It’s time to rep that Whitman pride — so throw on your blue! Or yellow? Or gold? Or maybe baby blue? Honestly, just wear whatever’s clean (seriously, some of y’all need to start using deodorant). No one actually knows our school colors, and we’re too busy defending human rights to demand clarification. I think it’s navy, but it might just be Birkenstock brown.

Our mascot? Oh, it’s The Blues. No, we don’t paint ourselves blue — that would be blueface, and we’ve at least had one mandatory training per year on why that’s bad. It’s named after the Blue Mountains, which sounds majestic until you realize we didn’t even bother to turn it into an actual mascot. No chunky costume, no halftime appearances. The only thing we rally behind is student debt and overpriced Patagonia fleeces.

Don’t forget your student ID — they will scan it at every event, not for safety, but so they can proudly report that 11 whole students showed up to the intramural frisbee championship. They say it’s to prevent overcrowding, which is adorable considering the stands are 85% parents from the opposing team, 10% bored townies and 5% actual students who thought the event would be tolerable if they pregamed hard enough. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, Whitties do love to hype up the school… quietly, and only in conversation that starts with, “It’s a small liberal arts college — you probably haven’t heard of it,” and eventually trails off into their thesis about invasive moss in the PNW. 

So we may not have a football team or overwhelming school spirit, but we are the most prestigious college in Washington state… if you ignore UW.

No one has ever heard of Walla Walla before, but hey, we’ve got a 1:1 student-to-tree ratio, rolling wheat fields, sweet onions and ducks that stay through the winter. That’s right — year-round ducks. Suck it, Wazzu.