The highlight of our spring has come and gone. I'm talking about Lawnparties: I Pledge Allegiance to the Preppiness Spring '08. For one (sort of) sunny weekend we threw aside our individuality in a fit of conformity like little minions of Chairman Malkiel - I mean Chairman Mao. But like the capitalists he hated, we did it in style. We all donned the basic Lawnparties uniform, girls differing from one another only in the color of the flowers on their sundresses and guys in how pastel their polos were. The manliest men wore the most pink, and the girliest girls swooned at their sides. Any totalitarian leader would feel that odd mix of pride and shame, then to compensate for it, he'd probably make fun of everyone on juicycampus.com.
Of course, our own Princeton leaders don't exactly condone our uniformity. "Follow your own path!" President Tilghman told my class at our freshman assembly long ago. "Do what you love!" Well, we are; we can't help it if we love acting like clones. All of that orange clothing we wear has seeped into our DNA and altered it into the classic Princeton mold. But I shouldn't have to tell that to Shirley T., the molecular biologist. Hint to MOL majors: This would be an excellent thesis topic. I would do it myself, but as a politics major, I'll be busy with a hardcore topic like " ‘Now, Where Did We Put It?': The USG and the Constitution." It's better than being at Columbia, where I'd be stuck with a topic like "Another Student Just Got Pecked To Death By Pigeons." Princeton students, I am proud to say, have full control of their small animals, as Rob "I kind of almost but not really lit a squirrel on fire" Biederman '08 can tell you.
My sharply honed political skills duly noted the passive obedience of the Lawnparties crowds. Sister Hazel sang, "Where Do You Go?" and the masses headed to the taproom. Eve 6 belted out, "Here's to the Night," and the masses raised their newly acquired beers. Howie Day crooned his song "Collide," and the masses drunkenly stumbled into each other. Oh what fun. This is the well-documented Princeton way: One must dress up to party up. We cling to this ideal like the Anscombe Society does to its virginity. As the tongue-twister known by every preppy would-be-Princetonian child goes, "Princeton's Peter popped a pair of pastel polos, a pair of pastel polos Princeton's Peter popped." These things would never be possible at a place like Yale, where the daily style of dress involves protection against the scariness of New Haven. Bullet-proof vests, anyone? Here in Princeton, N.J., all we have to worry about is Orangina bottles.
Walking around with the sound of cover bands blasting sweetly in my ears, I couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of our student body. The weather forecasts initially threatened us with rain, but we didn't let it get us down. The giant mansions that serve as the hub of our worldly Princeton social lives have been pestered by alcohol violations, but we overcame that, too. Penn may think they're special because they endure crime wave after crime wave, but clearly Princeton takes the cake for the emotional strength of students. I mean, we have to deal with more tourists! So if we want to spend a day prepped out to the max, we deserve it, just like the Whitman seniors who deserve a little freshman "buddy" to do their grunt work for them.
Actually, you can forget sundresses at Dartmouth - we'd be dressed like Eskimos, putting up fences to keep the polar bears out. At Brown we'd be forced to dress like hippies and fight the man. Don't I do enough on campus already without having to fight the man? I'd be more than happy to give it a try if someone from Brown would be willing to write both of my JPs next year, preferably someone not smoking an illegal substance. I want my JP to be a little more intellectual than "Whoa ... I'm like, so alternative, politically." Actually, that might pass for an A- at a place like Harvard.
So next time someone asks you if Princeton is preppy, I give you full permission to close your eyes and blissfully reminisce about that one day this spring. I also think I deserve a round of applause for managing to make facile stereotypical references to every single Ivy League school in a single column. Except Cornell. But it doesn't really count as an Ivy, does it? Ohhhh snap. More applause for that one, please. Enjoy your summers, kids, and be yourselves, because Fall Lawnparties will welcome your cloned, preppy Princeton alter-egos back with open arms.
Christine Brozynski is a sophomore from Mendham, N.J. She can be reached at cbrozyns@princeton.edu.
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