A Taxonomy of Harvard

Do not be alarmed. What you are about to read may offend you. But that isn't altogether tragic, since what you are about to read is an irreverent but hopefully comical satire of Harvard students--the types they come in and the mannerisms that characterize them.

If you are sure that you belong to one of the groups I mock, then either you are right or you are wrong. If you are right, then accept it and laugh at yourself a little, or try to change (if I have rudely awakened you to a midcollege crisis). If you're wrong--well, hell, you won't know if you're wrong, anyway.

The act of classification, roughly speaking, involves the careful grouping of a large set of individuals into categories defined by the properties each member of that category possesses. So, if we survey the Harvard landscape, what do we find? Let's start with the phylum Euro-Trash-icus, the members of which hold the humble belief that Europe is the center of the universe, and, here on earth, the pinnacle of civilization and culture. You can recognize members of the phylum Euro-trashicus by their refusal to recognize you.

If they don't recognize you, it is invariably for one or more of the following reasons:

1)You don't live in Adams or Dunster.

2)You don't know the right people in Adams or Dunster.

3)You make too much eye contact.

4)You exhibit sensitivity, warmth or friendliness.

5)You haven't read any Foucault or you think he's worthless.

6)You weren't seen in Pamplona recently.

7)You don't smoke.

8)You don't have a Euro accent and can't effectively feign one.

9)You aren't studying literature.

10)You aren't both liberal and elitist.

Your attire can also be a cause of non-recognition, especially if it is fashioned by J. Crew. For the Euro-Trashicus, clothing is acceptable only if it conforms to one or more of the following conditions:

1)It is black and should have been discarded after the '70s.

2)It is black and actually was donated to the Salvation Army after the '70s, but has since been fashionably patched up.

3)It includes black suede platform shoes and black, nonfunctional glasses.

Now let us move to the most striking category of individual at Harvard College, the notorious Jockicus. The Jockicus tends to capture one's attention precisely because he doesn't seem to belong at Harvard--at least not in a Harvard classroom, and yet he is so often encountered there.

Surely you've noticed the Jockicus in one of your sections. He usually lacks a neck, or at least it starts and ends with a thick roll of flesh that protrudes from the back of his occipital bone. He looks as if he starts every morning by consuming at least four boxes of Wheaties before rendering an innocent-looking bathroom completely uninhabitable.

His biceps are often bigger than you head, an this seems to assist him in section, where his athletic virtue and valor translate into the opening comment. The Jockicus seems to triumph in section mostly because his formidable physique, for students of normal dimensions, constitutes enough of a justification for the statements he makes.

On a rare occasion, the 98-pound math genius will try to correct something said by the Jockicus, but will invariably lose because of his inferior lung power.

Because so many members of the phylum Final Clubicus are also members of the phylum Jockicus, the two can be difficult to discern. The important thing to remember here is that, while both try to drink beer as if it were water and both love sports as if they mattered, some members of the Final Clubicus are not actually of the phylum Jockicus.

These members of the phylum Final Clubicus descend from obscenely wealthy ancestors whose names are inscribed on all important buildings. They are the people who will bar me from getting a job at the top 100 corporations in America, for having written this piece. Their strength, like that of Jockici, originates in their tendency to move about in herds. Later in life, this habit of moving and thinking in herds translates into many powerful connections, that provide a kind of affirmative action for the over-privileged.

The other phylum of Harvard students who inevitably succeed, although through a little more seat, is the phylum Pre-med Geekicus. Members of this phylum can be identified in several ways:

1)They are always rushing to or from the Science Center.

2)They wear strictly functional glasses and clothing that makes sex unthinkable.

3)They won't be having fun until they are M.D.s, living in the suburbs with spouses and kids.

4)They can get rather violent when it comes to grades.

5)They treat their class notes like information that can be released only to the CIA, and those not applying to med school.

Then of course there is the phylum Pre-Greedicus, which is comprised of two classes: Pre-Lawicus and Pre-Biznicus. When you talk to members of this phylum, your conversation with them, not too unlike your conversations with many Harvard students, will often sound something like this:

You'll start with an innocuous question like "How's it going?" and the reply will be something like, "Fine [or 'It's Hell']. I have a [fill in the blank] tomorrow." The blank can be "a paper," "an exam," "an economics problem set," "an important phone call." If the person is a senior, it can also be "an interview" or "a thesis chapter." If they happen to ask you the question, "How's it going?" you will have to respond in the same way, since the question obviously requires an answer related to one's grades, one's resume or one's probability of attaining future success.

Conversations with the Pre-Greedicus can often seem like conversations with a persistent detective or investigative reporter: "So, how did you find out about that job?" "Can you give me the official title of that government bureaucrat I saw you schmoozing with yesterday?" "So how much will you be making next year?" "By the way, what's the name of that student you were speaking to yesterday who just got an offer from Morgan Stanley?"

Saying goodbye to members of the phylum Pre-Greedicus can be similarly rewarding. Pre-Greedicus are usually the ones to initiate the departure, and they can do so with varying degrees of abruptness and skill. Here are just a few prototypical goodbyes:

1) "I really have to get going. " The virtues of this goodbye technique is that it makes the Pre-Greedicus sound really, really busy. And impressive too. For added zest, Pre-Greedici might tack on another sentence to share with you their important reason for having to run off so quickly.

2) "Actually, I'm kind of busy right now." This usually comes right after you propose to the Pre-greedicus to do something else (which may actually entail nonproductive movement or conversation). This goodbye is especially useful to Pre-Greedicus because the "right now" qualification personalizes their departure with the slight suggestion that their busy state is only temporary.

Them, of course, there's the phylum Pre-Journalistic. You can identify members of this phylum by their proclivity to use words like "proclivity" and make obnoxious observations about the world around them, in the vain hope that someone will find them amusing.

They'll probably be unemployed next year, but they'll have a fanciful explanation for it, linked to the writing of a novel that will some day win the Pulitzer.

There are so many other interesting Harvard personages worthy of description: the math/Physics genius who lives on another planet, the Eliot House power-monger, the Milk-Toast achiever who lacks a personality but gets the grade, and the pre-thespian exhibitionist whose personality is always on display.

But alack, we're all actually kind of busy right now, and we really don't have time to read about ourselves anymore.