Outfitted in a sleek pair of Seven jeans, a slippery silk camisole, sparkling chandelier earrings, and, of course, painfully beautiful stilettos, I sauntered out of Currier on the night of my birthday. Joining my girlfriends, fittingly attired in sleek jeans, slippery camis, and blisteringly wonderful heels, we boarded the shuttle.

Many shots of who-knows-what deeper, we had exhausted the round of HUPD-busted dorm parties. An executive decision was made by someone’s quasi-operational mind that our brigade would begin rounding the final clubs in search of some still fervent Saturday night entertainment. It wasn’t long before we were giggling our way into a not-to-be-named final club.

As birthday girl, I was afforded the inevitable honor of, well, getting hammered. The lights were low, and the stereo was playing some ridiculous eighties hit when I felt an arm slink around my waist, “So, sweetheart, how old are you turning? Seventeen?”

Hold up. Seventeen? I’m twenty. I’m a sophomore. What are you? A junior? You’re probably twenty also.

I felt like clicking my toothpick thin heels together and wishing my way back to Currier.

Sure, it’s my birthday and I can cry if I want to. Or can I? Aren’t the words “It’s my party and I can cry if I want to”? Well, it sure as hell isn’t my party. How could it be? I’m a female at Harvard.

With eight final clubs boasting multi-million dollar mansions in the heart of Harvard Square, men have their hands all over the desirable social venues of the College. Sure, “desirable” is a dangerously opinionated word. But with house masters, tutors and HUPD keeping their eyes on dorm revelries (which have a mandated end at 2 am), and club parties a rare treat, it is difficult to argue that final clubs don’t dominate what is “desirable.” It doesn’t take a Harvard student to recognize that free flowing alcohol, no supervision and elegant mansions create an attractive venue in which to spend a night out.

This situation, ostensibly, gives men the social power at Harvard. Other females I asked noted that women’s groups cannot reserve Harvard space for their events and have no private alternative like final clubs, leaving men to decide when parties occur, who can attend and what type of social events go on. Thea A. Daniels ’05 commented, “If females had home bases for their social clubs, I imagine their ‘social power’ would increase dramatically.” Megan G. Cameron ’05 noted, “It is true that male final clubs can use their access to amazing facilities to gain “power” and host parties.” We collectively seem to believe that the male real estate advantage gives them more social power.

It is at this point that I take the opportunity to be a bona-fide “flip-flopper.”

True, men have the parties, the alumni (read: money) and the houses. However, stating that men have a pure monopoly on social power ignores that is so obvious to so many.

First, the vast majority of men at Harvard don’t have the ability to partake in the final club scene. First-year men are almost wholly excluded from this form of “going-out.” Unless they belong to sports teams, which gives them special “ins,” they are left to enjoy enthralling Undergraduate Council gatherings at Loker or risk proctor-intervention during short-lived Yard parties. Lucky sophomore men are given the opportunity to punch, but the reality is that each of the eight clubs (which have memberships ranging from thirty to forty-five men) can only take ten to fifteen newcomers. This computation means around nine percent of undergraduate men belong to final clubs. So what are the other ninety percent doing? Sure, some men have friends in these exclusive organizations, but they are still far less agile in the final club hopping scene than those of us sans Y chromosomes.

Also, we don’t pay. Final clubs have astronomical annual fees ranging into the thousands. All a girl has to do is put on a cute tank top and knock on the door. I know many Radcliffe alums are rolling their eyes (or rolling in their graves) as I breach the “sex is power” argument. But, let’s face it. Sex is power. One of the final club men I spoke with put a nice spin on the female advantage: “Women generally have a pretty free usage of the properties because the final clubs want as many women as possible at their parties. So, in a sense, the average woman is better off than the average male who isn’t even allowed in.” We shouldn’t forget that we choose where we go, we drink free alcohol and we enjoy parties with little more effort than going out. If only our male counterparts could be so lucky.

Before I get skewered by for my lack of indignant militancy, I would like to assert that I recognize that some women don’t want to get dolled up or feel that they are somehow selling themselves short if they don’t submit to the prevailing night scene. I’m not anti-feminist. I want to slice the issue such that women recognize their unique force on campus. The simple truth is that we don’t need to become men to gain clout. After all, I think I have social power therefore I have social power.

So maybe in the end it is my party. After all, I decided to show up.

Lauren R. Foote ’07, a Crimson editorial comper, is a Latin American Studies concentrator living in Currier House.