An Anthropological Study of Kellogg Singles

By: Andrew Goldstein, The Kellogg Comedy Club   

Note: All people and situations in this article are complete fabrications. None of the experiences, quotes, or dynamics are based on or inspired by anything in actual reality.

With 85% of students seemingly engaged to their high school sweetheart, for this Valentine’s Day edition of The Kelloggian I chose to investigate a rare and marginalized group at Kellogg: single people.

For the past four weeks, I have rigorously studied the lives of three hopeless romantics at Kellogg; observing their behaviors, noting their misguided attempts to build companionship, and–ultimately–trying to understand why Cupid’s arrow missed them this year. In this article, I share a glimpse into the lives of these individuals and provide an unfiltered account of their day-to-day lives.  

Elias [LAST NAME REDACTED] is what is colloquially referred to as a performative male. I hadn’t met him before this article, but after asking around, it wasn’t hard to track him down. 

I found Elias perched outside of room 1120, leaning against the wall holding a matcha latte and a copy of Wuthering Heights with double XL font for the visually impaired. He would place himself in the middle of this spot at exactly 11:58am, I could only assume to be seen by as many students as possible as they leave class.  

He placed his matcha on the ground, which I was careful not to tip over, and he removed his wired earbuds to greet me.  

Elias

I complimented his beanie and asked about his book. “This is an important work of feminist literature. Reading it helps me understand the female experience, and Emily Brontë’s critiques of patriarchal power structures are as sharp and relevant now as they were in the 19^th century.”  

As students began pouring out of their classrooms and moving towards Gies, Elias stood on the side of the hallway twirling his matcha and holding his book, glancing up periodically to check if anyone was looking his way.  

Curious, I reached out to the women of Kellogg to see if they appreciated Elias’s attempt at allyship. The response I received was far from warm. 

“I don’t know what that guy’s deal is. First of all, he looks like a dollar store Harry Styles. Second of all, he’s not even actually reading. I can see every word in his book, and he’s been on the same page of Wuthering Heights for like two weeks.”  

“The dude creeps me out. Every conversation with him follows the same script: 'bell hooks,’'softboy era,' 'ceremonial grade.' Like, dude, shut the fuck up.” 

I followed Elias throughout the rest of the day. He would conspicuously supplant himself in many places: outside of Social Impact Club, outside of Marketing Club, and—of course—outside of WBA events. Alas, no one ever approached him to ask about his book or his latte.  

My anthropological study of Elias continued as I joined him for lunch. While sitting at Gordon’s, I noticed he left the phone face up on the table with his Spotify open at full brightness. It was easy to see that his top artists were adorned with the likes of Tate McRae, Janis Joplin, and Clairo. I asked if he was deliberately trying to get people to look at his phone.  

“I want people to know that I listen to women. It’s just a Virgo thing.”  

I pressed on: “Do gestures like that actually help you when you’re on a date?” 

“It’s been a mixed bag. My go-to when I get someone back to my apartment is to play Hayley Williams’ ‘All I Wanted’ performance from Bonnaroo 2023, but her vocals are so powerful that I usually end up crying and by that point, the girl’s already left.” 

He then monologued at length about how Kellogg should start a civic mutual aid co-op to help the people of Evanston. This lasted for about nine minutes. At no point did he clarify what the co-op would actually contribute to the community.  

Despite his many attempts to capture the female gaze at Kellogg, Elias remained single for Valentine’s Day 2026. Forlorn but hopeful, Elias believes by this time next year he’ll find someone who understands him when he moves to Brooklyn after graduation.  

My time with Elias concluded, and I moved on to my next subject: Dean [LAST NAME REDACTED].    

Incidentally, I had already met Dean at a KWEST mixer in the fall quarter where he appeared lively and sociable. Little did I know of the struggles that would soon befall him. 

We met at the top of the Spanish Steps, where I complimented him on his well-worn Kappa Sigma hoodie. After exchanging a few pleasantries, we began our conversation.  

“Dude, I’ve hooked up with like, tons of girls here.” 

He continued, “But here’s the problem: every single one of them denies it, so people here think I haven’t hooked up with any.”  

This was extremely odd. First, I didn’t understand why this was a problem. Second, what Dean said defied every cultural norm of this school. 

When two (or more, I’m not judging!) people hook up at Kellogg, it usually becomes public knowledge by the end of the night. This total lack of privacy is one of the most defining, well-known traits of the Kellogg experience. Even just this past week, #HotTakes was flooded with paparazzi-style photos exposing a burgeoning romance between a Comedy Club VP and her prey.  

I pulled the thread a bit: “How is that a problem? That kind of discretion should mean you don’t have a reputation.”  

“The problem is, I do, but it’s hyper-localized. All a girl’s friends will know, they just won’t acknowledge it to me or anyone else. And I’ve been a dirty dog, so I’ve got this situation where everyone’s standoffish because I hooked up with one of their friends, but no one will bring it into the public consciousness.”  

He continued, “It’s the worst of both worlds. I’ve got all the baggage of hooking up, but none of the glory. And I’m not going to tell people myself. That would be totally uncouth.” 

Things just didn’t add up. There was no public account of it. If Dean had hooked up with as many girls as he was claiming, surely someone would have said something? But at the same time, it seems like everyone had collectively blacklisted him. What he’s describing doesn’t seem possible. I nearly concluded that Dean was a liar. 

But then I thought back to the KWEST mixer, the charisma I saw, the frat-bro past his prime build, and the fact that he stayed in the E2 hot tub until 1:30am that night. All three are leading indicators of someone who hooks up at Kellogg. There was more to this story, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.  

The next day I met up with Jane Doe, a girl Dean said he hooked up with after Around the World. I kept my intentions hidden when proposing a meetup with Jane, but I had the screenshots to prove they were texting in the fall. I approached her in Gies during lunch time.  

The conversation started off amicably: weekend ski trips, midterms, graduation, debt—fun stuff. We were vibing, but as soon as I mentioned Dean, the tone soured.  

She became closed off, “Yeah, I don’t really know him.”  

I followed up, “He said you guys hooked up back in the fall.”  

“Yeah, no. Didn’t happen.” 

“So you guys weren’t texting back in November?”  

By this point, two of her friends had moved their bodies to form a human barricade between myself and Jane, making it impossible for me to continue the conversation.  

I had the exact same experience when I spoke with two other alleged hookups, right down to the friends assuming the protective formation. Though they both vehemently denied hooking up with Dean, the friend group’s instinctive defensiveness—like lionesses forming a wall around the pride—left me suspicious. 

I spent hours reviewing my meeting notes, re-reading the screenshots Dean sent me, replaying every micro expression in the brief conversations I had with his three alleged hookups.  

The unified denial would point to it never happening, but the circumstantial evidence was too strong.  All of this evidence, none of it lining up.  

After hours of painstaking analysis, I could only come to one conclusion: Dean must be an absolutely atrocious hookup—and everybody knew it.  

I collapsed in my chair.  

“My God, this poor man.” It was over for Dean and worst of all he had nothing to show for it.  

Some may call this a rightful punishment for pervasive, deeply disappointing debauchery, but all I see is a tragedy for everyone involved.  

I was sitting in Gordon’s as I processed all this, all about ready to hit submit on this article, when I overheard something. A second year, Carley [LAST NAME REDACTED], was talking about her dating frustrations so loudly and so aggressively that I literally could not ignore her.  

Her impassioned speech was about a friend of mine, one the 65 dudes at Kellogg named Mike, and I inserted myself after she listed off all the mutual friends they shared.   

Carley, despite clearly investing several hours each week into her dating life, hasn’t been on a single date since coming to Kellogg, Mike was just her next hopeful. Her lack of dating success was made even more peculiar since Carley was so well integrated—she is a sponsored consultant, an executive member of multiple clubs, and was also part of the social aristocracy known as The Exclusives.  

Out of pure curiosity, I offered to shadow her for a few days to see if I could help pinpoint where she was stumbling. She graciously accepted and told me she would be meeting with a potential suitor at the Hub on Monday. She gave meticulous instructions, and after confirming this plan of action, we parted ways.  

The next day, I went to the hub and observed Carley talking with Mike. Their conversation seemed to go well, with obvious signs of interest from both sides. I was beginning to hold out hope that at least one person in my article wouldn’t be alone this Valentine's Day.  

A few hours had passed, and I found Carley on the second floor of the hub, thoroughly engrossed in her laptop. I peered over shoulder and saw an extensive Excel sheet filled with names and contact information as well as several pre-drafted Outlook invitations. The Outlook invitations had titles along the likes of “Tea Chat,” “💅” “Invisible Ink,” the list went on.  

I discovered that as a part of her pre-date due diligence process, Carley would go on no fewer than seven coffee chats with people either directly or indirectly tied to the man she was interested in.   

“I refuse to go on a date without knowing what I’m getting into.” 

Carley then took out a portable monitor, connected it to her laptop, and opened Mike’s LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, even his defunct SoundCloud. She opened an Excel spreadsheet and began building a full psychographic profile of her mans to be. She sat silent, only the feverish sound of clacking keys cutting through the thick, watchful quiet. It would be a few minutes until Carley beckoned for my attention. She pointed to Mike’s LinkedIn, particularly an internship he had in 2017.  

“See this. He interned at a family office his sophomore summer at Cornell. That means he comes from money. Green flag. That tracks with the Burberry scarf I saw him wearing back in January.”  

She then walked me through the results of her sleuthing. She was connecting all the dots.  

“He followed me on Instagram after Hoedown, which is crazy because Rachel told me she saw him hooking up with Erica at Esco Trek, which is nuts because Erica's JV used to work with him and they said he had an on-again-off-again girlfriend who he was going to bring to Esco, but then he told her that it wasn't that kind of event and she wouldn't have fun. But then I looked and saw on her IG story that she loves reggaeton, so she would have had fun, and he def was just trying to cheat.”  

After this, her coffee chats began, which would extend through the end of the week, capped off with a debrief session with her inner circle of confidants. Some of the more impressive people she locked down for coffee chats include: Mike’s prom date, his closest platonic female friend, his dealer from college, the admissions officer who accepted him to Kellogg, and even one of his non-immediate relatives. Carley did not reveal to me how she got these people's contact information, nor how she got any of them to agree to speak with her.  

But this was only one side of her diligence. In parallel, she activated a network of personal informants that observed Mike in public spaces and noted “sus behavior.” I don’t know what motivated these people to participate in this operation, as it’s a level of coordinated surveillance that borders gang-stalking, but somehow had got eyes on him. 

Most impressive of all is that Carley executed this reconnaissance campaign without rousing any suspicion in Mike. I confirmed as much when I met up with him at the Hub, and he seemed completely unaware of the comprehensive audit Carley was conducting. Despite feeling morally compelled to say something, as an act of journalistic integrity, I did not inform him of Carley’s research, nor of the two women who had been taking notes on him from the top of the Spanish Steps for the past 40 minutes.  

I would come to find out that Carley maintained a rolling database that profiled every single man at Kellogg, even ones that hadn’t spoken to her yet. I decided to distance myself shortly after this as I feared I was starting to become complicit in an actual crime. I also began to wonder, was our meeting in the coffee shop truly a coincidence, or was it all part of Carley's master plan? 

Three weeks later, I met up with Carley again to see if her efforts bore any fruit. Across all the coffee chats, spies, council meetings, and first party research, Carley had spent a collective 200 man-hours investigating Mike. I asked how it was going with Mike.

“Yeah, it’s still a TBD. I’ve got a few more coffee chats lined up this to figure out if he’s my guy. No one ever talks about how hard it is to date as an educated woman in the modern age.” 

Regardless of how true her sentiment rang, it would all be for naught. As it would turn out, in the span of time between Carley speaking with Mike and conducting her extensive vetting process, Mike had completely forgotten about Carley and started dating one of the thirty-seven girls named Caroline at Kellogg. Whether she would find certainty or not, her window of opportunity had closed and she, like the other subjects of this article, would remain single for Valentine's Day.  

I wish Elias, Dean, and Carley the best of luck in their future endeavors. And I hope that by sharing the most extreme of Kellogg’s chronically single, we can all learn from their counterproductive, self-defeating efforts of pursuing intimacy. Read More by the Kellogg Comedy Club: December at Kellogg: What Really Happens Inside the Global Hub Winning KWEST Decided for 2025 Season

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