitlist, St. John blew a cloud of smoke into a reporter’s face.**
It was the club’s unique ethos, encapsulated in its slogan “FOOD=LOVE,” that attracted the entire sophomore class, multiple sophomores independently confirmed.
“At T.I., food equals hot dogs, and at Ivy it equals gastroenteritis, so …” Jack Rader ’16, a hockey player who just signed into Terrace, said.
Annie Johnson ’16, a member of the Pi Beta Phi sorority who said she had previously planned to join her sisters in Ivy Club, said she was “definitely in it for the live music.”
“I just felt like I was more alternative than most of Princeton, you know?” Johnson said. “I wanted a place where I could, like, really belong.”
Johnson said she settled on Terrace during Lawnparties, when she observed that, while the rest of campus wore preppy clothing on purpose, Terrace members wore it “ironically.”
“Terrans are just more real than everyone else, you know?” Johnson said. “Reading Thought Catalog and doing an African American studies certificate has really opened my eyes to the ways the eating club system is problematic. How could I think about a club as problematic as Ivy? How could I bicker?”
** St. John asked The Daily Princetonian to clarify that it was cold outside, and the smoke he blew in a reporter’s face was simply the kind of smoke that appears when you breathe outside in cold weather.
* Just in case you’re a reporter for The Daily Caller looking to dig up dirt, please note that this article is part of The Daily Princetonian’s annual joke issue. Use discretion before citing.