This week on the venerable HuffPost Live, user “gaydood” asked a hard-hitting question: “is sex better at better universities?” Rather than making the correct response of “yes of course! So much good sex all the time always forever!” participants Donny J. of Cornell and Margot Harris of Brown succeeded in perpetuating the Ivy League image of nerds clumsily bumping uglies. They grew immediately uncomfortable and tried passing the question off to each other, with Harris finally claiming she didn’t have enough experience with other schools to have a particular theory. Thanks a ton, guys.
This week, New York Magazine strengthens its iron grip on the sexual narratives of upwardly mobile Ivy League females in New York. That’s right, the people who brought you “The Overserved Ivy Banker Chick” would now like you to meet “The Single College Girl Obsessed With a Yale Law Student“:
7:30 p.m.: Best friend gets a call from an acquaintance inviting us to a party at her older brother’s apartment. He goes to Yale Law School — we’ll be there.
11:05 p.m.: Party is okay. Talk to some fellow Ivy Leaguers who spurt intellectual justifications as to why they’re using their education to make exorbitant amounts of money for themselves rather than bettering society.
11:37 p.m.: Introduced to acquaintance’s older brother. He mentions something about opera, and I feign interest because he’s pretty cute. He then proceeds to quiz me about some esoteric English composer in order to make me sound and feel like a total idiot. Determine that he probably wants in my pants.
12:42 a.m.: Suspicion confirmed when he challenges me to a game of darts. Just as I’m about to shoot my first dart, I feel his arms wrap around my waist and he whispers in my ear, “How’s your concentration now?” I’m immediately aroused.
Yale Law sounds like a total douche. College Girl, save yourself for someone better! Like your hospital co-worker who sexually harasses you in all the right ways: Read the rest of this entry »
A sexually adventurous week for Ivy Leaguers! First we saw some Harvard guy’s dong, and now, in New York Magazine‘s weekly “Sex Diaries,” “The Overserved Ivy Banker Chick,” a financially savvy dame with a thing for Jews, uppers, and foot massages. Though not as mindblowing as Lena Chen’s “The Ivy League Co-Ed Who Orgasms In Her Sleep,” Overserved details myriad scintillating sex acts with a bunch of Ivy League douches:
11 p.m.: Wasted and drooling all over this guy I know from college. He was president of College Republicans or something. God, I love southern accents and seersucker. My roommate gives me this “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.
11:17 p.m.: Bump into a guy I used to hook up with a while ago. He is the son of a very famous senator. I once gave him a blow job in college, and he was so ticklish he giggled through the whole thing.
Oooh, a puzzle! Seersucker has “Princeton” written all over it, so my bet is Harrison Frist, Princeton ’06, who used to work at Goldman.
Naturally, some people are voicing doubt that Overserved exists at all. Nitpicky hair-splitting after the jump.
“Congratulations, you have a sex column! Here’s a number where you can commission a photographer and web designer, and here’s a thesaurus for the male genitalia. You can start making eye contact with your father again in four to six years!”
When you sign up to be a sex columnist, is there one centralized madam who hands out a one-size-fits-all publicity kit? We just came across the web site of one Jessica Gold Haralson, Penn’s resident “sex-positive feminist” and “intellectual pervert” (okay, we kinda like that), and it’s a clone of almost every other Carrie Bradshaw wannabe’s. Below, compare pale Haralson to embattled Datskovsky and their esteemed colleague, the Washingtonienne:
Yes, that actually does read “Ivy League-r. Out of yours.”
What do you think, should we redesign our site too?