Spoiled, but not rotten

The truest things are said in jest.

So when my sister, jokingly, yet nonetheless bluntly, said “You’re spoiled,” I was humbled to find some truth in this accusation.

This comment came up in a conversation about dormitories with Katie, my sister who is a freshman at another college. Katie told me that she’ll be living off campus next year. Off campus entails a lot more than its obvious definition — she’ll have to budget, grocery shop, cook, clean, pay rent, take care of a car, and pay for gas. She will live in the “real world.”

More than 98 percent of Princeton students live on-campus all four years. Thus, fewer than 2 percent of Princeton undergraduates interact with a landlord for subletting or rental during the school year (and even then, the University has its own website to aid students with the search process — students are never completely on their own). Fewer than 2 percent of Princeton students pay utility bills. Fewer than 2 percent of Princeton students are monitored by municipality police, rather than the University’s Public Safety, or “P-Safe.” Fewer than 2 percent of Princeton students are immersed in the “real world.”

Princeton isn’t all that unique. This is the case for many liberal arts universities. While these establishments offer the doorway to the ivory tower of academia, they neglect daily skills, which, arguably, will play a more seminal role post-graduation. Rest assured, we will learn these practical lessons the hard way once we graduate and move on to our first full-time jobs.

Despite a dearth of off-campus living opportunities, Princeton deserves some credit. Although only 2 percent of students leave campus housing, a larger 30 percent, or some 1,600 undergraduates, become “independent” of the University dining system, choosing to cook and eat on their own. This population is split into two categories: those who utilize campus kitchens, or those who join one of the three campus cooperatives.

This still leaves 70 percent of students reliant on the University dining system, whether it be one of the eleven eating clubs, the dining halls, or the Center for Jewish Life. Enter the comment: “You’re spoiled.”

In some ways, I’d have to agree. Immediate access to prepared food is a privilege, and so are other aspects of Princeton on-campus housing. Having building, cleaning, and maintenance facilities is a much appreciated privilege. Having automatically locking doors and our own campus police is a privilege.

While Princeton undergrads learn how to debunk Sigmund Freud’s arguments, code for an entire network system, and explore the crevices of history, other undergrads may be learning how to plunge a toilet, broil a meatloaf, and pay their rent. Although I’m exaggerating the polarity here for emphasis (of course, most other students obtain comparable liberal arts knowledge and Princeton students achieve some degree of practical knowledge), this overstatement does highlight a pragmatic gap in our extraordinary Princeton education.

Princeton does offer more “practical” courses during Wintersession, where 63 short classes — ranging from one hour to three days — are taught on subjects ranging from break dancing to venture capital to the card game Bridge. But these courses are only offered to students who stay on campus during Intersession, which is a minority.

The University is a liberal arts school, but what happened to the practical arts? Home economics classes in high schools have been discontinued, and secondary education lacks in teaching generalized life skills.

Some might say that these skills are learned in the home during childhood, but it can also be argued that childhood is no longer homogeneous, and thus cannot be as educational for all millennials. Parents may live paycheck-to-paycheck, or live in a city and not own a car, so their children might not learn the skills of balancing a budget and getting gas.

Get the best of ‘the Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

Princeton is the highest-ranked university in the country; yet, graduates are never formally taught how to change a tire or register for health insurance. Even the 2 percent of students living off campus are unlikely to learn these lessons through their University education.

Much of my opinion here is hypocritical, for I chose this university with the full intention of living on campus all four years. And most of what I say is with tongue-in-cheek: I don’t expect the University to change its housing arrangements.

What I do expect is a re-branding of college as the heralded “transition to adulthood.” In reality, it’s more a small step away from childhood than it is a large step towards adulthood. Students have to understand that despite the countless hours spent studying, we will step out of Princeton naïve, vulnerable, and possibly unready for the “real world.”

Emily Erdos is a sophomore from Harvard, MA. She can be reached at eerdos@princeton.edu.