The first fraternity party I attended was rodeo-themed. The next one was luau. After that, it was ’80s in Aspen. Most recently, I found myself rifling through mine and my roommate’s closets to find something resembling a rave outfit.
Attending weeknight parties hosted by various frats on campus has become one of my favorite ways to unwind after a long day of classes. For a few hours on a random Thursday, I can throw together an outfit that barely makes sense and dance in a basement on concerningly slippery elevated surfaces, until my friends and I eventually get kicked out as the clock strikes 2 a.m. and the “brothers” decide it’s time for everyone to go home.
However, my love for these nights out is a very recent development – one that I certainly never expected from myself. As someone who chooses to be sober, college nightlife has never really appealed to me.
Sure, it’s fun to go out with friends, but is it really that enjoyable to stand in the 18+ line for an hour and a half because you don’t have a fake ID, only for Brick Street to shut its doors when your group is next to be let in? The colorful flashing lights and loud music are exciting for the first 30 minutes until everyone around you starts to get sweaty and you find yourself looking for the nearest exit.
While I was happy to accompany my friends on these adventures, I always felt out of place. Although being sober Uptown isn’t impossible by any means, it does shine a spotlight on situations that are “drunk fun,” but not genuinely fun.
It’s easy to dismiss the $12 cover charge to get into a bar as part of the college experience, but those entry fees add up – especially if you’re hitting multiple bars in one night or going out multiple times a week. Lines move quickly when you’ve prepared for the waits by pregaming, but being stone-cold sober while you’re the 60th person in line isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time.
Frats, on the other hand, offer a different experience. No cover, no line to get in, and probably most appealing, no charge for drinks! You can come and go as you please, switching from an outdoor patio to the quiet upstairs to the electrifying energy of the basement dance floor whenever you like.
Because there’s no entry fee, I don’t feel guilty about leaving early or having to stay longer than I’d like just to get my money’s worth. If the night isn’t shaping up to be like my friends and I had hoped, we can walk out just as easily as we walked in – no regrets about spending an hour in line just to be disappointed by the scene waiting on the other side of a bar door.
However, the fraternities can be somewhat exclusive. Unlike bars and businesses Uptown, they don’t advertise their hours or maintain a consistent schedule. To find out which fraternities are hosting and when, you need some insider knowledge – like a friend in a sorority or someone outside Greek life who knows one of the members.
While it may be unfair to those who aren’t involved in the social circle of Greek life, this exclusivity prevents frat parties from becoming too overcrowded. You can count on the house’s capacity to remain as rigid as the guy who sits on the stairs to the upper-level bathrooms and asks you to name five brothers before you can ascend.
Sure, the themes are repetitive, mostly cycling through the same five every year (rave, rodeo, whiteout/blackout, luau and the obligatory GBD), but there’s something comforting about that consistency. You know you’ll be met by the same people, the same seltzers, the same music and the same pile of empty cans and ice bags shoved haphazardly into a corner at whichever fraternities you frequent.
No matter the theme or your state of mind, you can enjoy all the perks of nightlife on frat row. Unless you’re a man. In that case, don’t even try to get in without an invitation.
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Emily Burns is a sophomore opinion writer for The Miami Student who is double majoring in environmental earth science and sustainability. She also competes ice dance for the Miami University Figure Skating team.