Lucy’s suite was in an entryway near the dining hall, and as we walked downstairs toward the Gold Room—the vestibule before the main eating area that was literally painted gold—I came upon a few guys wearing dresses. In makeup and wigs, the thick hair on their faces and arms looked out of place, their movements clumsy as they loomed above me despite my heels, which clattered on the emerald tile floor.

“Whoa, you look like a real woman,” Kit Clark observed as he greeted me in the Gold Room. “It’s almost too convincing.”

Kit came dressed in a turquoise medieval gown that swooped to the floor, his curly hair in a low ponytail. He would have made a plausible woman too if not for his stubble, and a chin that was even broader than mine.

“What do you mean, too convincing?” I asked.

“Drag is supposed to be ironic,” he replied. “You just look like a girl.”

I understood what he meant when Zach and his friends did their “It’s Raining Men” number that night and wore ridiculous blond wigs as they sashayed and stomped on a makeshift stage in the middle of the dining hall, fingers splayed and wrists bent. Other men performed classics like “I Will Survive” and more recent Top 40 hits like “Express Yourself” with that same ludicrous air that felt designed to make fun of women.

Still in my outfit, I went clubbing with some gay friends after dinner, who let me hang around because we were all queer and at Harvard, even though none of them gave me the time of day romantically.

There was a Central Square club named ManRay whose Liquid night on Saturdays catered to a mixed crowd, and, befitting the name, people were encouraged to gender-bend. I’d gone there a few times in shiny tops or spandex bell-bottoms, but this was the first time I’d bent my gender all the way.

It was amusing to see curious looks from men who gave off straight vibes as I danced to bands like New Order and Pet Shop Boys throughout the night. Though my feet started to hurt after a while, I enjoyed the way my heels made my butt wiggle as I walked out of the club. I didn’t have the money to take a cab, so I left shortly after midnight to catch the T before it closed and ambled down the brick pavement of Mount Auburn Street toward Adams, after I got out at Harvard Square.