Cleo Cummins ‘27

‘The trouble at Sarah Lawrence is the straight people. There's always the token straight boy and girl who will find each other right away, but what to do about all these so-called straight people? Sarah Lawrence has always been a place of sanctuary for the progressive, the avant garde, the out and out weirdos. Lesbian culture has found its home at Sarah Lawrence, dare I say since the college was founded. So what to do about all these straight people?

I do sometimes wonder what they get up to. Where do they go, where do they hang out? What do they eat? What classes do they take? Because I'm not seeing them in my Feminist Ethics Punk class. Their presence looms so large when they walk in their huddle, but where are they walking to? There is, of course, the trope of the freshman girl from the Midwest who comes to school with a closet full of high rise denim shorts, ready to proclaim her love for men. Somehow, she spends all night talking to a girl; they fight like a married couple; eventually they are kissing behind the trees on the Bronx River Pathway.

Straight men come to Sarah Lawrence thinking they will strike it lucky— a modern day Gold Rush, if you will— only to find girls with septum rings and an affinity for lesbianism. Loneliness and self doubt must set in. Although there is only a small population of straight men, they dominate the conversation. More troublesome, they dominate the horizon line.

At a Slonim party, my line of sight is interrupted by the gaggle of straight men holding beers. A couple of them have girls hanging off their shoulders. They are most certainly requesting Playboi Carti or Drake be played on the speaker at the front. Their height, their mass and their confidence shields all the hot masc lesbians from my sight. Where are they? Not only are the straight men the majority party population, but they stick out like sore thumbs in the way they dress, their basketball boy lope, and their frat accent that can be heard from across the room. Conform to nonconformity straight men! Kiss your friend, engage in homoerotic friendship, read “The Bell Jar.”

Dare I say worse than the straight man, is the straight man who looks gay. He lures you in with his lesbian haircut. He tells you he loves The Cranberries. If you get really drunk and squint, you can almost pretend that he is a tall, beautiful lesbian. But the spell is broken when he daps up his friend. His straightness becomes more apparent in that moment than ever before.

To the straight population at Sarah Lawrence, I see you. The people from your highschool know you as the cool, the hot, the artsy. Now you have tumbled into an atmosphere of exceptionally queer people, and you want to be a part of it. I respect that. You must embrace your identity as “the trouble.” Once upon a time, the trouble at Sarah Lawrence was the overwhelming lesbian population; it is now you. Stop queer baiting me.

The Trouble at Sarah Lawrence: Where are all the straight people?