They're everywhere; we must be obsessed. Images of XY chromosome carriers who radiate youth, exuberance, confidence, sexuality, athleticism and smugness are all over ads, TV, movies and politics. Suddenly, frat boys are ubiquitous.
Consider the evidence: CBS's new "Late Late Show" with Craig Kilborn mines the tension between the host's vaguely lascivious 【inclined to lustfulness; wanton; lewd】guy-jokes and his self-consciousness about his hair. Jude Law's tan, beautiful Dickie in "The Talented Mr. Ripley" frolics abroad with his girlfriend and newfound male admirer on daddy's dime. Coke's newest campaign features a spot about well-toned college boys diving off a colossal waterfall. Ben Affleck appears on this month's People, identified as "part frat boy," an image that helped him and friend Matt Damon become the certified It Pair when "Good Will Hunting" was released. In Iowa, on caucus day, George W. Bush ripped off his jacket, stuffed his tie into his shirt and -- confident of his impending victory -- joined a pick-up basketball game, high-fiving the kids when he made a basket. What do men like Bush and Kilborn have in common? The same thing that these images -- from pop culture and politics, Middle America and magazines -- have to do with one other. They're indicators of our latest national obsession: the frat boy.
You can't put people as disparate 【distinct in kind; essentially different; dissimilar】 as Bush and Kilborn in the same category without defining the criteria; yet -- although an exact definition remains elusive (actual fraternity affiliation is not a strict requirement) -- most people know a frat boy when they see one.
They're the men who can use gobs of hair-care products and fret about their clothes but still retain their masculinity and "guyness" in the eyes of their peers. They can jump into a pick-up basketball game with a group of strangers. They can gawk at and objectify women and still be considered endearing and cute. Frat boys take various forms, but what they all convey is the impression that comes from the right combination of physical traits and personality characteristics: striking good looks, inexplicable popularity, overt self-confidence, pervasive charm and just a hint of self-deprecation. An air of entitlement or wealth also helps define a frat boy, as does a certain proclivity toward aggressiveness. (That's not to say that frat boys are all rich, but they probably act like they're swimming in money. Nor are they all violent -- that's unquestionably not the case -- but unchecked machismo【a strong or exaggerated sense of manliness; an assumptive attitude that virility, courage, strength, and entitlement to dominate are attributes or concomitants of masculinity】, which they exude in great quantities, can sometimes have its downside, from frat house hazing to incidents of date rape.) Does G.W. qualify as a frat boy? Yep. Steve Forbes? No way. Matthew McConaughey? Definitely. Jerry Seinfeld? Nope. And even when it's obvious, there are degrees of difference. For example, both of the men who have hosted Comedy Central's "Daily Show" (Jon Stewart, the current host, and Kilborn, who left to take over "The Late Late Show" from Tom Synder) give off that frat-boy vibe. Kilborn, however, is decidedly more obnoxious; his demeanor is much more drunk-and-hanging-out-at-the-house. Stewart's is a more reserved eating-dinner-with-the-boss-10-years-later air. Same holds true with President Clinton and George W.; both frat boys, but different approaches. The difference is academic.
So why has this image -- modeled on guys who exalt in drunken vomiting and nameless Saturday night conquests -- so captivated us? It's anyone's guess, really. Maybe it's an effort to dust off the "clean-cut" white boy and reinstate him as the linchpin 【something that holds the various elements of a complicated structure together】of our society. Maybe it's part of a backlash against feminism and the civil and gay rights movements. Or maybe we're just becoming more comfortable with men's sexuality -- we've long fawned over images of youthful women, now it's the guy's turn. Whatever the reason, the look is everywhere.
During the latest season of "The Real World," MTV's long-running docu-experiment that features seven captive cast members "interacting" in a palatial house, Colin, 19, was, at first, rejected from the applicant pool. Later, he was invited to host the show's casting special, and his warm personality and easy banter led the producers to cast him after all. He showed up on the first episode of "The Real World: Hawaii" with a sharper haircut, better muscle definition and the attitude that the show belonged to him. Almost instantly, he became the season's heartthrob, capturing the hearts of male and female fans -- which was odd, because he was the most obnoxious of the seven cast members: arrogant, unctuous, even malicious.
But Colin was loved by all -- including the show's own sorority girl, Amaya. The two embarked on the first on-screen romance between cast members in the show's eight- year history. For a thousand idiotic reasons, their romance quickly stumbled, and we were treated to Colin's dark side. On-camera, he treated Amaya with equal parts passion and cruelty (though Amaya wasn't exactly without responsibility in the situation), yet Colin came out of the show blazing. He's undeniably the most recognizable and lusted after member of the cast. He has since appeared as a judge for a televised beauty pageant and has landed a role in NBC's forthcoming midseason comedy "M.Y.O.B."
If you missed "The Real World," you probably haven't missed Abercrombie & Fitch, so you know the frat-boy look. The clothing store -- a step up from the Gap, a step sideways from Banana Republic -- is the definitive source of the frat-boy image. That's mostly due to its highly controversial catalog/magazine, the Abercrombie & Fitch Quarterly, which contains everything from alcoholic-drink recipes to highly erotic pictures of men and women in various pairings. The catalog's male models embody the image with their perfect abs and sly smirking grins. The look in their eyes says without question that they know you're looking at the photo with lust or envy but probably both. And the clothing store knows you'll cover yourself in A&F gear just to try to look like the Adonises gazing out from the photos.
While clothes definitely contribute to the image -- just look around at all the young men wearing button-up, long-sleeved shirts tucked into khakis and topped with white baseball caps -- it's not just clothing or perfectly proportioned muscles and a strong jaw line that construct the image. It's not even always about youth. You can almost always see the glints of a former frat boy life in older men; although the image fades into baldness and extra padding, the golden boy at the center of it all is still there.
At 54, Bush may be the nation's oldest, most photographed frat boy, proving that there are no age limits to the phenomenon. While A&F would instantly go out of business if it plastered its catalog's pages with boxer-clad Bush and his friends hanging on each other, he still has the athleticism -- real or perceived -- the smarmy, cocky attitude, the smirk. He pouts when things go wrong. His parents apparently clean up his messes. During debates, when other candidates ask Bush questions, he answers them as if his time would be better spent picking lint off his suit. In short, G.W. doesn't just expect to get the nomination and be elected president -- he knows he'll get it in the way a beloved, doted-upon 6-year-old knows that Santa won't stuff his stocking full of coal, no matter what he's done.
It doesn't really matter whether a frat boy has ever pledged a fraternity or even considered it. In fact, only a true fraternity boy could pull off the look without ever having set foot in a fraternity house. To be a frat boy one may just need to conform to a certain lifestyle, image and behavior. And "conformity" is the key word. From kindergarten on, we feel better, more comfortable, when we're among others who look, act and think like us. And when that mold is a powerful, sexual one like the frat boy, it's not hard to see why people flock to A&F and swoon 【to faint; lose consciousness】over Colin.
In 1995, Mark Adams wrote in GQ that being a frat boy involves more than the look, but learning a fundamental "tolerance and commitment" toward other people and applying that. "That's why fraternity men make such good brokers and congressmen," he wrote, "they already know that in the real world one has to cut deals with cretins【a stupid, obtuse, or mentally defective person】 and idiots, and that you can't run away from everyone whose interests and foibles don't jibe with your own," he wrote.
In other words, they possess the great gift of balancing conformist, self-centered and often thuggish behavior with their warm personalities, arresting good looks and endearing 【tending to make dear or beloved】masculinity -- coming across as honorable, American and even downright charming. And that may just explain their broad appeal, because who doesn't secretly wish they could do the same?
