So You’re Going To An HBCU Homecoming: A Beginner’s Guide
Congratulations. You’ve finally been invited to an HBCU Homecoming.
Maybe it was your cousin. Maybe it was your homeboy from back in the day. Maybe it was your new “special friend” who decided soft launches are for chumps. Or maybe you just finally got curious about what all those obnoxious Instagram posts populated by the happiest Black people you’ve ever seen were about.
However it happened, you’re in now. You’re about to experience the Voltron of negritude that is the cookout, the block party, the family reunion, and the fashion week of Black America in one singular occasion.
But before you pull up at the first happy hour thinking some A Different World reruns and Drumline got you set for the culture, let’s get you seriously situated. I know you’re a veteran in these streets, but this is a whole new game. Homecoming isn’t a spectator sport; it’s participatory anthropology. It’s culture in progress.
It’s 72 hours, eight different venues, five outfit changes, and two bottles of the yes-yes-y’all.
It’s elaborate daps, hugs with hums, and aggressive slaps on the back.
It’s an event that, while observed across the HBCU spectrum, has its own unique and beautiful expressions from yard to yard.
You goin’ to homecoming, baby! And this is your beginner’s guide to one of the most amazing experiences you’ll ever have. Get your red cup and sunglasses, and let’s ride.
The Rules:
1. Dress appropriately (and know what “appropriate” means here).
Listen, dressing for an HBCU Homecoming is a column I could write unto itself. You’ll see people who’ve been planning their Saturday tailgate outfit since reunion and have put more thought into that day’s gear than they might’ve put into actual college.
But, for you, there’s a few watchouts.
If you’re not an alum, please don’t wear school gear. Not because people will press you, it’s not that deep, fam. But because our memories ain’t what they used to be, you might mistakenly find yourself trapped in a 20-minute conversation about which dorm you lived in in ’98 because of the wrong shirt. Stick to fly and functional: breathable fabrics, comfortable shoes, and a layer you can tie around your waist when the sun goes down and the party moves to somebody’s backyard.
But, most importantly, wear something you don’t mind having smell like a combination of outside, cookout, cocoa butter, and gym glass afterward.
2. Make friends your own age.
This one’s critical. If you came with your niece, who’s a sophomore, or your uncle who claims he was at the pool party in School Daze, they already got their people. You need to find your people. Because, while homecoming is a singular destination, it is comprised of events segregated by all manner of aspects, but most acutely by graduation class. So, if you want to know where they’re playing your music or the crowd likes to kick it the way you do, age is the easiest way to do it for the weekend.
If you’re too old to be eating Waffle House at 3 a.m. but too young to be there in daylight, you’re middle-aged prime time. Find the tent with plenty of places to sit, a responsible assortment of brown liquors and white wines, and the playlist that transitions from Frankie Beverly to Future unironically. That’s your tribe.
3. Pace yourself.
You’re not at your usual Sunday Funday brunch, big dawg. You’re at a weekend-long cultural marathon where drinking blanco instead of reposado is considered acceptable hydration.
Friday is the warm-up. You kick it, but you know you gotta be on campus by 10 a.m. the next day to help cook ribs.
Saturday is the medal round. This is what you came here for. You can’t tap out early because you decided to drink out of the Ques’ barrel on an empty stomach.
Sunday is the reckoning. Yeah, you could sit there at brunch and ride out that hangover like a responsible adult. Or, you could turn up one last time because you’re not flying that plane.
Homecoming is about endurance: physical, social, and emotional. There’s a lot of hugging, holleration, and retelling the same story six different ways. Move intentionally.
4. Don’t explain your PWI status.
We know. We get it. You went to Northwestern, or Michigan, or UCLA… or the BSU on your campus was “Almost like its own HBCU.” It’s fine. Nobody cares.
You’re here now. Just enjoy it. Nobody’s checking transcripts. The only thing that’ll get you side-eyed is if you keep asking what kind of meat is on the grill. It’s homecoming; everything got pork in it.
5. Respect the history (and the inside jokes).
You’re stepping into decades of friendship, fellowship, and group projects gone wrong. These folks have Inception-level inside jokes within inside jokes with a sidebar for the real insiders. You’re not supposed to get all of it.
Don’t try to decode the relationships (yeah, they prolly did it). Just observe the ritual.
Homecoming is a 72-hour catch-up for 20-year stories. The same crew that couldn’t pass “Intro to Accounting” now runs the municipal government of a significantly sized southern city. The same people who you recited the words to Akinyele with are now planning the Jack & Jill beautillion. It’s messy, beautiful, and deeply human. These people literally became adults together, allow them to shed that burden for a moment in each other’s company.
6. Leave the undergrads alone.
Their homecoming and ours are not the same. They’re out here making TikToks; we’re making sure we got our Flonase. Let them live their youth. You had your time, back when there was one kind of PlayStation and $10 could get you through a weekend.
The beauty of Homecoming is realizing you can still have fun without pretending to be 21 again. And revel in it. Besides, those young’ns have no idea how much better it is to kick it at this age because you know exactly what it’s worth.
7. Don’t worry about the game.
Look, the football game is technically the reason for the season. But for most of us, it’s background noise. The real action is outside the stadium, where smoke from a thousand grills turns the parking lot into a battlefield of barbecue.
The dirty little secret here is that a lot of HBCU football just isn’t that good, and the bands are really the entertainment for the day. So, you can watch the game if you absolutely want to. But nobody’s gonna say you have some ancestral obligation to watch a whole lotta missed field goals.
The winners and losers aren’t on the scoreboard anyway. They’re in the parking lot, battling over which class is still the livest and enthusiastically reciting along with the words to “Knuck If You Buck.”
8. Understand the ritual of the “see and se seen” lap.
At some point, someone will suggest, “Let’s take a lap.” This is not exercise. This is the sacred HBCU Homecoming rite of seeing and being seen.
It’s an unspoken personal display of popularity where you nod at familiar faces, dap up old classmates, and pretend you remember names. The key is to confidently stay in motion. You gotta share your drip with the masses. You may not know everyone, but everyone’s fitna know you. So straighten up, smile like your student loan balance isn’t haunting you, and make that lap count.
And yes, you’re going to see your ex. Or your ex’s ex. Or your ex talking to your other ex. Do not engage. That’s a quicksand conversation. Once you get into it, you’re trapped. Confidently stay in motion, my friend.
9. Embrace the chaos (because there is no schedule).
If you’re looking for structure, you’re in the wrong place. Homecoming runs on what scholars call “HBCU Standard Time.” Happy Hour is when we get there. Unless it involves buying a ticket, people show up when they show up. Or, they don’t, and you get a call the next day that starts with, “Dawg…”
You’ll have grand plans; the party, the game, the afterparty, the day party after the afterparty, and somehow end up at someone’s cousin’s Airbnb at 3 a.m. watching Tiny Desk concerts and eating Publix chicken. That’s fine. Go with it. The best moments are never on the itinerary.
10. Understand why it matters.
Underneath the laughter, the fashion, and the fried food, homecoming is sacred. It’s the proof that we are living our ancestors’ dream — Black excellence not as aspiration, but as tradition.
Every band formation, every chant, every stroll, every old-school DJ set is a thread connecting generations who built something from nothing. For those who went to HBCUs, Homecoming is a homecoming in the truest sense – a return to self. For those who didn’t, it’s a glimpse into what community feels like when it’s not fighting to justify its own existence. It’s beyond a safe space; it’s an alternate dimension where we don’t have to explain ourselves, restrain ourselves, or be exceptional. It’s a place where we can just be normal and appreciate us being us as we are.
You’ll see doctors, cops, teachers, and CEOs all united in this one-of-a-kind fellowship, not because of who they became, but because of where they came from… and what you know they had to go through.
So when you hear the crowd roar during halftime or catch someone tearing up during the alma mater, know that it’s deeper than nostalgia. It’s gratitude. It’s joy. It’s a celebration of survival. A moment to appreciate what it means to be seen. To be proud, To be back home.
What Homecoming takes from the body it gives back threefold in spirit.
You’ll leave exhausted, full, and maybe still feelin’ it from last night, with your voice gone and your phone full of blurry photos. You’ll promise to dial it back next year (you won’t), and you’ll spend the next week scrolling through everyone else’s pictures, realizing you did it right because you’re in the background of half of them.
That’s the beauty of it. Homecoming is never just about the school as a destination; it’s about the people who make the institution. It’s about the feeling of being exactly where you belong, even if you just got there for the first time.
So, welcome.
Stay hydrated.
Don’t worry about going to the game.
And remember, there’s probably pork in everything.
Corey Richardson is originally from Newport News, Va., and currently lives in Chicago, Ill. Ad guy by trade, Dad guy in life, and grilled meat enthusiast, Corey spends his time crafting words, cheering on beleaguered Washington DC sports franchises, and yelling obscenities at himself on golf courses. As the founder of The Instigation Department, you can follow him on Substack to keep up with his work.
SEE ALSO:
The Dozens: The Old School Game With Modern Implications
Confessions Of A Recovering A–hole: Dame Dash Clearly Isn’t In Therapy
No Ordinary Love: What You Should Know About Being An Autism Dad
Black Men: We All Need To Get On Da Gild
Chicago: A Black Man’s Guide to America’s Greatest City
The Quiet Pivot: Black Men, Money, And The Search For ‘Enough’
