He Said, She Said

Theme Parties: making dress up significantly more fun

By: Adam Schlesinger & Julia Davidson (WG '10)

Posted: 10/5/09

He Said

The truth is, I love getting into costume. So imagine how psyched I was last year when I realized every Wharton party is also a chance to play dress up. White party, Halloween party, Winter Gala – it’s really like sensory overload for me. The only downer was Foam Party, which is NOT a chance to wrap yourself in Styrofoam (although the Surgeon General highly recommends wearing a condom the entire time).

But there is one party that stands above all others: the Media & Entertainment Club’s “80s Party.” The entire community is brought back to a simpler time, when the science club could create hot, horny women out of thin air (“Weird Science”), a coked-up donkey was a must for any night out (“Bachelor Party”) and a geek could land the hot cheerleader just by paying her $1,000 (“Can’t Buy Me Love”, now costs $30,000 just for the engagement ring).

This party is about more than gigantic bangs that reach to the heavens or Sergio Tacchini jumpsuits – it’s about the spirit of the 80s. So if you “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” “Jump” into the “Love Shack” and drink some “Red Red Wine.” Or if you’re “Head over Heels” and Professor Bell gives you a “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” “Shout” that you’re “Hot for Teacher” and “So Much in Love.” But there’s “Always Something There to Remind Me” that no “Material Girl” is going to “Take Me Home Tonight.” Instead, I’ll “Runaway” “One More Night,” find a “Centerfold” and just “Beat It.”

And what could be better than dressing up in leg warmers and rocking out to Annie Lennox? Toga Party! Wharton Follies first annual “Follywood” party is coming up this Thursday, and it is going to be awesome. Imagine the Academy Awards meets Cirque de Soleil, and then add in a dash of “As the World Turns.” Nowhere else will you have the chance to see Julia blacked out drunk, wrapped in nothing but a bedsheet and surrounded by five horny first years.
Unless, of course, she’s your leadership fellow. Or you play rugby. Or you can say the words “and one pineapple martini for my friend here.” But you should still go to the party.

She Said

I could probably try to calculate the amount of money I’ve spent on costumes at Wharton. It would be a shocking, depressing, and embarrassingly high number, up there with the number of times Adam has gotten kicked out of Smokes because he was “staring”.

Why do Wharton students love costume parties? The psychological implications are limitless. Could it be because we’re all type A overachievers and dressing up like common idiots is our form of escapism from the melancholy of success? Perhaps. Or because we can more easily make bad decisions when we’re all clad in brightly-colored spandex? Likely. Or because we wait in anticipation for the event where John Staudinger is going to stuff his ass into a gold jumpsuit again? Bingo.

It seems like you can’t have a party nowadays unless you have a theme. First there was the White Party (WGA), then the Red Party (f*cking Canadians), and I heard rumors about a pre-term Black Party (misinformed Asian girls were disappointed upon arrival). We survived the Foam Party (FAIL), Europa! Ibiza Party (drug theme?), and the Asian/WHALASA Yin Yang Party (forced pun), and this weekend was the 80s Party (shit show) and Walnut Walk (whit show with no pants). But the best is yet to come: The Follywood Party (SHAMELESS PLUG), and the illustrious Halloween Party (the only one where we’re actually supposed to dress up).

Theme parties aren’t just WGA-sponsored anymore, they’re self-imposed (Rubik’s Cube), so we don’t have the excuse that we were “forced” to comply. One can’t just have a simple house party anymore, because Gilboa’s coming in his denim outfit (yes ladies: Daisy Dukes and a hat made of a shredded pair of toddler jeans) whether you like it or not.

All this being said—Man, I love me some costume party. Without them, there would be no anonymous dance floor hookups, no sweaty messes of makeup, and certainly no amazing walks-of-shame. It brings out what I love most about Wharton: our rampant ability to turn any night into the best night in the never-ending quest for a good time. So hold your head high as you walk out of your doorman building dressed slutty and ridiculous, because as soon as you start drinking with people who look just as crazy as you, it’ll feel like home.