Perched on the wall at the north end of the East Campus quad, I take in my surroundings. Somehow, it’s close to midnight, but it looks like almost 200 people are crowded onto the grass island between the U-shaped collection of apartments. It’s warm out, too warm for late March, but we choose to embrace it. Instead of packing into an apartment living room, where personal space is limited to a couple of inches, the party makes its way outside.
A couple of guys throw a football from different ends of the quad, mostly avoiding the crowds of people. Towards the center, people stand near the large speaker and dance. Classmates and acquaintances mingle on the outer edge, dressed in their best Mamma Mia-themed garments. I sit with my friends, simply content. We talk about how successful the night was and how many people are here.
The catch? It’s only a Wednesday night.
Instead of climbing into bed, all these people dressed up for the first Classy Wednesday of Block 7, donning their best Donna and the Dynamos attire. There isn’t a phone in sight, minus the ones used for taking photos and the occasional song request. The East Campus quad feels vibrant and alive.
The U.S. is currently facing a loneliness epidemic, one that the Surgeon General classified as an “urgent public health issue.” People are socializing less and have fewer friends than they did in the past two decades.
According to journalist Derek Thompson, we are currently amidst the “Anti-Social Century.”
In a Gallup survey, young adults were found to drink less often and have fewer drinks on average than they did in 2011-2013 and 2001-2003. Sixty-two percent of young adults, ages 18 to 34, drink, down from 72% two decades ago.
Party culture, especially in college, has changed dramatically since our parents were young. The days of “Animal House,” “Spring Breakers” and “Old School” are over, replaced by awkward portrayals of young adults trying to find their identity. Ragers are rare, artifacts of the 1990s and 2000s. Getting trashy drunk and public partying isn’t cool anymore.
Thompson points to a few factors that have led to this decline: the price of drinking and partying, changing gender norms, warped social connections by social media and rising health concerns.
For college-aged students, there’s a key factor in the reduction of partying and drinking: the pandemic.
Six years ago, COVID-19 placed our lives on hold. There were no more in-person classes, no spontaneous hangouts or large house parties. Socialization ceased, and teens were left to find their identities in an almost apocalyptic world.
Instead of learning how to drink in high school, establishing limits and social awareness in safe, familiar environments, many students have entered college without partying experience. Unless you’ve studied abroad or grown up in a large city, clubbing is likely unfamiliar.
The pandemic skewed the way we view large gatherings. In 2020, they were taboo, dangerous and reckless. Gun violence is rampant in the U.S., and truthfully, these large gatherings just don’t feel safe anymore. In November 2022, a shooter opened fire in Club Q, a nightclub just 15 minutes away from Colorado College, killing five people and injuring 19 others.
The world is unsafe, and our generation has never learned how to party, let alone drink. Our guards are constantly up, heads on a swivel.
Know where your friends are at all times. Know the exits. Cover your drinks. Don’t leave alone. Don’t let friends leave alone. Monitor your drinking. Monitor your friends’ drinking.
Still, we’ve learned how to socialize and party. Party culture isn’t dead, it’s just changing.
I’ve learned that I do not like clubs, but I love going to Tony’s. I love the familiarity of a local dive bar and the company of peers. Don’t get me wrong, the occasional nightclub is great, but it’s exhausting. I didn’t want to go to a college where the social life is run by 20-year-old boys deciding who gets in or not, packed against random strangers like sardines.
At CC, we yearn for familiarity. As an underclassman, I loved putting on a skimpy top and dancing at one of the frats, eventually meeting my friends upstairs on the Sigma Chi balcony, away from the noise. One day, my sophomore year, it hit me: I would rather be with my friends, talking and enjoying each other’s company on the balcony than downstairs.
Parties are one of my favorite ways to socialize. You can talk to anyone you know or have seen in passing, and everyone here seems perfectly content to socialize and use the event to be together.
On nights where “nothing is going on,” it’s not because people don’t want to go out. Typically, it’s because no houses have offered to host, taking a night off from inviting the entire school into their house, and the relentless cleaning and responsibilities that come with hosting.
“Everyone wants to attend parties, but no one wants to throw them,” wrote Ellen Cushing in her op-ed “Americans Need to Party More” for The Atlantic.
Our college experience will inevitably look different than anyone else’s. The “Animal House” era is over, and the pandemic has divided our lives into before and after. But our party culture has been uniquely shaped by our student body and is maintained by our current values.
The Senior Calendar offers a variety of themes paired with camaraderie. From corn eating contests, senior champagne towers and darties, no night or weekend can be replicated. We Fun Run, Crooz and spend our last weekend of the school year in the sunshine at Llamapalooza. Even after we’re gone, these traditions will continue. Maybe they’ll change, but they certainly won’t die.
As the first Classy Wednesday of Block 7 wraps up, I get off the wall and find my friends near the quad’s center, forming a circle around the speaker. “Come On Eileen” by Dexys Midnight Runners starts playing, accompanied by hoots as the first chords play. We get to the chorus, and the group around the speaker is on their feet, jumping around, dancing and singing as loudly as we can.
It’s not perfect, but it’s ours. And I love our party culture.