Harvard students, by definition, benefit from exclusivity.

No matter how egalitarian you are in principle, attending an institution with a 5.3 percent acceptance rate automatically makes you more “The Plastics” than “The Bolsheviks.”

From literary magazines to so-called humor publications; from final clubs to a cappella groups, the day-to-day life of a Harvard student consists of simultaneously ignoring, embracing, and trying to overcome exclusivity.

This raises the question: Why are so many of the coolest things at Harvard nearly impossible to get into?

In order to answer this question, we must go back to high school, because, before anybody is a Harvard student, they’re a high-school-student-who-wants-to-go-to-Harvard. And high-school-students-who-want-to-go-to-Harvard are (to borrow a phrase from Donald Trump) massive losers—losers who often sacrifice social success, sleep, kindness, or some combination of the above to try and penetrate an almost impenetrable admissions office. Even if you were cool in high school and still managed to get into Harvard, something had to give.

And to make these kinds of concessions (developing caffeine addictions, alienating friends, suppressing libidos, etc.) for a 5.3% shot requires not only optimism, but also, at least, a modicum of hubris.

This is why people believe in The Harvard Douche: an infamous creature whose poisonous combination of arrogance, ambition, and verbatim memorization of the “We Want Prenup” section of Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” makes him or her nearly intolerable to be around. The Harvard Douche is the part of us—bigger in some than in others—that tells us we can (and should) one day hold political office, run a Fortune 500 company, or marry Taylor Swift.

The image of The Harvard Douche is why we have a bad rep. Fear of being perceived as one is why we hesitate to tell strangers where we go to school. And he (or she) is why even our tutoring organizations, sketch comedy groups, and foreign language cliques are so exclusive.

We all resent The Harvard Douche and most of us try our hardest to run away from him. Only the most optimistic of us appreciate what he stands for: a relentless need to accomplish what seems impossible.

Because while there’s hardly anything more annoying than a quixotic college student trying to change the world (A Harvard Douche), I am far more annoyed by the complacent Harvard student. You know who I’m talking about: the join a single-sex club, intern at Goldman, go to business school, go back to Goldman type—the dude who chooses to work on Wall Street, even though he or she in no way needs the money. The Harvard Dick.

The Harvard Dick has betrayed the unflinching hope of every high school student who strived to attend Harvard—at least the ones who haven’t been essentially “in” their whole lives. He’s rejected blind optimism in favor of resigned pragmatism; dreams of fighting socioeconomic inequality for dreams of purchasing a house in the Hamptons; taking risks for being practical.

This is why I propose promoting—rather than eradicating—The Harvard Douche. He’s the only thing stopping us from The Harvard Dick.

Sure, The Harvard Douche might be overconfident—his egotism might even be intolerable. But I like him so much better than his dickier, self-satisfied counterpart.

The Harvard Dick runs our social scene, many of our publications, and nearly all of our extracurriculars. He dismisses Divest Harvard protestors’ goals as impractical, ignores #BlackLivesMatter protestors, and perpetuates a male-dominated social scene. He says he’d like to integrate final clubs, but claims there’s nothing he can do to overcome the power of the graduate boards—just like he doesn’t see how he can win a fight against Exxon or the criminal justice system.

The high-school-student-who-wants-to-go-to-Harvard in most of us would absolutely despise The Harvard Dick. I hope The Harvard Douche many of us became feels the same way.

Because in order for Harvard to be the leading institution it should be, it is essential that we maintain the hubris and idealism that got us here.

Now, I get that this whole argument might sound a bit reductive; clearly, not everybody at Harvard is douche or a dick. But these two categories of Harvard students are, undoubtedly, at war with one another—a war dictating whether we accept our role as one step on the prep school-to-Ivy League-to-Wall Street chain, or if, like almost all of us did in high school, we transcend the traditional path.

Rather than conform to Harvard’s institutions, join The Harvard Douche and fight them. Strive to do something you think you’ve only got a 5.3% chance of accomplishing.

On Wednesdays, wear something other than pink.

Samuel H. Koppelman ’18, a Crimson editorial executive, lives in Leverett House.