Dear Galloway,

Nobody likes addressing it. It’s uncomfortable, awkward, and sometimes convicting. But we sisters of Chi Omega, as your sisters in Christ and Hillsdale Street neighbors, feel that it is our duty to bring the matter to your attention. We write, of course, concerning modesty.

During most of the year, especially during the cold months — nay, even during most of the week, it’s fine. We see jeans, slacks, and a few cargo shorts, as well as some T-shirts, hoodies, and occasional button-ups. The most skin any of you flashes is that occasional farmer’s tan when someone gets a bit wild and dons a tank top. We thank you for exercising this brotherly restraint, at least most of the time. 

But when Thursday night rolls around, the gates of Dante’s Inferno open up on campus. Because we live just across the road from you, we are forced to witness Feast in all its depravity, week after week. There’s the dance around the fire, which displays an unseemly amount of flesh to those of our sisters who are innocently curious enough to peep through their curtains at the display across the street. 

And then there’s the disgusting exhibition of semi-nudity as Galloway guys fan out over the yard, yelling the lyrics to whatever Billy Joel or Weather Girls song happens to be on, desperately trying throw frisbees semi-accurately, tossing wobbly football passes back and forth — and all this in a most disturbing state of déshabillé. 

And this isn’t even the worst thing of all — you fiends of Galloway then have the effrontery to parade your nakedness all around campus at a doubletime trot, blasting a boombox and seeking whom you may devour, leading your sisters into lust and sin…. 

Just last week, one of our sisters had what could have been the fright of her life when a sweaty horde of unclad Galloway gents screaming war-whoops and Katy Perry lyrics ran past her on her usual late-night walk up Hillsdale Street back to our house. If she hadn’t already been spending a significant amount of time at the Sigma Chi house, it’s possible that the amount of bareness you Galloway Feasters flashed at her might have scarred her for life. 

We ask you: is this fair to us? Is it just? Is it beautiful? We believe we speak for the women of campus when we say that the dad bods of Galloway are slightly too much for Hillsdale’s female population to handle. 

And, really — you rabble at Galloway could stand to learn a thing or two about modesty from us Chi Omegas. Do we run around campus scantily-clad on Thursday nights — or any nights at all? Do we roam campus like packs of immodestly-garbed Bacchic revelers? Do we seem to think that leggings are an acceptable substitute for pants or that cutoff shirts and low-cut V-necks are a good way to help our brothers on campus guard their eyes and hearts? Are we not known around campus as shining examples of modesty, chastity, and feminine virtue? 

The answer to these questions is so obvious that even you ought to be able to see it, our dear brothers at Galloway. To close our case frankly, we’ve seen far too much Galloway décolletage for our liking. Please, make the horrors stop. 

We’re glad we had this talk with you, difficult as it was. We’d just like to leave you with one simple reminder:

Modest is Hottest. 

Signed,
The Women of Chi Omega