There are many characteristics that separate a fraternity man from the rest of the collegiate and professional world. Whether it’s the confidence to firmly shake the hand of a CEO, the taste to pull off a pair of lobster covered pink shorts with a 5″ inseam, or the coordination to perform a successful shotgun on the bow of a Boston Whaler amidst 10 foot swells, we truly are the epitome of what a red-blooded American man should be. However, there is a quality that is immeasurable by brand or price. It cannot be inherited, and it cannot be purchased with a black card. The intangible that I speak of is what separates a true gentleman from a “frat boy” and it is something one must never forget once he leaves the inner sanctum of his fraternity house. I’m talking about class, and not the kind you skip.
Without class, even the most confident, well-dressed, affluent, individual is merely one peg above the orange skinned trash I see fist-pumping around downtown. I often hear the importance of acting classy from the most experienced fratstars, but the truth of the matter is that class is not an act. Class is a quality that defines a man, and not the other way around. It means that even though you may be better than everyone in a room, you have the sense to never state it simply because class does not insist upon itself.
I will admit, if a GDI ever did grow the balls to call me out for living an American lifestyle vested in tradition, I’d have no problem putting them in their place faster than you can say “EYES ON THE CEILING” in your best haze fueled bellow. But never, EVER, will I lower myself to their level by belittling them with no instigation. Even the funniest of remarks can end up making you look like an ass to everyone else in the room, and as we all know, if the GDIs win, the terrorists win too.
Did I mention the ladies love a man with class? Because they do. Now hear me out, I know plenty of girls will love my company regardless of my drunken antics, because you’ll never see me treat a woman the same way a roided-out jort jockey would. As fraternity men, we know it is our duty to ensure the well being of our female friends. Not only do we hold the door for the most beautiful women, but we also hold it for the homeliest of hounds (read: legacies). We stand up and offer our chair to the girl who has nowhere to sit. We walk between them and the road, we always pay for dinner, and we make damn sure that no asshole even dares to utter a fowl word in their direction. We don’t act this way because of some fraternity handbook; we act this way because we were raised knowing it’s the right thing to do. And if you act with that level of class, every woman will think YOU are the right thing to do.
Sure, we may swear like sailors and screw like rabbits, but at the end of the day we perpetuate certain values that men in modern society are lacking. A true gentleman is nonchalant about his confidence and never treats a woman with disrespect. I tell my pledges they better treat girls the way I’d expect them to treat MY mother, otherwise the only thing their future holds is a ball blacker than Brian Wilson’s beard.