For decades, secret societies have been a staple of life at U.Va. Originally thought to have been created as social clubs for elite gentlemen who didn’t want to associate with riff-raff, they now function as social clubs for elite students who don’t want to associate with the lesser students of the University — but retain the veneer of philanthropy created by wealthy alumni who donate massive amounts of money to the school.
But what if everything we knew about secret societies was a lie? What if their current insufferable and arrogant attitudes grew organically from humble beginnings? And what if they indirectly inspired some of the worst artists of our age?
My intrepid reporting began back in August, when I uncovered a Cavalier Daily article from 1969. Fueled by quarantine boredom, I had been scouring the archives for some time, but this particular article caught my attention. It was titled “Original Founding Member of Seven Society Dies Peacefully in Sleep,” and was accompanied by the absolute worst drawing of the Seven Society logo I had ever seen. Like, truly the most disgusting image I’ve ever had the misfortune of happening upon. It seemed to have no consistent style, drawing from art nouveau and cubism in the same breath, with a dash of pop art thrown in for good measure.
Of course, it made perfect sense that some bored rich student would come up with this design, solicit no criticism from anyone with actual knowledge of the area and continue to use it for their very special secret boy society. But the fact is that the Seven Society didn’t continue to use it, and that is what perplexed me. What changed? As it stands now, it seems unlikely that anyone prestigious enough to get into a secret society would have enough time between meddling with Student Council elections to even get a logo change. I briefly entertained the thought that perhaps they had paid for a redesign, but quickly dismissed the idea — daddy’s money is for anonymously donating to U.Va., not for paying artists.
The name listed for the founder was Robin Banks, so I plugged that into Google, not expecting to find much. Instead, what I found shocked me. Pages and pages of pictures of ancient graffiti, all signed RB, and all residing on Beta Bridge. This couldn’t be a coincidence. The graffiti matched the style of the original drawing exactly, with no sense of vision, and a color scheme that implied whoever made them couldn’t tell red from green. They had to be made by the same person.
But this still didn’t answer the question of why the logo changed — or how? In desperation, I clicked to the second page of Google results, only to be greeted with an interview conducted with the most overhyped graffiti artist of all time — Banksy. My curiosity was piqued. Why would Banksy know Robin? I clicked in, unaware that I was about to be greeted with the shock of a lifetime. As it turns out, not only did Banksy know Robin, he had actually taken his name to use for his signature. After being mentored by Robin as a child, Banksy had gone on to create his own mediocre artwork, using the creative vision of a passionate but talentless man as his guide.
“He loved it, he loved doing it. But boy was he terrible at it,” Banksy said. “He used to tell me he was so ashamed when people would laugh at his stuff. I used to tell him he should tone it down, keep it simple, do it with friends. I don’t know if he ever listened, we lost contact after the grain mill incident of ‘43. But what a man.”
It was at this point, reader, that the pieces all fell into place. Robin Banks hadn’t designed a logo for a group of rich kids that had wanted to feel special — he was sketching out his next work. And it wasn’t time constraints or critique that caused the design change, but friendly advice from a mentee, and a desire to be taken seriously. Secret societies were never meant to be exclusive clubs founded on classist principles and a desire to be seen as elite, but as a place where people could engage in their hobbies freely with friends who would encourage them. The alcohol consumption has probably been a constant even since the early days, though.
And so, at the end of this long and winding road, I would like to encourage the secret societies of U.Va to return to their roots. Stop donating money to a school that charges students upwards of $32,000 a year. Stop trying to pretend that being involved in the sham that is student self-governance makes you worthy of special recognition. And stop putting offerings next to TJ’s statue like it’s some kind of shrine because seriously, it’s pretty weird. Instead, make terrible art! Hang out with your friends! And accept that just as students mocked Robin Banks in his time, we current students will continue to mock you relentlessly as well.
Dorothea LeBeau is a Humor columnist for The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at humor@cavalierdaily.com.
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