He walks slowly but purposefully over to the smooth, grey stone ledge outside of Robsham with a girl; their relationship is ambiguous but their intent on lunching outside is obvious. He spies the perfect spot behind the iconic red, exotically abstract statue and sits himself cross-legged upon the ledge facing her, and they immediately become lost in conversation. The sun is high in the sky, and the grass is full of BC students worshipping the much anticipated arrival of spring weather. However, his neon orange t-shirt and jet-black hair make it impossible for one to miss his otherwise unostentatious presence among the mass of sunbathers and outdoor study sessions. He wears wire-rimmed glasses through which he peers intensely into his female friend’s eyes as she speaks to him about any number of casual topics. He likes her, and although the nature of their conversation appears casual, the attentive lean of his body towards her and his unwavering gaze indicate a fascination, a fixation that is palpable and electric.

In a small Gasson lecture hall of about 100 seats, the third row of the middle section is occupied by 6 female students. They appear to listen intently to the professor as he spouts wisdom on the enthralling subject of Masculinity. A quiet, delicate blonde sits in the leftmost seat of this row subtly chewing gum and running her well-manicured fingernails through her golden hair. She holds her neatly organized notebook and her black ballpoint pen at the ready, waiting with bated breath for the professor to mention something of obvious importance. She wears a flowery beige and black romper, dark mascara, and an understated shade of red lipstick which keep her appearance pretty and put together but altogether overlookable. Her entire persona emits a golden glow as her bag, lacey shoes, and accessories all fall within the spectrum of gold and beige. This generally monochromatic color scheme might offer a peek into her personality which would appear from the outside to be quiet, calm, and reserved.

Brett Ingram, a beloved Communications professor at Boston College, paces back and forth in front of two narrow tables that house his small teaching podium and his diligent but apparently aloof TA. He is incredibly well-dressed, his denim button down revealing just enough chest to appear suave and tucked neatly into his olive colored, cuffed slacks. His fashion-forward presence is topped off with a perfectly jelled quaff of salt-and-pepper hair and shiny, wrinkle-free skin. The only thing missing is one of his signature cardigans. His voice fills the small lecture hall with inquisitive jargon and the occasional witty comment as he waxes on about the critique of hegemonic masculinity made within the movie Fight Club. His piercing blue eyes flit about the room searching for students eager to counter his astute observations about gender in society, but the same four or so people raise their hands. Within the classroom, he creates a really wonderful atmosphere of openness and security for students to freely share their thoughts and observations; but, the second the class is over, he appears to close off and harden to the outside world.


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