On the “Polar Plunge”

If you polar plunge and no one’s around to see it—did you even polar plunge at all? 

Far and wide, Dartmouth students lament the culture of “social-climbing” and “facetimey-ness” they see as plaguing the College on the Hill. The ethos of social climbing must be fully explored in order to understand the actions that subsequently occur in pursuit of status.

You can find the social climbing pseudo-elite in Blobby, the dark side of Foco, intro-level psych classes, and amongst the brotherhood of Alpha Chi Alpha. The culture of Dartmouth can lend itself best to those wishing to make connections for the sake of having connections rather than for the sake of real interpersonal relationships. Social climbers see this as the best method of survival in Hanover. If you emotionally invest in a select group of people, you risk being stranded when they leave for the inevitable off-term. Without a horde of friends around your Collis round table, sycophantically laughing at the joke you stole from Fizz, you will be forced to be alone with your own thoughts and come to terms with who you are as a human being. It is a widely accepted fact that students enrolled in an Ivy League school achieved some degree of success in high school. For some, this success came at a high price. That price was a social life. In favor of good grades and service hours, aspiring Ivy League students missed out on being a part of the “in crowd” and having actual fun. Upon their arrival at Dartmouth College, these now-Ivy League students set out to prove themselves.

The toxic cycle of social-climbing begins during Orientation Week. Securing the Snapchat of everyone on your floor will, inevitably, lead to great success and popularity. You will not, in fact, look like an overeager a**hole. I promise. Dorm parties are the venue for networking and establishing yourself. If you’re not the one throwing, you better be the one going. Department open houses are the first encounter with your future classmates (read: rivals). Assert yourself by loudly asking the most contrived question you can conceive of to the Department Chair, and always, always, always sit in the front if a lecture is given. One’s first foray into the Class of 1953 Commons is best done by strolling along every food counter and making sure to say hello to at least five people as you pass through the dining rooms. Command the conversation at a long table on dark side, or even sit at the balcony table upstairs, glancing down as the peasants beneath your sup. By the time classes start, you will be amongst the most relevant, well-liked of the Dartmouth populace.

Another major moment in the social-climbing cycle is the Homecoming Bonfire. First-years take one grand, traditional lap around the—unbeknownst to them—funeral pyre of their moral virtue. Keys to enjoying the bonfire include sitting on your friend’s shoulders when you are too drunk to walk, loudly causing a scene that no one in particular is paying attention to, and stopping the flow of those walking to take two hundred photos. Once the fire is reduced to smoldering embers, rush to the Fayes and have the “time of your life” in a dorm so crowded that the walls are sweating. Post on your Instagram with the caption, “Touched the fire!” Realize that there is no one half as clever or as well-liked as you are.

There is one final step in achieving supreme social standing in your first year at Dartmouth College: the Polar Plunge. Can you handle it?

Leave your last class of the day at 3:15pm, and change into your swimsuit. Meet with friends and consume a modest two shots of Granite State before braving the cold. It is now time to stand in line at the edge of Occom Pond. Though the pond is little more than a receptacle of human urine, feces, and overgrown goldfish, it takes on a magical atmosphere once frozen. Not to worry—you’ll have plenty of time to admire the lake’s frozen view while waiting in line for a minimum of 45 minutes. While standing in line, see every person you’ve ever hooked up with, been ghosted by, or promised to “get a meal sometime.” Finally, the steps down to Occom will be in sight. Once you’re on the ice, it’s time to strip down to the bare essentials and suppress your shivers amongst 50 of your closest Dartmouth acquaintances. Know that everyone is watching everything you do. Your shrill screams are funny, and no one thinks you are annoying in any way. Make sure one friend is standing off to the side, ready to film your big moment. Jump in the water and glide across. Emerge up the ladder, held steady by a Hanover EMS worker. Reclothe and seek the warm shelter of your dorm. Post on your Instagram, this time with the caption, “Not even cold!”

You did it, you crazy bastard. You, and you alone, dominated Dartmouth’s social hierarchy. You now know nothing more about people on campus than anyone else. Your social calendar is full, and you’ve always got somewhere to be. You laugh loudly in line at Novack, and stop to say your many hellos as you stroll across the Green. Does your glory come at any cost?

As you plunged into Occom Pond, you weren’t just jumping into the water. You were jumping into a lifetime of the most hollow, unfulfilling interactions imaginable. And you’re going to love it. To be honest, I’m surprised you can swim. Though Occom is no ocean, the most depth you’ve ever encountered was when you gazed into your own eyes in the mirror. Were you scared, taking the leap? Were you worried no crowd would be celebrating for you when you came up from the water? Not to fear, I heard them cheering for you before you even took your first step off the board. What do your friends consider to be your most admirable character trait? If they need help, do they call you? Do they depend on you? Do you—yes, you—trust them? When the devil and his angels descend upon the Earth, will you be the first to go?

Once again, congratulations on completing the Polar Plunge. I couldn’t be happier for you. It’s a big deal, jumping in and all.