4. Ansel Duff 

Giving his best killer look.

Ansel who, you might ask.

Well, we are kind of running out of freshmen celebrities by now, and he might not ring as many bells as the previous two did.  But in all fairness, Ansel Duff is definitely a guy to watch out for.

First of all, he’s got this band:

http://www.facebook.com/TheAnchors

…which he started with Alex and Ian Mothe during Christmas break of his junior year in high school. Within only a few months, they made quite a name for themselves in New Bedford, Massachusetts, drumming up support through various local gigs and band tours. The Anchors also garnered some name recognition for themselves through features in local newsletters.

In his senior year, Ansel decided to fly solo. He spent all summer recording two original songs: “Stay the Course” and “Colours Fade” (both of which have been launched on iTunes), and so began to establish a legit reputation as the “Ansel Duff.”

Get the picture? Good. You might want to know that the guy also happens to be tall and attractive, with a pair of large, sensitive-looking brown eyes that exude the sincere charms of an artist (definitely a feature that will come in handy to convince his fans that he means every word he sings). So ladies (and half of Harvard boys as well), if you don’t like his music, just plug your ears and let yourself get carried away by his irresistibly shy, melancholic smile.  It works, trust me.

Why did you decide to fly solo instead of continuing with the band? 

Well, it is kind of hard to arrange practice with my bandmates now that college has started. Being in a band also means having to make a lot of compromises when it comes to composing a song. I feel like I have more freedom to express myself in my individual songs. That being said, I am still part of The Anchors and we still perform every now and then.

What else do you do in college? How do you find the time to fit in your music with your other commitments? 

I’m on the sailing team, and I’m planning to major in Engineering. Perhaps a secondary in music. I can’t tell you how, but if you love something, you will find a time to do it. You just make it your priority, instead of… watching TV shows online, for example.

What’s your future aspiration for your music? 

Of course, like all musicians, I want to make it big.  I want to be able to inspire and influence people with my music. I’m still realistic, though, because I know a lot of factors must come into play to become a star. The most important thing to me is that I’m doing it because I love doing it, not because I’m obsessed with getting more fans.

Who or what inspires your music? 

Hmm, I’m a big fan of Eric Clapton, PB King, Paul Gilbert, and John Mayer -- before he got all famous and commercialized. I would say a lot of my music is inspired by John Mayer. The thing about my music is people either love it or hate it.

Last question, are you single? 

Huh? Yeah I am. Oh, and straight too! (well sorry boys..)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1nGeoBZgmI

Ansel Duff. Performing his original song.

I’d like to introduce myself, the newest addition to the fabulous Voice team, here to deliver a regular column on the one topic that we are all so interested in, but that apparently none of us partake in: Sex! You already love Some Dude and his advice column on Love and Relationships, so I sure hope that you will enjoy my candid reflections on the more physical side of things between the sexes, from a female perspective.

First off, I can’t help but think that the statistics about Harvard students and the amount of sex we have is dead wrong, because it seems like I am constantly surrounded by it.  Did you know that sex and love-related articles are the most popular articles on the Noice blog?  So if you guys aren’t out there having ridiculous amounts of sex on our tiny twin-sized beds, then we clearly just have sex on our minds a lot.

Harvard oozes sex in every shape and form.  We see it in our choice of  social spaces.  We see it in our choice of classes (Literature and Sexuality is the fourth most popular class at Harvard). We overhear it in our dining halls during Sunday brunch.  Sex (in the stacks) is even embedded into the Harvard tradition as one of the three things you have to do before graduation. I don’t know why that is, but I’m here to fuel the already burning fire.

To start off our love-hate relationship, let’s go all the way back to high school.  In high school, like many of you, I’m sure, I was categorized as the girl who was smart, pretty and goal-oriented.  As much as I was social and loved hanging out with my friends, academics always came first and there wasn’t much time for romance.  For this very reason, I often had boys who admired me from afar but were always too intimidated to approach me.  Every once in a while, though, a boy would express interest and we’d flirt, go on a few dates, make out; then, I’d avoid them like the plague.  It was always like that.  Deep inside, I believed that if things were to continue we’d eventually get to more sexual things, and that was something I didn’t want.  Whether because of religion, or fear, or maybe because I associated girls who had sex with girls who didn’t get into Harvard… I don’t know.

Flash forward to my freshman year and there I was surrounded by sex.  We were on a college campus with students older than us. Boys lived above and under us, there were no parents, and partying fogged up judgement.  I pretended like none of it bothered me, when actually, I felt terribly left out.  My roommate started having relations with a boy about a month into the semester (they are still dating to this day).  This constantly brought up conversations about sex.  My suitemates also started getting involved with significant others and I could no longer escape it.

Around November, I started to fall for a boy who lived in my dorm.  We shall call him Antonio.  Antonio and I flirted and hung out a lot.  It seemed like the beginning of an ideal relationship.  But in the hustle and bustle of dorm life, time flies and within a month of meeting him, I was already talking to him about sex.  While in high school I did all I could to hold on to my virginity, college brought out something in me that made me feel almost disgusted with it.  I couldn’t give it away fast enough.  This was where I was utterly mistaken.  I started equating sex with love (something I think we are all guilty of sometimes), and this made me almost insane.  I secretly believed that if we would just hook up, I could win him over to finally date me.  Thank goodness he was somewhat of a gentleman and urged me to think about things more clearly. I slowed down a bit, but in the end after going from first to third base already, one drunken night, I lost my virginity to him. I remember thinking, that’s it?  That’s what it’s all about?

After that one night, I went about my life in a daze for about a week, torn inside not at what I had done, but about the way I felt after.  It was clear to me that I had been mistaken.  Antonio and I didn’t make love; we fucked.  We were not in love.  We were not anything close to being in love.  He had never made any promises or given me any indications that he would date me, but in my head I was so adamant about remedying the problem by offering myself to him.  While I don’t think that you have to be in love to have sex, you should never confuse the two.  Love is love and sex is sex.  Sex can often make you feel like you are in love, and that is dangerous.

Do I regret sleeping with Antonio?  No.  In fact, Antonio and I continued to hook up for a long time, and I gradually learned that sex is pretty fucking fantastic.  It generally got better with each partner (although sometimes it got worse).  What I do regret, though, was the reason that I lost my virginity to him, and how it has changed the game.  What I feared in high school was actually very true.  Once sex is an option on the table, it is hard to say no to it.  It is hard to ignore it.

Why we are all so obsessed with sex? I don’t know.  What I do know is that sex and love are two totally different things.  I’m here to talk about the former and what has happened in my sex life since losing my virginity February of freshman year.  I dare say that a lot has happened, and I hope that you will find it interesting enough to follow.  Some of the things I say might shock you, some might not, but everything I tell you will be true.

Until next time,

Only Girl In The World

Tell me what you want to hear about: askonlygirl@gmail.com – all article suggestions will be kept anonymous.

1. The One Who’s a Virgin

You can’t swing a purse in Harvard Yard without hitting a virgin Harvard male. He comes in all shapes and sizes (pun fully intended). Even some very eligible-seeming bros belong here –they probably spent high school hitting the stacks instead of the sack– although they tend to migrate out of this zone really fast during their freshman year. He has the potential of becoming a great boyfriend, if you’re willing to put in the time and effort to get over the initial awkwardness. *Accidentally* hooking up with a virgin always makes for great Sunday brunch stories though, so there’s the silver lining.

2. The One Who Will Stay a Virgin

Another classic Harvard category. It’s astounding how a place so small can hold so many socially awkward and sexually frustrated young people. It’s very easy to spot this one. He seems awkward. He walks awkward. He is awkward. He probably also lives in Lamont and packs his stuff in a carry-on during Finals season. He might also have red hair. Bless his heart, though. He could invent a social networking site one day and all the arrogant bitches of Harvard who ignored him (you included) can cry themselves to sleep at night.

3. The One Who Would Be King

You know, the kid who harbored presidential ambitions when everyone else was dreaming about chocolate and cartoon characters and stuff. He is most likely a tall, well-dressed Government major from the south who frequents the Institute of Politics as often as the rest of us mortals do Berryline. You might be charmed by his composure and drive, but like anything else in his life, the ladies that he dates must all serve the Grand Plan. I’m Asian and foreign (Communist, even), so I never even tried. But if you want to, just google “Jackie Kennedy” for a good role model. Or Marilyn Monroe. It’s all a matter of preference.

4. The One Who Would Die Trying To Be King

Prior to Harvard, he friends all 1,600+ classmates on Facebook. During Freshman Week, he hands out business cards that say “49th President of the United States” in gold embossed letterings. He’ll run for the Undergraduate Council. He’ll probably also spearhead a stupid anti-something campaign to get his name in a Crimson headline. He’s not to be confused with boys from the first category who are usually reticent about their ambitions and (thus) might actually make it happen. By junior year, he becomes an easy target for cruel dining hall jokes. But who are we kidding? We all go to Harvard and about a third of your classmates hold some kind of presidential-type ambition.

5. The One Who’s Gay

“If he’s too good to be true, he probably isn’t” goes the saying in Sex and the City. At Harvard, my saying is that “every guy is gay until proven otherwise.” The Harvard homosexual guy is well-dressed, charming, good-looking, smart and gets you. He’s all that a girl can ever hope for in someone to produce double legacy children with. Except that it’s physiologically impossible. Unless you drug him or something. But I personally am all about consent. Also beware of the one who’s in the closet. There are quite a few of them, even in the People’s Republic of Cambridge. Do you really want to be the one he dates before coming out as gay?

6. The One Who Knows Everything

He got into Harvard because he’s a genius. He has a perfect GPA and standardized test scores. He makes Phi Beta Kappa. He’ll graduate with high honors. You should make friends with him –it’s actually nice to know someone who knows things, but I’m not sure about pursuing a romantic relationship with him. Maybe it’s a personal thing, but I’ve always thought of the encyclopedia type as asexual. There’s also that guy who actually is asexual. He’s more interested in making friends with his lab RAs and experimenting on mice than getting to know you.

7. The One Who Lives in His Sweatpants

(Unless it’s punch season, then he lives in a suit and bow tie and reverse baseball cap.)

With 41 Division I varsity teams, Harvard has quite a number of athletes. He’s easy to spot since he’s so big and walks funny. It’s very likely that he majors in Economics or Sociology. It’s also very likely that he’s attractive, so much so he doesn’t seem to belong on the Harvard campus.

The bro spends his freshman year with fellow bros on the team, taking the same classes, eating together, and crashing the same sketchy dorm parties. Then, he becomes a sophomore, joins a final club and mingles with bros from other teams. It’s all very testosterone-heavy and homoerotic, really. Especially when you think about some water sport teams where the boys spend most of their time together in very little clothing. Hmmmm.

It’s easy to wiggle your way into the pants of the bro (so long as you’re not clothed and he’s not sober). It’s much harder – if impossible – to wiggle your way into his heart. The competition is stiff and often scantily-clad, what with sorority girls and other girls and even more girls from the Greater Boston Area (see: The Harvard Hoochies). He probably doesn’t know how to date girls anyway.

8. The One Who Loves Himself

I’m not talking about the act of loving himself –which is perfectly fine, unless you’re a Dorm Crew worker cleaning his bathroom. A member of this species is the apple of his parents’ eyes. He stares at his reflection on the back of his iPhone and flashes a megawatt smile at himself. He spends hours every day wondering why he’s so damn perfect. He plucks his eyebrows. He gets what he wants. He forgets to grow up. He might be into you, but ultimately, he always loves himself more.

(Image: The Winklevi, courtesy of Google Images)

9. The One Who’s Nice and Finishes Last

He’s your friend. Close friend, even. He walks you to class and listens as you whine over a failed weekend and a failed LS1a exam and a failed (almost) romance with X athlete on the Y team in the Z final club. He doesn’t try to take advantage of you when you’re drunk and vulnerable. He probably has a crush on you. You probably know it, too. But for some reasons you always go for the Harvard jerks who will break your heart. Which brings us to…

10. The One Who Breaks Your Heart

He’s perfect. He’s tall, handsome, athletic, charming, and obviously intelligent. He probably has a rich-sounding last name (like something with a hyphen or a Harvard Residential House in it). He sweeps you off your feet, then rips your heart out and drops it like a piece of rock. He also gets smoother and douchier as he gets older. But no matter, you find his arrogance and douchiness attractive anyway. He’s hot property, and he knows it. So he is very committed to playing the field, at least until his love handles start to develop and his hair falls out. The protocol is never to get attached, but very few can manage this. (Much as we love to tell ourselves otherwise.)

10+1. The One Who’s Actually Perfect

There are about five of them, and they’re all in a relationship. When you do find one who’s single, you get so nervous that you fuck up your chances anyway. You then get to go back to ignoring the nice guy and chasing after the douche. Let’s face it, girl: You, too, go to Harvard and therefore have a thousand of issues and insecurities. Like 99.99% of these boys, you’re also a little nutty. There’s a reason romance (almost) doesn’t exist on this campus. But here’s to hoping, anyway. <3

Meet the “Bro Panel”:

- Bret Voith, a senior resident of Lowell House and former co-captain of the varsity Water Polo team. The Hoochies have endearingly called him “sexual vanilla popsicle.” How fast will they devour him post-thesis/Lamont?

- Jeff Lee, a senior History of Art and Architecture concentrator in Kirkland House. He wants to “play water polo during the day and model at night for the rest of [his] life.” He promises to hold the key to activate the HH’s yellow fever.

- Water Sports Bro: Because we really needed another ball-hurling, speedos-wearing panelist.

- Hot Bro: Strong arms. Strong arms.

- Mysterious Bro: We don’t know any more about him than you do. We like the air of mystery though.

- Shirtless Bro: We have nothing on him except that he looks hot shirtless. His teammates agree. Bromance.

- Random Bro: He dropped by one day and left a random comment.

The Bro Response:

1. What’s your overall feeling towards the Hoochies? Do you know them personally, and if you do, does their online persona reflect who they are in person?

Water Sports Bro (WS): I have no idea who they are. For the longest time I thought it was a few Harvard guys! They’re definitely very entertaining and know what they’re talking about.

Hot Bro (HB): I personally love the Hoochies, I don’t know who any of them are, but I have heard some names thrown around.  I do think they are incredibly entertaining, and am genuinely flattered when they tweet about me!

Mysterious Bro (MB): I know some of the girls personally, and the HH twitter account reflects their personality pretty well because they are very entertaining in real life as well. What a lot of people don’t get is that the whole thing is a joke and their tweets are outrageous on purpose, because these girls know that people at Harvard will overreact. They are making fun of both BU girls who actually want to find a final club husband and they are poking fun at uptight Harvard girls and guys who can’t seem to realize that this is a joke.

Shirtless Bro (SB): They are like the housewives from the Bravo series. out for cheap fame, since they can get it through being smart, brilliant, or changing the world.

Random Bro: So the ladies of the Harvard Hoochies say they ward off RUHGs, but that implies that BU girls are hotter than Harvard girls.  While it’s true you may find some ladies at BU you can’t find at Harvard, I see more 0s, and worse 0s, at BU than I ever would at Harvard.  At least at Harvard they’re SMART.

Bret Voith (Sexual Vanilla Popsicle – SVP): Silly Hoochies…

Jeff Lee (JL): I like the Hoochies. They’ve single-handedly boosted Twitter participation among males at Harvard by 500%. If you see a bunch of Harvard girls screaming and glaring at a group of random girls at a party, they’re probably from BU and it’s likely they’re the Hoochies.

2. There was a rumor that there are 80 of them. Is this, or should this be a sorority?

WS: I don’t think it’s a sorority. I heard it was a BBM group of BU girls who all tell each other where the parties are/ what guys they’re getting with/ etc. and they turned it into a competition among themselves to get with guys in all of the clubs.

HB: Haha, I believe that there are only 7 of them, but I also heard about a BBM group of about 80 of them where you can basically send in a name of a final club bro, and get background info on him: previous hook-ups, more details, etc.  I’d love to know if this were true or not.

JL: I guess it’s fair to identify the Hoochies as a new, legitimate women’s group on campus. There’s women final clubs, sororities, and the Hoochies. i.e. “Tonight, I saw the Bee, Theta, and the Hoochies when I was out.” I’m sure there’s someone somewhere within Harvard’s bureaucracy in charge of undergraduate social life or something. If you’re that person, go talk to the Hoochies. It’s like Egypt; the Hoochies are revolutionizing Harvard.

3. The Hoochies shower their Twitterlove on the basketball players. They also spoke of baseball, tennis, and lacrosse, ostensibly leaving out the water sports. Is this okay?

SVP: The Hoochies loving athletes without including the water sports is like eating a salad with no dressing. Though I think they have recently figured that out.

WS: They left out water polo at first, but just the other day they said that it was their new favorite sport!

4. The Hoochies love the “vanilla” and “chocolate” men. No love for the Asians! Blasphemy?

JL: The problem about them not giving any love to Asians is because there’s probably a total of 5 asian people from Harvard on Twitter. I heard Twitter is frowned upon by Asian parents like sleepovers, sports, or pursuing your interests. Tiger Mom definitely hates Twitter and doesn’t let her kids use it.

5. Do you think the existence of the HH is a major step back for the feminist movement, as some have said?

WS:  I don’t think this has anything to do with any feminist movements, it’s more of a joke than anything else.  I highly doubt these girls take anything they say seriously.

HB: Potentially, I guess.  I think it goes along with the saying, to each [her] own.  Some girls would like to make it for themselves and actually do something with their lives, and others just wanna mooch.  I’m sure the same goes for guys, maybe.

MB: I don’t think that at all. Rather, their existence shows that being intelligent and going to Harvard doesn’t mean that people can take a joke. Some people at Harvard need to learn to chill and just have a laugh about these ridiculous tweets. Not everything is about race, gender, or social class, but you can certainly pretend that the opposite is true. A bit of banter never hurt anyone, and if some girls seriously think that the HH is a major step back for the feminist movement, then they should probably get off their high horses and go out have fun and get laid.

SB: Not major, but definitely a step back. It shows to the public that girls want to and have to rely on men. Even if not all girls, a good proportion do.

JL: Abigail Adams, Susan B. Anthony, Carrie Catt, the Harvard Hoochies. Imagine if the Hoochies joined forces with WIB… It would be like McDonalds merging with Google.

6. Rumor has it that the Hoochies ‘aren’t that attractive.’ How attractive does a biddy have to be to wiggle her way into the heart (or something else) of a final club bro?

HB: If they are not very attractive, that kinda ruins their entire game plan – there is a pretty prevalent notion that BU girls are better looking than Harvard girls, and that is the only way they succeed.  I’m not convinced this is true, as there are lots of great looking Harvard girls – BU girls just try harder.  A BU biddy would have to be pretty gorgeous and easy to get along with to wiggle her way into the heart of a final club bro.  However, depending on how drunk these bros are, ugly girls can wiggle their way into a bed pretty occasionally.

MB: There are many Harvard girls who are much better looking than them, but the HH are more put together and generally they are more fun and more approachable. The sad thing is that many Harvard girls care more about social status than having fun when they are going out, which is not the case with these girls, and most guys appreciate that.  It is also pretty interesting that Harvard girls are extremely prejudiced against girls from other schools. Aren’t we Harvard students supposed to be open minded and non-judgmental?

SB: Attractive on a national scale is enough. But the Harvard scale will help inflate those girls who are on the border line. Also you can’t really wiggle your way into the heart of a final club bro… Only into his pants.

JL: Julianne Moore – original Hoochie from her times at BU. Natalie Portman – Hoochie fighter since 1999. Take it as you wish.

7. Their stereotype for the Phoenix: Chocolates. Thoughts?

WS: I guess that reflects the people they’ve met in the Phoenix? Obviously we’re a very diverse club and that could theoretically describe certain members, but it’s much better than the stereotypes they have for some of the other clubs.

[Or nothing at all. Remember the Spee? Guess not.]

8. Run-ins with the Hoochies in Punta Cana: Yay or nay?

WS: If I run in to them, I’ll let you know.

JL: I won’t believe they’re going to Punta Cana till I see it. By the way, Jack Holuba is the sharpest kid at Harvard.

What do you think? It’s Women’s Week at Harvard, and the ladies are certainly getting a lot of attention. We just don’t know if it’s the right kind. Leave your opinion in the comment box, or email your longer response to thehvoicemail@gmail.com. Your comments might get featured (anonymously, if you wish) on our blog!

[Editor's note, 03/08/10: Changes were made to protect the privacy of interviewees.]

Self-described as “[Boston University] bitties, hooching and husband hunting at Harvard Final Clubs. We ward off RUHGs (random ugly Harvard girls)…frequently,” these seven girls, who call themselves the “HarvardHoochies,” spend their weekends party-hopping around Mt. Auburn street and aren’t afraid to let the whole Twitter universe know it. The girls are outrageous, hilarious and unapologetic about their mission statement – to find the preppiest, final-club-biest flavor of the night. Even Newsweek acknowledged their Twitter account as ” mak[ing] the entire scene sound like Jersey Shore in gabardine.”

(Yes that’s not a real picture of them. You gotta sniff them out, ‘hun. You know where to look! Xoxo)

The Voice sat down with the Hoochies on Friday, with sangria on their side and HUHDS fries on ours (yes, it was never evenly matched), and talked about their lives at Harvard, the “hoochies-tweeting” trend in other colleges, and, you guessed it, the Final Clubs.

1. Let’s set the record straight once and for all. The Hoochies does exist. Seven of you guys from Boston University, not Wellesley, not Boston College, and definitely not Harvard. Right?

Yes, strictly BU, 7 of us. There are however several honoraries, about 5 of them. They are BU girls too

2. There was a rumor that there’re 80 of you. What is this, a sorority?

HH: We know! Let’s just get rid of the rumors. We have a bbm group and the only girls in the bbm group are the 7 originals. 80 might want to be the HH, but they just don’t cut it.

3. Any plan to recruit more HHs any time soon?

In 1 year when 6 of us graduate. The golden snitch graduates this year. Tear..

4. Collectively, are you guys more like Carrie Bradshaw – charming but a little neurotic and needy. Or like Samantha Jones – sexy vixen who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it?

Between all of us we have the entire SATC cast, minus Miranda. We leave Miranda for the RUHGs.

5. How do you ward off RUHGs, exactly?

We ward off RUHGs with our RUHG whistle and overall presence. They usually flee when any BU girl comes.

6. How do you ward off RUFL – Random Ugly Final Club Losers? Let’s be real, there’re quite a few of them out there.

NO NO not true. No RUFLs. The fact that they are in a final club alone makes them the prince charming to our Cinderella.

7. Princeton now also has PromiscuousPton. Do you think the HH will become a trend throughout the Ancient Eight? Why does Princeton have the PP anyway? Who else is there in that town except for them? And whoever cares about Princeton anyway?

Harvard is #1 for a reason. We think the princeton account is funny but you’re right, they are the only one’s there and it leaves no mystery to the twitter. It obviously is a princeton girl. Furthermore, as the HH we acknowledge how BU girls go to harvard for one reason and why Harvard guys welcome us. There’s a mutual understanding that we laugh at. Princeton doesn’t have that #sorryimnotsorry.

8. Any special reason for this lovefest with basketball? It seems to be your favorite sports. We think the water polo boys are crying foul.

We don’t discriminate against sports teams. They’re all sexual.

BUT, it does seem more of the bball guys are active on twitter. Plus, they are doing really well right now and they’re in season. However, baseball season is coming up… #delphic

9. What’s your most and least favorite final club, and why?

Michelle we don’t have a fave or least fave BUT, the AD can’t have girls over as of right now. AND the Fox has a baby contraption. However, we still love them. We’ve had amazing and awful nights at every single club.

10. When did you start going to final clubs?

Freshman year, the first semester. Within a week of coming. All of the HH bonded because we molest the Harvard scene.

11.  How has the final club scene changed, if at all, since the Social Network? More obnoxious Phoenix boys?

I think the HH coupled with The Social Network has made them a bit more #TFCM than they used to be. Total Final Club Move-esque. Now they’re very aware of the sex appeal that final clubs offer, if they weren’t already.

12. The background of your Twitter page is a picture of the Fly. Any special reason?

It was just a classic old picture. No big reason.

13. Having lost all those stuff in final clubs – like leggings in the Delphic, don’t tell us why – do you think they should reimburse you with some of their trust fund money?

No no, we think they should marry us and give us their credit cards/cars. That’s all we want! NBD.

14. Speaking of, when do you know that a final club man is “the one”? And then how do you secure him?

At the 2:30 mark, whoever you’re talking to is the one you’re going home with. That is, unless you’re talking to Rico at the Market. #win

15. Do you think Mark Zuckerberg should have been in a final club? if so, which one would he fit into?

No, absolutely not. His sandals are not okay. However, Facebook makes him sexual.

16. You have a thing for vanilla and chocolate. That’s been established. No love for the yellow/Asian men?

I mean the Hasians – Hot Asians – are few and far between for us. HOWEVER, Teddy Ho, we die for you :)

17. How often are you guys at Harvard, and how often do you guys think about Harvard?

We think about harvard every day, 24/7, every second of the day. February was a very Cambridge month. As was October and November.

18. Did the final club boys you know have any reaction to the official formation of the HH group? Or that you guys are getting more popular – on the internet at least – by the minute?

All the final club guys in general seem to love it. Until we call them out. The PC got upset about the bubble gum drinks. We love them, but we’re not always rainbows and kittens.

19. Do you have stereotypes for each of the final club?

Phoenix: Chocolate. Owl: Meathead. Delphic: Baseball and rugby. AD: Hottest and they know it; Tennis, Lax. Fox: Who cares, babygate. PC: Wealthiest. Fly: Bow ties.

[Did we forget about The Spee? Yes, yes we did.]

20.  One last, most serious question. What’s your response to the feminists who think that you exacerbate the male-dominated tradition of Harvard and contribute to the objectification of women?

To be honest, many of the HH are women’s studies minors. We think the final club scene points out double standards and do think at times the men are okay with, as you say, objectifying women. However, the HH are only poking fun and see the hilarity of how women seek out Harvard men as the perfect boys to bring home to mom. We can all hold a spatula if you’re holding the key chains to the final club door.

Next Installment: The Bro-response.

(If you’re a Bro and would like to comment, send us an email at thehvoicemail@gmail.com. Anonymity requests will be granted.)

For girls though, prep style must be treated with the greatest delicacy. Like many things in life, it’s tempting to overindulge. Simple sweaters and skirts, monogrammed jewelry, a well-tailored tweed jacket are all acceptable staples. But if a girl walked into lecture wearing madras shorts, pearls, headband, and some pasteled variation of a shirt, I would smack her in the face with a tennis (or squash?) racket and then proceed to ralph. As in, barf, not Lauren.

For boys though, it’s a different matter. Overindulging in prep style is a plus. Are you wearing green pants with a pink oxford? Fantastic. Are you wearing two clashing variations of madras–one for the top, one for the bottom? Awesome. Like any Lady GaGa costume, the crazier the better. Boys need to take advantage of this freeform art and wield it to their best ability. Yes, you might (actually, probably) be called a douchebag. But so what? You’re paying homage to a great sartorial tradition. Embrace it and go crazy.

Stylish or douchebag?

You would expect the Ivy League to be teeming with prep style, but a quick scan of Harvard Yard on any given day will tell you otherwise. The look still survives, but only through a few brave souls who choose to toss the khakis and embrace the Nantucket red. The 60′s however, were a different story. Take Ivy, a wonderful collection of photos published in the 60′s by Japanese photographer T. Hayashida, serves as an exemplary commemoration of the titular “Ivy League style” at its best and within its heyday. Hayashida’s photos are romantic visions of young men dressed–nearly all of them–in that distinct, prep style that has long been abandoned for most Ivy League men. As a plus, Hayashida not only captures the sartorial distinctiveness of the Ivy campuses, but also what a regular day would be like for any Dartmouth or Princeton boy. There are photos of students walking to class, doing laundry, riding bikes, getting lunch in the cafeteria, studying in the library. There is one black and white photo of J.Press, the storied men’s clothier sitting prettily at the corner of Mount Auburn Street, where it still remains today–probably the only highly visible vestige of the classic American prep style that once reigned on Ivy campuses everywhere.

So where have all the preps gone? Why are Ivy League campuses no longer ridden with madras, seersucker, and lobsters? One obvious guess is the diversification of campuses. The term “WASP” after all, stands for “White Anglo-Saxon Protestant.” And clearly, campuses are no longer made up of this homogeneous group. That’s not to say though, that diversity brought with it the decline of sartorial genius. Personal style on college campuses today is something to be noted and appreciated; campuses are burgeoning with interesting forms of self-expression, especially in style (which is why we created Noicethreads in the first place). But there are some other factors to be taken into account other than the solely racial.

One disheartening reason is that oftentimes (okay, most of the time), anyone who embraces the prep style will be labeled as a douchebag, faster than you can say “Brooks Brothers.” Is it true that most people who flaunt this particular style are douchebags? Sometimes, but not always. Guys and girls alike need to get over the fear of being labeled as such and instead embrace the prep! It’s understandable though, that some would want to avoid dressing this way because of these very fears. See: Harvard Yard clothing line debacle and general PR fail. (The line, by the way, was inspired by Take Ivy.)

There may be some fairness in equating “prep” with “douchebag,” but it’s time to see beyond that. Prep style is great. It’s simple. It’s stylish. Best of all, boys look great in it (cough). With the right touches, restraint, and styling, prep style can work for anyone. There are some unspoken rules or go-to brands and articles of clothing, yes, but you should never treat these rules too seriously. Take a cue from the bow ties and oxfords and put your own diversified spin on things.

From "Take Ivy"

Blogs for further reading: Unabashedly Prep, A Continuous Lean, Ivy Style.

Well hey. This is awkward.

Speed dating is the least romantic situation that exists. It is intimate in all the wrong ways. The bottles of San Pellegrino on the rose petal laden tables remain untouched by couples until the event is over. Like many of the heel-wearing, hair-gelled participants, the romantic fixtures and dim lighting can’t help but seem embarrassingly artificial. This is not a real date. The person across from you does not know you. You are sitting not in a fancy restaurant but in the empty, wooden expanse of Leverett Old Library. Yet you are given three minutes to rattle off everything you can about yourself without scaring the other person away. Soon, the questions become protocol rather than intrigue. “So what year are you?” a date asks me in unison with the guy next to him.

Speed dating requires endurance and agility. You must balance a calm demeanor while ignoring the fact that you are attempting to appear attractive to eighteen complete strangers. I have never been through a job interview, but I imagine this is what it would be like, but maybe eighteen times worse. What should be an enjoyable night of getting to know new people soon devolves into a frantic scurry to sell, sell, sell--yourself.

Also required is an amazing ability to focus. You are seated inches away from the couples next to you; the urge to eavesdrop on conversations (or non-conversations) is in constant battle with the willingness to listen to your own partner, however boring or intriguing. Before you can untangle the adjacent conversations from your own, the announcer harkens the end of another three minutes. Hands are shaken, and a new body sits across from yours.

In an episode of Sex and the City, Miranda attends a speed dating event to find a quick date for Charlotte’s wedding. Carrie narrates: “Twenty dollars for seven mini-dates, each eight minutes long--which incidentally is about as long as a blind date should be.” Is speed dating a blessing in disguise? Three excruciating minutes instead of sixty. Eighteen males in one hour instead of one. More bang for your buck, or a waste of time? First impressions are, after all, everything. However, spending three minutes under the eyes of someone you know is actively judging you is not the best way to meet a soulmate. That Harvardian mode of perfectionism we all know so well kicks in and soon, speed dating does to you what Harvard has done to your learning: something enjoyable morphs into something exhausting. On the other hand, the phenomenon of speed dating at Harvard may be just what the doctor ordered. With the combination of minimal time, sexual frustration rampant and rising at alarming rates, and the failure of weekend parties to find suitable mates, speed dating provides Harvard with something it might actually need.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTbBHoerMbk

Mutual matches arrived via email with names, email addresses, and cell phone numbers. “We hope you enjoyed meeting people at the event and will follow up with them!” is all the email reads. In this day and age of technological uncertainty, how will Harvard students know what to do next without the hand holding and easy way out provided by a speed dating venue? Does the guy call the girl? Do we Facebook friend? Text? Email? Send flowers? So far, only two of my seven matches have followed up, both through Facebook. I think it is safe to say that technology--and speed-dating--has provided an unfortunate safeguard against humiliation or rejection. Call me old-fashioned, but I miss the days when the gentleman would call the lady for a second date, not cryptically ask about plans for the weekend over Facebook or Gmail. Gone are the days of amorous bravado. In are the days of masked affection. Speed dating simply speeds it up--something every Harvard student may need what with their busy schedules. Sad but true. FML

www.youtube.com/watch?v=txB485HTWR4

The object of K-pop loving Turk’s love

Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise must be feeling a bit neglected lately. With HarvardFML.com launching Harvard students to fame almost daily, students just don’t get excited anymore by the so-called celebrities frequenting our campus. Rather, our attention has been captured by the likes of red scarf Polish girl, Wigg A girl, or — most recently – K-pop Loving Turk.

The last person — Mr. Turk, let’s call him — is perhaps the most obscure of all. Sure, we know where Wigg A is, and what red scarves are, and hopefully where Poland is, but what’s all this about a K-pop loving Turk? Is K-pop a type of soda? Should we stock up, so that we can sip it conspicuously during Gov20 in the hopes that we’ll capture the attention of some tanned Turkish hottie?

Noice knows such questions are running through the minds of Harvard students everywhere, so we’re here to unravel a bit of the mystery surrounding Mr. Turk. Thus, Noice presents A Guide to K-pop. Because how else are you going to impress this famed personage without versing yourself in his interests?

Definition:

K-pop: (noun) Korean pop. Specifically, South Korean pop, with R&B, dance, and hip-hop influences.

Characteristics of K-pop:

• The male popstars look like girls
  

  K-pop is awesome. Kk?

They’re effeminate and pretty. They know how to dance and sometimes how to sing. The have wispy hair.

• The girl popstars also look like girls

…by which we mean they look like 6-year old, scantily-clad ones. Cutesy, wide-eyed, and bushy-tailed.

• Stock characters

Like a bad novel, K-pop band members typically conform to certain preset images: the cutie, the gangster, the quiet one, the leader, etc.

• Band names are funny

2PM, Shinee, 2NE1, BoA, etc.

Components of a K-pop music video:

• Synchronized dancing

Think ‘N Sync circa 1998, except with moves so synchronized, cutesy, and ridiculous that they look more like your fourth grade talent show rendition of ‘N Sync than the real thing.

• Shall we say… interesting concepts

A quick scan of some popular videos shows scenes of eating dumplings, playing hand-clapping games, dancing with a paper airplane, and painting a motorcycle.

• Sweet lyrics, if you can understand them

If you thought Mims was poetic, just check out these (translated) lyrics by Super Junior:

“You you you mesmerize me mesmerize mesmerize mesmerize baby / Shorty short shorty shorty / Eyes sparkling sparkling sparkling / Breath suffocation suffocation suffocation”

• Singers are either grinning or giving come-hither looks

Major players:

• DBSK

• SNSD

• Super Junior

• Wonder Girls

We would include pictures of more bands, except they kind of all look the same.

Good luck stalking K-pop loving Turk!

ETA: For your viewing pleasure:

!!!PUUURPLE!!!

Hot damn. Some crazy jonx went down at 45 Mt. Auburn earlier tonight.

It was the most rip-roarin’ event since the Big Bang. It was epic. It was Miltonian. It was… The Seneca Info Meeting.

Noice sent one of its bloggers (thaaat’s me!) to investigate the goings on of this semi-secretive and mostly just mind-bogglingly vague “women’s organization.”

Some of you may be wondering whether The Seneca is just a modified female final club with a paper application, or whether it’s a politically correct front for a money laundering scheme.

While I can’t guarantee that much information on the latter was gleaned, I bring to you the who-what-where and the who-wore-what of the information event of the week. Read more after the jump.

After receiving their courteous open invitation, I arrived a fashionable two or three minutes late.

The smiling faces of young Harvard ladies promptly greeted me at the door, though I felt like they were onto me already. After reluctantly relinquishing my contact info to them via purple gel pen on heavy cardstock paper (mmm, nice!), I proceeded to the name-tag table where I wrote my name in purple marker, picked up a glossy purple pamphlet and a seven-page purple application packet. Ah yes, purple! Because honestly, how else would I know this was a women’s organization?

No, but really.  Ease up on the color scheme, yo — it’s a little too matchy-matchy.

Once inside the actual mingling room, I couldn’t help but sense that every pore of my body was screaming “AHHHH ESTROGEN!” I could literally feel all our cycles syncing up with each other. And while I awkwardly cruised the refreshments table for chocolate, brownies and sparkling (purple!) grape juice, I couldn’t help but wish there had been potato skins, bratwurst and bacon, too. Note: Seneca is not butch-friendly and a little heavy on the carbs.

All around me were young ladies making a tableau vivant reminiscent of a dELiA*s catalog. The actual Seneca members were discreetly dispersed and only identifiable by a small serpentine “S” on their name-tags. After weirdly peering at a dozen chests to find this emblem, I tried to schmooze and dig for a little dirt, but am sorry to report that it was mildly uninteresting.

Sorry, no Ponzi Scheme here! To be honest, it was just a group of ladies talking to a group of ladies about what it’s like to be part of a group of ladies. And I can’t tell you how often they described themselves as “dynamic”…  I mean, seriously?

But the one thing that this blogger must relay is the sheer noise in that room. Girls, I hate to say it, but we are loud as all heck. It felt like standing next to a jet engine, it felt like stuffing my ears with live cicadas, it felt like… this! So I did dip out before 10 o’clock to keep my ears intact.

Anyway, the highlight of the evening was definitely the application materials. On every table there were the aforementioned glossy propaganda pamphlets (a tangible manifestation of their $335-a-semester dues + initiation fee). Chock-full of smiling (diverse!) women  prominently displayed along with vague testimonials about how great it is to be in communion with this select group of ladies.

And for those of you who want to know what was on the essay portion of their application: great questions like, “What is the most important issue women face at Harvard? How can a student group address this issue?” to go along with the inexplicable, “Describe yourself in haiku form… which celebrity or well-known character from a book do you identify with?”

In a nutshell, The Seneca promotes itself to be a “sisterhood” that works to make the social life of its ladymembers a little better while doing some community service alongside it all. But really, if you wanted to submit a competitive application to pay money to join an all women’s organization, you should have just gone to Wellesley. At least there you wouldn’t be blinded with purple.

And while this womanist, feminist, riot grrrl blogger realizes the pissy snark tone she’s affected, The Seneca doesn’t necessarily merit it. While there are undertones of troubling exclusivity and la-di-da, there are more troubling things happening on campus than punch season and The Seneca app. But the conclusion is, if you’re looking for a sweet community of ladies, just open yourself up to your neighbors and make some friends! At least there aren’t initiation fees… unless you buy your friends, and that’s just sad, honey.

The pretty colored version of what I foisted on some of you earlier today. Tell me you don't like the pink feathers.

Bella Wang ’12 explores the trials and tribulations of that ubiquitous Harvard staple: the flyer distributor.

eing the trustworthy and dutiful Harvard Ballroom team member that I was, I spent my lunch hour today bugging the crap out of any of the good citizens of Harvard University that were unlucky enough to pass through the paper gauntlet that spans the stretch between Annenberg and the Science Center.  Now, whenever you go flyering, you always face the moral dilemma between being a nice, kind, and polite person and making sure that no one misses what undoubtedly will be the A Capella Ballroom Dancing Health Policy Debate Speech Gala Extravaganza of the Century.  Trust me, guys, you have to come see Burn the Floor this Saturday evening because when you’re sixty years old, your grandchildren will be asking you about the time you watched the Adams, Currier, and Quincy house masters square off in tango, Dancing with the Stars style.  If you don’t come, those grandchildren will cry, and then you’ll regret fixedly staring at the floor/sky/person in front of you/Invisible Pink Unicorn instead of meeting my eyes and just taking the damn flyer.

And no, by the way, you aren’t actually saving paper by not taking my flyers. We already printed them, you see?  It’s your civic duty to recycle them!  If you don’t, we’ll hold those quarter-sheets of paper hostage in the non-recycling trash bin outside the Science Center, see if we don’t!

Now, normally, when scoping out a base of operations, you have to consider your target audience more carefully than a public relations firm.  No upperclassman in his right mind would ever accept flyers from a stranger because you never know what kind of methamphetamine might be in it (although I’m sure most upperclassmen will accept candy from strangers).  No, you have to target the freshmen, preferably the ones that have as of yet neither perfected the Don’t Look at Me Don’t Look at Me walk nor learned how to stare me down with a brazen refusal.  With this consideration in mind, the lone flyerer would do well to be positioned conveniently on the road in front of Annenberg rather than in front of the Science Center.  After all, whether or not freshmen go to class, they have no choice but to eat.

This particular occasion was a little different than usual because somewhere or another the Ballroom team had managed to dredge up five or six other volunteers for the first shift, thus allowing us to spread out and form road blocks on every conceivable exit from the area.  At 11:30, I planted myself on the path leading to Oxford Street because as it turns out, grad students are also really easy targets.

11:40. First tourist group walks by.
11:47. Someone tries to sneak behind me, but I whip around and triumphantly thrust a quarter-sheet of paper in his face.  Thought you could outwit me, huh?
11:52. I discover that sometimes you can get people to accept flyers simply by holding the piece of paper out to them for a second too long.  The key to successful flyering is a combination of cheeriness, charm, and skilled cultivation of their sense of potential awkwardness should they refuse.
12:01. Fourth tourist group passes by.  This one is an Unofficial Tour.  I think they were shouting something about how ugly the Science Center is and how the hardest classes are on the highest floors.  I’m sure the Math 55 people on the second floor would totally agree with that last part.
12:05. Time becomes a blur, and my soul climbs to the highest reaches of zen and nirvana as I gradually deplete my stack of paper.  Okay, that was a lie.
12:45. Oh, look, time for the second shift to take over.  Hey, they have like 5% of the flyers left.  Lesson learned, kids: always take the later shift just in case the first shift does too good of a job and nearly runs out of flyers.

Job finally done, I ran to Fly-By to grab some lunch and headed toward the Greenhouse Cafe for dessert in the form of an apple danish.  Man, what was with all those people doing publicity for Harvard Hungama and what I assume was Pfoho’s 90s dance?  Look, I’m a busy person, so no, I don’t want your flyer.  Who hands out actual sheets of paper these days, anyway?  Can’t they see what a huge waste of trees that is?

Harvard House Masters pair up with Harvard Ballroom team members to learn how to dance.
Suneel and Quincy House Master Deb

www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZpistjJ8uw

Oh man. It's a night to remember for THIS lady.

Students in Diane Paulus and Marjorie Garber’s popular class titled Theater, Dream, Shakespeare got to have a little taste of the discotheque this past week. The class, which focuses on exactly what its title suggests, allows all students a free season pass to the A.R.T.’s Shakespeare Exploded festival. Sweet deal, right?

The first performance of the season students were able to attend was titled The Donkey Show. (And yes. It’s every bit of what you think it is. Well…okay, not really, but sort of.) The show is a disco adaptation of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, directed by Paulus (of Hair fame) herself, and is performed in Club Oberon — a disco-club-meets-theater-stage on 2 Arrow Street. In the spirit of audience-actor interaction, all students received “dancefloor tickets,” in which everyone got to boogie down with the actors of the show. After the show, the party continues into the night so everyone can break it down on the dancefloor (or on stage)!

Read on as Voice reporter Katie McNicol ’12 puts on her boogie shoes, gets down with glittery half-naked men, and loses herself in this dream-disco world which Paulus has created. Warning: Some semi-scandalous photos ahead — but you know you like it.

woke up this morning, covered in glitter, trying to remember what I loved so much about The Donkey Show. Was it the loud, pounding disco beats? The half-naked man fairies? The raining confetti, flashing lights, oh–and the full bar? Or maybe it was that, standing amidst the dancing people on the floor of Club Oberon, I realized just how right Diane Paulus had gotten it. I’ve seen many theatrical events in my life and after every one, I tend to walk out of the theater thinking to myself, “Those people get to do that for a living?” and “God, I wish I could be up there with them.” This summer, the only Broadway Musical I saw was Hair directed by Diane Paulus herself. My favorite and the most memorable part was at the very end of the show, after the curtain calls, the cast invited audience members onstage to dance. Of course my friends and I rushed onto the set and danced away looking out over the large standing crowd. For a few minutes we could pretend we were the long-haired, out of control, fun loving hippies on Broadway.

Complete with DJ, Oberon the clubmaster, and bouncer.

In The Donkey Show, Diane Paulus, the new artistic director of the A.R.T, took this feeling to a whole new level. Instead of getting to steal a few moments of show time, the audience members are as integral to show as any character or set piece. In effect, we were the set, a large mass of dancing people for the characters to act off of and play through. Not to mention the fact that the entire first half of the show is a disco party… for us to enjoy. But this is no cheap trick to get us in a good mood. Instead, I like to think that Paulus is immersing us into this “dream world” that is reminiscent of the source text of the show, Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Throughout the disco, I began to see the brilliant comparison. After all, isn’t Midsummer really just that drunken night after which you wake up, can’t really remember anything and you ask your best friend, “Did that really happen last night?… Did I really do that?” One might even say they know the feeling of doing unmentionable things with someone that can only be referred to as an ass (in the donkey way at least).
The Donkey Show really isn’t about the plot, the characters, or the text (there isn’t a word of Shakespeare in it). It’s about losing yourself in a different world and forgetting about everything else. Until you do a few things you might regret the next morning, you haven’t really experienced the full extent of the show. Don’t let the disco fool you; the spirit of Shakespeare is alive and well at Club Oberon and I personally can’t wait to see what else Diane Paulus has up her sleeve.

Tickets for The Donkey Show are available for purchase until January. Friends and alcohol are highly recommended.

Katie's got a fever...for disco.

Hot glittery men! I mean, er, FAIRIES!