Fratting, and the Political Art of Creative Impression Management

I go to college, and I'm in a frat.   Fraternity men are taught from the impetus of their pledgeship to eschew the abbreviation "frat" because it carries with it a set of negative stigmas.  But recently, I've decided that I'm going to disregard this guideline and begin embracing the attractive reality that I can immediately compel people's impressions of me by using this word.  Why do I want people to think I'm a lazy, overprivileged, meathead who would buy a beer bong instead of purchasing his requisite Constitutional Law textbook?  Well, first, to be fair, I do own a beer bong, I did not purchase my Con Law textbook, and I still got an A in the course.  But really, I like to set a low standard for people's impressions, and then consistently exceed it.  It's the first law of slackerism- set the bar low, especially if you're tall, because then you can just hop over it.  Why would you limit the application of that law simply to your course grades when the social world awaits?

(Not my image)

Indeed, the benefits of upsetting people's social expectations of you are a tangible and a novel discovery, at least that's been my experience.  Surprising someone with your ability to eloquently speak, empathize, or not show up to a poetry reading cross-faded is not only a way to make new friends, but a devious political tactic.  But it's only open to those who are able to command such low impressions from the get-go; it's reserved for those of us who can make you think we are the filthiest of the filthy, the frattiest of the fratty.  It's really a downhill coast from there, unless, of course, you are actually an asshole (sorry, guys).  People will want to embrace your "newfound" and "friendly" identity, and craft you in their image.  In fact, even the douchey things you continue to do will appear in a more positive light to many that you encounter- some things you might hear- "Hey, nice whale monogrammed shorts!  Lovin' that polo! That shirt looks so much better without the sleeves! Is that a new cologne?"

Many might call me a manipulative asshole for writing this in the first place, but to this I retort: the only way I am able to manipulate you is because you continue to incorrectly judge me! If you gave me a once over and said "Wow, what a remarkably self-aware and conscious young man" my efforts would be wasted and ineffective on you.  This is why I employ the word "frat".  Unlike some of my brothers, I am a pretty clean cut "frat boy".  I like button-up oxford shirts, clean fitted jeans or khakis, pea coats, and sweaters. I've even been called a "prepster" from time to time ( a mix of "preppy" and "hipster").  While I might emanate an aristocratic air, I don't usually come off as a disgusting party boy that excels at Tony Hawk Pro Skater.  That's why I have to level people's expectations by labeling myself, and I have to say it has yielded nothing but good results.

In the arena of school politics, wherein last year I held a Student Body Vice-President position, this disorienting tactic enabled me to befriend members of all campus factions, including fire dancing club leaders, school newspaper editors, and even social justice champions (the traditional antagonist of the frat boy).  And the reality is, this tactic isn't complete bullshit--it results in legitimate non-traditional friendships.  Some of the most important and meaningful people I know around campus have been met through this process.  It's not always easy to reach out to individuals who have already judged you, but it can be a personally and socially rewarding experience.  Our class convocation speaker, Jonah Lehrer, author of Proust Was a Neuroscientist and How We Decide, left my matriculating class with a piece of advice on how to build valuable partnerships.  He said, and I paraphrase, that the most compelling ideas come from multi-disciplinary discussions, and that the atomic unit that builds such ideas are unexpected friendships.  He suggested that we reach out and talk to the quiet kid in the back of the math class, the bassoon player with the funny glasses, the oversized football McNugget.  So to that, I say, frat on sirs.  Frat on.