How To: Glory March (The Walk of Shame)

Many intoxicated young people ride Quinnipiac University's shuttle so they can party at Toad's Place.

As someone in a committed relationship, you’d think I’d be immune. After almost three years of going to parties and waking up face down in a toga or a catwoman costume, I should be reasonably desensitized to the horror that one feels by 11 a.m. when you’ve realized that you must trek back across campus in the rain, snow or biting cold that New Haven provides in unwavering abundance. But despite my self-proclaimed veteran status I, like countless other Yalies, hang my head in shame and barrel onward toward my off-campus abode in the previous night’s neon spandex with a grim resolution. I too trudge down High Street with my eyes averted in a little black dress or an oversized hoodie, praying to the gods of propriety that I can make it to Crown Street unnoticed. I feel your pain fellow walk-of-shamers. Despite my constant drunken efforts to stop home and put on jeans and Uggs the night before, I still constantly fall prey to those minibus-less hours in which I’m often trying to slink home. There’s really no avoiding it. The advice that I can offer you, however, is to adopt the mentality of the masses of proud frat brothers and hormonal athletes worldwide: turn that Walk of Shame into a Glory March.

Your most obvious giveaway is surprisingly not your heels or lack of a jacket. It’s not even the rat’s nest that’s moved in on your head or the pitiable condition of your false eyelashes. What gives you away, in fact, is the look of absolute horrified mortification that is plastered across your mascara-covered face. Now I know it’s not always easy to conceal that level of self-loathing. The thought of trudging home in half of a bed sheet or men’s basketball shorts may inspire a dread in us akin to naked parties and hearing our parents have sex. But we mustn’t let our phobias conquer us. What is more empowering than proudly walking across campus in a Franzia-stained toga and letting the world know that, “Yes, I got some action last night”?

I’ve gotten some great tips over the years. March’s Cosmo just featured an article on how to conceal your bedhead, use sugar as facial scrub and give yourself that “Just Had Sex Glow” with nothing more than some chapstick. I even found a blog post that explains how to turn your hook-ups shirt into a fashionable Walk-of-Shame dress. But the one accessory to never leave home without is confidence. You know that you looked hot last night. And after you get home you can post the Facebook pictures to prove it. So why act like you’ve just run through Bass naked? Hold you head high, gather the scraps of your dignity and get the hell home to nurse your hangover and wash the Toads’ smell out of your hair.

It will always be difficult. Those of us with roommates or who live too far from the party will inevitably wake up ill-prepared and far from home. With the invention of social networking, the normal shame of a Saturday Night mistake can now be immortalized though a string of Rump-Chat posts and Sunday morning tweets, allowing you to relive your horror with a vigor previously unimagined. I write to you out of sympathy. All I can say is to walk with pride. Even grab a coffee. Nothing is sexier than a girl who can laugh off her embarrassment and look you in the eye dressed like a superhero. Learn to laugh at yourself. And Glory March on home.

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