Maria Arozamena, Illustrations Editor
Pining after your FroCo? Dying to get on the orgy panlist? Sick of seeing khakis on men? You’re in luck! Welcome to Sex on the WKND, YDN’s anonymous column dedicated to answering your burning questions about sex, love and anything in between. Obsessing over sex is a Yale tradition as old as the Oldest College Daily itself. This year, we have a love-guru columnist who has done it all — including everyone on the aforementioned orgy panlist — and is ready to share. Whether you have a seminar with a hookup-gone-wrong or accidentally sent a raunchy text to your chemistry study group, Sex on the WKND is ready to help. Don’t be shy. Submit your anonymous questions, stories, and tips here.
So you’ve made it to Yale.
And honestly, thank God you’re here. Your high school friends have been sick of the “small school in Connecticut” talk since March. The good-looking, normal kids at your school were one Hogwarts comparison away from shoving you into a locker. And honestly, I wish they’d have gone through with it — maybe then you wouldn’t have worn both a Yale-insignia T-shirt and backpack on the first day of classes. Contrary to what your mom might have told you, your peers were not jealous of your academic accomplishment. Simply, your academic accomplishment has made you insufferable (by the way, your mom’s book club is about to kick her out if she mentions New Haven one more time).
Here’s the good news: if you left your hometown on bad terms, all will be forgotten when you come back for the summer. Your acquaintances might even be so bored during Thanksgiving break that they will agree to “catch up” with you. When you recap freshman year, your better-looking friends will tell stories about tailgates. And you’ll just smile and nod because you won’t know what a “tailgate” is. The closest you’ll get to watching a football game here will be when you see a 6’7” offensive lineman get denied at door by a 105-pound Sig Nu brother. (Yale-Harvard doesn’t count, you won’t remember it anyways).
But I digress. Despite whatever diversity statistic the Yale Admissions Office has promoted, know that they can never be rid of the two things that unite you all: how annoying you’ve been since getting accepted, and your blinking neon sign status as virgins. Feeling imposter syndrome? Trust me, you and your virginity belong here.
By now, you’ve probably lied to your suitemates that you’ve had sex before. That’s okay, they don’t know any better, because they lied about having sex too.
You might be wondering, where do you go for some actual advice? Not the ACT tutor who charges your mom $500/hour. Nor can you set up a one-on-one with your FroCo — she’s already regretting her life after picking up your suitemate from Yale Health. So, what now?
This is where I come in. For years now I’ve been sacrificing my valuable free time and talent to write about Yale Sex Life (even such a term sounds oxymoronic). So, I invite you to read along this year, learn something useful you can apply to your real life (although the majority of you will still be virgins this time next year, because you just “threw yourself onto your classload”). But that’s also fine! The true spirit of this liberal arts institution is to major in ethical philosophy and become an investment banking analyst at Goldman Sachs. Ever heard of “learning for the sake of learning?”
If I tell you all the Yale sex secrets in one go, you’ll have no reason to keep reading. You’ll only skim this one article (finishing even faster than your drunken Camp Yale hookup). So readers, let’s indulge in some foreplay, shall we? Take it slow, read the syllabus, and maybe even make a pro/con list before holding hands over dining hall tilapia.
For my first column this year I won’t be the one to tell you how to have sex, but at the very least let me be the 101st person this week to remind you: Yale is an extraordinary place. There’s nothing quite like it. Be kind to yourself and others as you begin to navigate it all — you all are literally Yale-virgins. It will hurt and you might even cry. But there will never be anything quite like the first time.