The publication of this article takes place at the height of drinking at Bowdoin, the Friday of Ivies. For a column that is rarely topical, I’m excited to be writing for an audience that might see my biweekly contributions as, for once, relevant.
Surely you have heard the adage “you are what you eat.” It is an adage because it is true. Today, Bowdoin students will define themselves on the basis of what they’ve decided to imbibe during this year’s festival of Lites. Since we all enjoy the anthropological game that is observing each other during Ivies, let this article serve as a handy resource.
What does your Ivies beer say about you?
Bud Light/Natural Light: You are boring. Your life is boring. You have made a predictable choice; as mainstream a beer as possible in the universe of cheap, watery lagers. You have made no effort to assert any sort of preference or style in your selection. You intend to play a lot of drinking games. Enjoy your naked lap.
Miller Lite: Miller Lite’s nostalgic marketing—which revives its simplistic white cans with serif, navy text from the 1960’s—suggests that you want to resist your normcore identity. You are not aware of this enough to have purchased PBR, but you still felt some latent hesitation as you contemplated predictable Bud. This hesitation stems from the same place as the satisfaction that you had when you attached a carabineer to your Nalgene despite that fact that you have never been camping and probably never will.
Miller High Life: The champagne of industrial lager beer. It denotes some semblance of taste and consideration despite the drinkable equivalent to half-assing an essay in Times New Roman. (Some people use Cambria and those people are horrible.)
Rolling Rock: Cool bottles.
Bud Light Lime: You abhor the taste of alcohol and enjoy the taste of limeade because you are a child. It is unclear why you are at Ivies, or at Bowdoin at all. Objectively speaking, there is no possible way that you are over the age of twelve. Go find an adult to take you home.
Pabst Blue Ribbon (PBR): You live in Reed House and/or are part of the Outing Club. You own a polaroid camera. You are so excited for the new Mumford album. (Real fans call them Mumford).
Molson: Why? So random. You are the person in your grade that everyone will be shocked to learn exists when your name is called at graduation.
Blue Moon/Shock Top: You’ve scorned the plebeian swillers of macrobrews from atop your high horse since you discovered a six pack of Shock Top in your parents garage refrigerator. You think this is craft which means you do not read my column which means you are horrible.
Craft beer: You spend way too much money on Ivies and steal all your opinions from the New Yorker.
Forties: You appreciate the economy of this foul-tasting barf water, which means you have no respect for your body but respect for the cause. That you opted for it over the economy of a fruity mixed drink says volumes about your character.
Non-domestic cheap lagers: You’re not fooling anyone that you have good taste in beer because they come in glass bottles. The one exception is Stella, in which case you are classy and I’m intimidated by you.
Human urine: See Bud/Natty.
Any beer in a beer helmet: Was it easy finding new housing after they shut down Crack?
Any beer in a camelback: Mike Woodruff is going to be very angry with you on Monday.