Three cheers for growing up: the sad realities of Frosh

Victoria Goldberg | Editor-in-Chief

Featured image: One of the downsides of the large crowds at Frosh can be deindividualization. | Meagan Joy Ferris

Despite York’s reported declining enrolment numbers, it feels that every September a new shuttle bus drops off an outrageous number of fresh faces. As a seasoned back-to-schooler — it’s my sixth year here on the Keele campus — I have a talent for recognizing scared new freshmen. You know the type: innocent faces not yet corrupted by sleepless nights to finish essays; backpacks filled to the brim with excessive textbooks and binders; printed out class schedules; obnoxiously loud conversations in the middle of Vari Hall. It’s an awful habit to judge a book by its cover, but the stereotypes prove true every September.

The biggest tell-all of froshy status is the college frosh T-shirts. York’s solution to a lack of school spirit is to assign undergraduate students to a program-affiliated college, all nine of which offer their version of orientation week, also known as frosh week. This year, around 12,250 new undergraduate students have enroled at York, with about 3,000 of them attending frosh.

Orientation weeks differ from institution to institution, and even countries. The University of Waterloo gives out hard hats during their engineering frosh week, orientation weeks in Indonesia seek that all froshies wear unusual outfits or risk getting hazed, and reportedly, Queen’s frosh weeks are so secretive only current students and alumni know of their frosh plans.

But is it worth the hype? With frosh kits going for over $100, the bags include free swag such as sunglasses, water bottles and admittance to many events, including the infamous quad party, water fights, a trip to Wasaga beach and a boat cruise.

“It is absolutely worth every minute of your time! I have made friends during my frosh week that have been my best friends during the last four years and every year I attend frosh I add to that circle of friends,” says Mohammad Kiumarsi, fifth-year biotechnology student and current frosh boss.
Some incoming froshies, however, disagree. Melissa Munaweera, an incoming first-year children’s studies student, skipped out on her frosh experience.

“It was too much money. [I] already paid $4,200 tuition per semester.” Munaweera doesn’t believe she missed out on many opportunities, as her stance is that all frosh events are just parties with no real value.

Given Yirenkyi, a first-year transfer student from Carleton University, also didn’t see the value, especially if he was only able to attend two or three events due to his conflicting work schedule. “Still feel like I missed out [though], just meeting new people through the social events.”

Whether you attended frosh or not, you were an unwilling participant and listener to the frosh chants. Herds of froshies march across campus, belting out their catchy chants in a ritualistic attempt at team building.

There’s a science to the madness here. “Synchronous activity leads people to feel stronger connections to their group,” said Stanford psychologist Scott S. Wiltermuth, who conducted an experiment to see whether synchronized activities improved social bonds. This phenomenon can be seen anywhere from marches in the army, to synchronized preaching of “amen” in church, to rhythmic clapping at a Jays game when Troy Tulowitzki comes to bat.

But these large crowds can also lead to another phenomenon — deindividualization. As social beings, humans naturally desire to be a part of a group, to the point where they can surrender individual thought and identity. Case in point: their outfits are disregarded in exchange for a matching T-shirt. This becomes problematic, particularly in situations where morals and beliefs come into conflict, including controversial chants.

From my frosh year of 2011, I recall chants such as “you fucked up, you fucked up!” whenever anyone made a blunder or accidently fell, or “three cheers for Bethune, fucking, fucking, fucking!” Although the chants feel excessively vulgar for what is supposed to be a teambuilding exercise, they don’t compare to other university and college chants. In 2013, Saint Mary’s University in Halifax was under scrutiny when a video posted on Instagram showed dozens of orientation leaders chanting with several hundred students, “SMU boys we like them young. Y is for your sister. O is for oh-so-tight. U is for underage. N is for no consent. G is for grab that ass.” Almost 10 years ago, signs posted along Highway 401 read, “Queen’s fathers: say goodbye to your daughter’s virginity!” and “Thank you Queen’s parents for dropping off your virgin daughters.”

These type of chants are reminiscent of fraternity chants in the United States. In 2014, the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity was banned from Yale University for five years after members marched across the Connecticut campus chanting, “No means yes! Yes means anal!”

Sex is as much a part of campus culture as drinking and textbooks. It is inevitable that sexual topics would seep into frosh week as well. York has struggled with its share of ongoing sexual assaults and indecent exposures. In 2013’s frosh week, a woman was reportedly sexually assault during a frosh event. Admittedly, York has been actively enforcing sexual consent through numerous campaigns, including last year’s frosh event, You Had Me at Consent, which sadly fell onto empty chairs at an empty Aviva Centre.

It’s easy to point fingers and say York isn’t doing enough to promote a healthy, consensual environment, but the point comes down to this — York is not responsible for anyone’s actions. A harsh reality that is bestowed upon froshies is that despite their age or maturity level, they are now decision-making adults. No mommy is going to hold your hand while walking you to class, no homeroom teacher is going to hunt you down to make sure you finish your diorama and no York administrator is going to prevent you from committing a crime.

Frosh, or orientation week, is meant to orient students to a new environment and help with the transition between your small-town high school to the big-city campus. It’s your final chance to relax before school starts: an endless tour of our giant campus, or, essentially, a goodbye party to your childish ways. It’s been five years since my frosh, and aside from the cheers permanently imprinted into my brain, the biggest lesson I learned was that I am now an adult that needs to start acting like one.

Welcome to York, kids. Enjoy.