Frosh find forever?

Nov. 2, 2018, 2:00 a.m.

In the four weeks I’ve spent witnessing the remarkableness of Stanford’s incoming students, nothing truly warms my heart more than hearing stories of frosh who believe that they have discovered true love. After all, is there really anything more beautiful than watching two hopelessly romantic freshmen trying to salvage drunken mistakes by referring to them as their significant others? Some among these love stories are even reminiscent of many famous rom-coms I grew up watching, since all they’re constructed on a common foundation of poorly logicized timelines, premature romantic gestures and an appallingly apparent lack of chemistry.

The unavoidably distracting sight of frosh couples’ corny coordinating outfits and matching backpacks at a lecture – obviously less important than their excessive 10 a.m. PDA – never fails to make me more relieved about my own failed romantic endeavors. I’m not insinuating that these relationships will not work out; I’m simply suggesting that the probability of freshmen staying romantically committed to people they accidentally hooked up with during Eurotrash is maybe, possibly, far lower than the probability of a normal, average relationship lasting.

The visibility of these couples on campus increases significantly during weekends, specifically at frat parties, where it isn’t a rare occurrence to see these freshmen ballroom dancing to Sicko Mode against the picturesque setting of smoke-filled air and sweat-covered windows. Oddly enough, the unsuitability of party music doesn’t seem to discourage them. On the contrary, it seems to intensify their Cinderella-esque pretentiousness, matched by a steady decline in rhythmic sense. While it might be natural to write this sort of judgment down to alcohol or other such cognitive deterrents, much of the decision-making process that precedes these poor choices, as hard as it may be to believe, takes place when completely sober.

Regardless of impracticality, I’ve accepted that this is just a part of the Stanford experience. At this point I wouldn’t be too surprised to find myself repentantly slow dancing to the unquestionably melodic tunes of Migos at a questionably sketchy frat party. Because of our unwillingness to accept defeat, Stanford freshmen are generally attuned to making good decisions. Supposedly, we’ve never failed in high school, so what are the odds that we fail now? If in 30 years I may, possibly, most likely not, but somehow run into classmates who have been together since freshman fall, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised – just a little regretful of having written this article, perhaps.


Contact Raagavi Ragothaman at raagavi ‘at’

Login or create an account