Seven more clubs emerged during the following decades, and in 2014 as a freshman I went to my first final club party. Alumni in club medallions smoked cigars beneath the taxidermied visages that decked the hall.
Aged pictures of their younger selves were pegged to the slanted ceilings—club men dating back to the genesis of photography.
Most of the final clubs still exude the stench of an older order, in which to be other than a rich white man is to be lesser.
A 2016 survey by the College catalyzed the most recent efforts by the administration to integrate the clubs, showing that 47 percent of female guests at final clubs experienced unwanted sexual contact.
“Sexual relations between students and faculty members with whom they also have an academic or evaluative relationship are fraught with the potential for exploitation,” the AAUP said in a statement.
“In their relationships with students, members of the faculty are expected to be aware of their professional responsibilities and to avoid apparent or actual conflict of interest, favoritism, or bias.
In unanimous dissent, the clubs disaffiliated from the College.
However, as a former president of the Spee Club put it last Spring in a letter to the Crimson "the alleged separation of the clubs from Harvard was a self-serving and obvious fiction, and their campus presence is in-your-face and significant for all students." The Spee went smoothly coed last fall, presciently avoiding the sanctions and joining the ranks of Yale's secret societies and Princeton's eating clubs, which welcomed women decades ago sans cataclysm. After the undergraduates invited a half-dozen women to join, the alumni board shuttered the club in a fit of sexist rage.