This Friday, one year ago

I had never meant to bicker. As a prefrosh visiting the school, I scoffed at the idea that someone would actually choose to expose themselves to a selection process. After all, wasn’t applying to college enough? Isn’t there enough pandering to be done once it comes time to apply for internships, grad schools and jobs? Why would we unnecessarily expose our peers to even more selectivity and rejection? The fact that eating clubs at Princeton were even able to sustain the Bicker system was completely beyond me. As a prefrosh, it was a given that I would choose one of the sign-in clubs when the time came.

Two years later, I found myself forgoing this very conviction. From day one at Princeton, the most pressing concern for me and my freshmen year was acquiring the mysterious “passes” to parties on “The Street” that seemed so infinitely cool and college-esque. I had never had the opportunity to party at mansions every weekend, and I certainly had never before considered partying as a status symbol. It quickly became clear that the suave guys and pretty girls were the ones attending parties at certain clubs, and that they were always able to procure passes from the hip upperclassmen they knew. Though I recognized the clubs as an entrenched means of social stratification within the university community, part of me wanted to access and benefit from the system. As I slowly lost my ties to the world outside the Orange Bubble, that part of me grew.

By the time I was a sophomore, I sought to become ingratiated with the Bicker system that I once disparaged. My thoughts about Bicker hadn’t changed, but Princeton’s isolating social culture left me craving recognition that only seemed accessible through the clubs’ ritualized and systematic popularity contest. Among my friends, the unspoken consensus was that we would all bicker, if not to gain admission, then simply for the experience and the “fun”. But Bicker was not fun for me, although many of my friends reported having a great time. From the moment I wandered into the club with my Bicker card clenched in my hand, something seemed off, though I could not quite identify what it was. It was a cattle call. When a club member appeared before the horde of sophomores, Bicker cards flew skyward as bickerees begged for a moment of recognition. We were herded, we were managed, but most of all, we were watched and evaluated.

The real kicker was that the bicker club wasn’t my first choice. I had already decided to sign-in to Quadrangle Club a couple weeks before. But I still bickered because most of my friends were doing it, and there was technically nothing to lose. I believed that the experience would enable me to make an informed decision, that it would give me valuable perspective and that I actually stood a good chance of getting in. Furthermore, my self-esteem was buffered by the fact that I really had little intention of joining the bicker club at all. At the same time, I secretly hoped that being at ease would improve my performance, like a shot of vodka before an oral exam (so I’ve heard).

That Friday morning of Bicker week became afternoon, and the video game I was playing had long ago become boring. I began to consider leaving my room to get lunch when there was yet another knock on my door. I approached it slowly, took a breath and turned the handle. I saw two of my close friends from Princeton Tower Club. Just the two of them, and of course their deflated facial expressions. I began to close the door, but they held it open, insisting on giving me a hug and offering their help if I ever needed it. “I’m OK,” I claimed, believing it was true. Yet, as the day wore on and my group of friends was neatly divided by Bicker decisions, disappointment evolved into depression and despair. I realized that, although I didn’t care about the club itself, I sought its acceptance as much as any of my peers. Rejection left me wounded, not because I couldn’t be in the club, but because its members didn’t want me there.

David Mendelsohn is a psychology major from Rockville Centre, N.Y. He can be reached at dmendels@princeton.edu.