College students often bond by sharing some of the most intimate details of their lives, whether during late night car rides or dorm gossip sessions. The Rice Purity Test helps facilitate these conversations and is a rite of passage for many young people. From tame questions at the beginning of the test, such as “Held hands romantically?”, to more “immoral” questions at the end, this 100-question survey asks you to cut to the chase and get real about your “taboo” life experiences. The higher your score, the more “pure” you supposedly are and vice versa.
The Rice Purity Test originated in 1924 at Rice University. In its early days, the test only had 10 questions and was given to incoming female-identifying freshmen at Orientation Week to test their “purity.” Since then, the test has changed significantly, in both size and quality. Today the test is popular on all sorts of college campuses, taken by people across the gender and sexuality spectrum. Social media trends only make it more popular, with some TikToks featuring friend groups throwing Rice Purity Test decade parties — where people dress up as the decade corresponding to their score.
I love the test because it’s brought me closer with my friends. I know I’ve reached the next level of companionship when somebody asks me, “What’s your Rice Purity score?” because it often leads to deeper conversations about our lives. But, I also hate the test because I don’t feel like it fully encapsulates my experiences as a Queer individual living in the 21st century. To be frank, the test — and others like it — are outdated, and desperately need to be updated if they want to wholly represent what college students go through today.
Sometimes, as a female-identifying or female-presenting student, the Rice Purity Test can feel like a “lose-lose” situation. Regardless of your score, you can still get judged either way. If you get a 90, you may feel like you’re too “prude,” whereas if you get a 20, you may feel like you’re too “slutty.”
The test also has a track record of judging women unfairly. After the first test was administered in 1924, the accompanying article said, “(Freshman women) in truth do come to college young and unsophisticated, and they become demoralized year by year.”
Queer individuals were also openly targeted on the test until 1998. The test’s introduction used to employ the phrase MOS, or “Members of the Opposite Sex,” instead of what would become MPS, or “Members of the Preferred Sex,” and put Queerness-related questions closer to the bottom (as stated earlier, the bottom of the test has the more “immoral” questions).
While the test has taken major strides in being more inclusive, there are still notable problems, such as assigning a numerical value to your answers. One number cannot possibly explain every single “taboo” life experience someone has. Someone could be more “experienced” in a certain area than another person but because their number is higher, they might feel shame for not doing enough. Focusing less on the number and more on the stories is a better way to frame your friend group’s conversations about the test. That means ditching your decade Rice Purity Test party theme, too.
Even if you’re the most privileged individual out there, there is peer pressure to get a lower score and put yourself in danger. At the beginning of the test, there’s a bolded line that says “Caution: This is not a bucket list. Completion of all items on this test will likely result in death.” Yet, if you check off less items, you may be judged by your peers. This societal double standard needs to change.
On top of the peer pressure to get a lower score, the Rice Purity Test simply doesn’t reflect how the dating scene has changed. For example, there are no questions about e-dating, long distance relationships or “ghosting.” Why is incest still on the test yet none of the experiences above?
Despite its flaws, the Rice Purity Test is already relevant enough; it doesn’t “need” revisions in order to continue circulating the internet. Plus, the Rice Purity Test is just one of many purity tests. Other college campuses starting in the 1930s and 1940s had their own versions of purity tests, such as MIT’s Unisex Purity Test from the 1980s or the Northwestern Purity Test published in 2010. The problems I am underscoring about the Rice Purity Test are not problems with that specific test, but purity tests as a whole.
What these tests should do is take a look at some of the 21st century remakes, such as the Innocence Test. The Innocence Test contains questions like “Had a dating app?” and “Received nudes?” which are more reflective of the times. The Rice Purity test should also include more Queer-centric questions, such as “Had a homoerotic relationship with your best friend?” in order to increase LGBTQ+ visibility.
My words alone will not — and should not — stop people from taking the Rice Purity Test, or any other ones like it. They’re fun. They’re exciting. But we should treat these as nothing more than a number and a fun exercise to bond with those we care about. Focusing on the stories and experiences that led us to click the checkbox instead is integral to helping us feel less alone and building trust with our friends.
Liv Frey is an Opinion Columnist writing about any and all kinds of relationships one can encounter in college. For questions, comments, concerns, inquiries or theories please reach out at livfrey@umich.edu.
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