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The new 'quintessentially Princeton'

Last week, I signed into Cloister Inn. My membership in Cloister provides me with 200 new people to know and befriend, a good alternative to the monotony of Princeton dining hall food (Dining Services gets an “A” for effort, but after two years, I feel like I’ve eaten the same thing over and over again) and a place to hone my Beirut skills (with water, of course).

My Cloister membership, however, does not make me any more of a “true Princetonian.” And no eating club affiliation would.

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In a commentary on The Ink, the University Press Club’s blog, on Sept. 29, Spencer Gaffney ’12 argued that Lawnparties is the most egalitarian event on the Street’s social calendar, the implication being that this is a departure from the Street’s normal operation.

In a comment on the post, Emily Rutherford ’12 suggested that there is nothing egalitarian about an event at which those who don’t conform to the “Princeton stereotype” feel unwelcome. Rutherford expanded upon this opinion in a Sept. 21 entry on her own blog, Worthless Drivel, by describing how she had spent her two fall Lawnparties (studying in a library and off campus on a trip) and asking those who embrace Lawnparties to consider the reasons why she does not.

Another response to Gaffney’s post came from the anonymous, but omnipresent, Chief (class year still unknown, likely ever-changing). Chief calls Rutherford out for her self-segregation, suggesting that “you’re only gonna feel like a loser/outcast if you choose to be painfully self-conscious of the difference in the way you dress relative to others.” Herein lies a fundamental misconception. Rutherford does not feel “painfully self-conscious” about what makes her different. Nor should she. What makes her different is what also makes her a “true Princetonian.”

Many Americans harbor a 1920s boy’s club image of the University. It is an image that a few still try to recreate (see “ ‘Stereotype threat’ negatively affects students” in Tuesday’s ‘Prince’), but it’s not the way most of us “dress,” anymore. We are far more colorful now, drawing from every imaginable background. We are more Evangelical, but also more atheistic. More gay, yet also more outspoken about sexual conservativism. More brainy, but still just as brawny. More disabled, though even more capable. We are male and female. And as the spectrum of our identity becomes increasingly broad, and the differences between us more immediately apparent, we’ve become empowered to act as ourselves, instead of how Princeton students are “supposed” to act. Accordingly, we patronize the events that cater to us. Consider this: Just as lively as eating club formals this year have been a head-bangers ball, a drag ball, and the Caribbean Connection dance. Thursday through Saturday, nighttime entertainment events have consistently sold out.

The perceived centrality of the eating clubs in the Princeton experience intrigues me. Where did it come from? Princeton has always catered to the “intellectual elite,” and it always will. In the past, membership in this elite was defined by wealth and the private schools, tutors, world travel and other luxuries that wealth could buy. Thus, the tweed-clad boys who populated McCosh’s lecture halls were here because they could pay to be labeled the greatest minds of their generation (whether or not they were is a point of contention). These young men formed the eating clubs as a place for friends to come together to share in common interests, participate in rousing mealtime debates, enjoy good food and craft an identity that would make their clubs unique. So, many people have embraced the spirit that created these clubs as being “quintessentially Princeton.”

The admission office no longer places a price tag on intelligence, and the vast majority of current students had to earn their place here. That change has brought what I perceive as a dramatic social shift: More people now define themselves by the activities in which they engage rather than by their eating club affiliation. The latter has become merely an extension of the former. As people of increasingly diverse backgrounds and interests join more of the clubs, the web of connections between eating clubs and extracurriculars continues to grow. As a result, I foresee the identity of many of the clubs undergoing serious change. This isn’t the administration’s “social engineering.” This is social evolution. And it is my sincere hope that this evolution continues until every member of the campus community feels that somewhere on the Street, they will be embraced. Even then, however, I do not expect that all will embrace the eating clubs in return.

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Though today’s breed of undergraduates bears little resemblance to the Princeton students of yore, the spirit that built Prospect Avenue is still very much alive. I recently visited the 2 Dickinson St. Co-op for the first time. The food they prepare is pretty extraordinary, and the conversation is lively. Among the members of 2D are some of the most stimulating people I know at Princeton — a representative sampling of the sharp minds that the University attracts. Further, everything about that place espouses identity, principle and independence. So, I ask: What about 2D, the anti-eating club, could possibly not be “quintessentially Princeton?”

We are in the midst of a redefinition of what it means to be a Princetonian.

Daniel Barson is a sophomore  from Cross River,  N.Y . He can be reached at dbarson@princeton.edu.

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