'Alumni princetonis'

Let's be honest; the alumni are weird. This was made abundantly clear last weekend when Princeton welcomed the old-timers back for Alumni/Parent Weekend, a nostalgia-soaked Saturday of lectures, awards and dinners. They came dressed in the typical regalia, which ranged from tasteful lapel pins to gaudy jackets, turning McCosh 50 into a veritable sea of orange and black. While much tamer than Reunions, Alumni/Parent Weekend provides a good opportunity to observe these past Princetonians in a more natural, representative setting (in a P-rade, it's hard to know what somebody is really like).

I was curious about how the alumni "really" are, because it seems that a number of stereotypes and rumors concerning our forbearers abound on campus. We imagine them mostly as rich, old, white men who like wine, golf and investing. After a hard day of running the world they return home to their matronly wives and plan how many buildings they wish to donate to the alma mater. Many keep a few tigers on their estates to remind them of the "good ol' days" when they pranced about their Fitzgeraldian paradise, splitting their time between running naked in the first snowfall and corrupting Bryn Mawr girls at social mixers.

Operating under these vague impressions, I was thus surprised to discover the existence of a number of subspecies of alumni princetonis present this past weekend. Alongside the "classic" model, it was possible to identify at least three distinct groups:

The Scions of the 'Greatest Generation': Coming of age post-World War II, these Princetonians embraced the cultural shift of the 1950s and 1960s while still keeping an eye on the more "gentlemanly" (read: aristocratic) past. They are distinguishable by their modest tweed suits and patrician activism. Think Bill Bradley, Peter Bell, or Ralph Nader.

The Power Yuppies: Combining casual black turtlenecks with sleek gray suits (you never know when you're going to need to cut a deal), these alums are equally comfortable at a midtown meeting and a downtown gallery opening, attending both regularly. Having graduated in the vicinity of the 1980s, they are rapidly moving up the career trajectory, starting families and adjusting to middle age. While nostalgic of their trendy youth, they are ever eager to rise up through the ranks of power. Wilson School Dean Anne Marie Slaughter is representative of this category.

The Newbies: Having just graduated, this group is really in a transition phase between student and alum. They may have a job with Goldman, but still bring the laundry home to mom for washing. Their presence at alumni functions provokes as much pity as anything else; can't they move on? This group is represented by the kid who just won't leave your eating club, despite many of the current members suggestions that he do so.

What do these findings mean for us, the future alumni? It means that by accepting Dean Hargadon's "YES" we have not necessarily committed ourselves to a life of wine, golf, investing, matronly wives and tiger estates. A variety of options exist. As the various subcategories show, each generation of Princetonians has redefined itself in new ways. Whether this is a function of individual aging or of shifting times is largely irrelevant (it is probably some of both). What matters is that each of us is able to stake out a unique, increasingly heterogeneous identity; our family is branching out.

I use the word "family" because that was what I heard over and over again last Saturday from a host of speakers, and this is the big caveat to the diversity I observed above. For all the wonderfully variety the word "Princetonian" conveys, their remains a sense of community that I think most institutions would find enviable. Many of us, including myself, have at times scoffed at this group sentiment, thinking it at best irrelevant and superficial, at worst misguided and parochial. It is impossible to ignore, however, the sneaking satisfaction of seeing our school ranked number one or of hearing of some professor or alum's success. There is something undeniable about the Princeton experience that unites us in a special way. So the next time I see a grown man wearing orange-plaid pants, a beer jacket, and a tiger hat I will temper my usual thoughts of pity and repugnance with this gentle reminder — "It's okay; he's a Princetonian."