Music thumps, the air stinks of beer and sweat, bodies are packed together. Features are indistinguishable in the half-light, but this doesn’t stop girls from smearing on bronzer and clumping on mascara. Now the makeup is 76 percent melted, smearing down faces onto damp necks, into exposed cleavage. Welcome to the weekend scene.

Weekend sluts are part of life in Collegeville. Any given Friday, Saturday and even (Thirsty) Thursday night you can watch them stagger through the streets of Greektown. Bring along some lawn chairs, a cooler and a pair of binoculars and you’ve found your weekend entertainment.

But why the so-called “necessity” for plunging necklines, skin-tight skirts, belly-baring crop tops and find-me-a-pole heels? Somewhere along the line, collegiate females mistakenly concluded that skanky dressing is the key to snagging a fratster, marrying him, having babies and living happily ever after. Morals and standards fly out the window when it comes to reproductive potential.

Enter Charlotte Brontë, who knows otherwise. Her 19th-century novel “Jane Eyre” features a character, Jane, who stays true to her personal morals and manages to live happily ever after anyway.

Jane even competes with a beautiful, witty, ankle-baring (gasp!) rival to win the heart of the man on whom she sets her sights: Mr. Rochester.

This fiendish rival, Blanche Ingram, is beautiful in every way Jane is not. Blanche’s glossy raven curls waterfall lustrously over her shoulders. Her large, bright eyes linger on Rochester and her graceful neck goes on for miles…until it reaches a scandalously low neckline. Blanche is boisterous and flirtatious in company, a delight to all who surround her.

Jane, on the other hand, is plain-featured with mousy hair and no remarkable features to speak of. She dresses conservatively and is timid amid crowds.

Jane’s morals and beliefs, however, are miles above anything Blanche could hope to dream up in that empty little head of hers. Where Jane values justice, human dignity, equality and morality, Blanche values social position and money. She is, frankly, a Victorian-era gold digger.

It would be easy for Jane to fight a losing battle with Blanche — to attempt to compete in all the areas in which she stands no chance. Jane is faced with a choice. She can try, and fail, to outshine Blanche, or she can remain true to her own high-minded beliefs.

Rather than sink to Blanche’s petty level, Jane follows her own chosen path. Throughout the novel, she remains self-sacrificing, kindhearted and devoted to Mr. Rochester.

Luckily for Jane, Rochester is far from your average fratster. When Rochester sees “slutty gold-digging succubus,” he recognizes it. He also recognizes the purity and goodness evident in Jane to those who care to notice. Rochester falls in love with Jane’s worthy principles and upstanding nature as quickly as he sees through Blanche’s charade of affection.

All this happens only halfway through Brontë’s enchanting novel. Jane has a slew of uglier obstacles than Blanche Ingram to overcome, but through every trial and test she stands firm. She lives her life as she sees fit — an admiring Rochester simply finds her stoicism enchanting.

Without the plunging necklines, without the glossy curls or vibrant eyes or sloping neck or tinkling laugh, Jane gets the guy. Weekend sluts (and 19th century sluts) are out there, but if your standards remain higher than theirs, a Mr. Rochester will take notice. Trust me. Trust Charlotte Brontë.