Frat Boy Depression

I was leaving the Michigan Union and saw some posters featuring manly men with stearn expressions on their faces above the strong letters spelling out: "Real Men. Real Depression." And while this is an inutterably cheesey sentiment right up their with Racquel Welch, top cut low, singing that song that spells out W-O-M-A-N on The Muppet Show (which was a formidable experience in my young life, I assure you), it is also probably a good sentiment. One imagines that in the world of doings, transpirations, and goings-on--as opposed to that world defined largely by well meaning indie films and Jets to Brazil--most of those young men suffering from some sort of clinical depression are fans of SportsCenter, Budweiser, whatever's on the radio, and the word "fag" to describe people that aren't into those things. I mean, the shear numbers bear me out on this.

The argument against is that dudes with depression gravitate at an early age to that aforementioned indie-world (or alterna-world, or whatever decade's slang you want to use). But I don't think that's true. Most of the people in that world I know might have a chip on their shoulder, or might be snobs, but they tend to have found a certain contentment and pride of place. Compare that to the behavior of your average big-school frat boy. Some guy or gal in a black hoody who likes the Cure proabably just likes the Cure and will be up for doing some cool stuff later on with whoever. But the guy at the frat house who only does shit with the frat boys and sorority girls has isolated himself in a controlled environment, he has invested himself in an identity that can be butressed by his live-in friends.

He doesn't talk about it, but the drunken, loutish behavior is an effort to subsume his own personality into the group in the way that one finds in very few other institutions of young American adults. And that sublimation, that abandon, that kind of abusive group drinking is probably mostly just what fraternity members like to do; and of course not all fraternity guys are really into the stereotypical activity. But imagine how much miserable self-loathing that sort of behavior may be covering up. I mean, really, have you ever seen anything so sad as a bunch of guys at Big State U. loudly proclaiming their undying love for good brews, good times, and good buds with that dead look in their eyes? Have you?

Seriously, though, I'm willing to bet that this is where a fair number or bar fights, bad relationships, et cetera begin. Depressed guys who are ashamed, or otherwise unwilling to take a look in the mirror and instead act out or take it out on other people. And I imagine that it's a lot harder to recognize you might be in the wrong when you come from a mental place where women are "crazy bitches" and men who do self-reflect are homos. So while I don't think that "Real Men, Real Depression" is a meaningful thing to say, the sort of people who self-identify as "real" men could probably use the help. Go get you some Celexa, Real Men.