Networking, that byword of waspy liberal arts institutions, reared its ugly head innumerable times in my first few months at Trinity. My first day here, I was taught the value of a handshake and a “six-word story”, the implication being that shallow first impressions matter far more in an interaction than any meaningful discourse that follows. In my condescending bubble of intellectualism, I was horrified by this culture, already determined to write off anyone who subscribed to this view of human interactions. Predictably, this cut a rather large section of Trinity’s population off my list.
I spent all of freshman year griping about how immensely out of place I felt in this haven for philistines. Resentful even, thinking of all the places I could have gone where I would be more valued, where I could walk around striking up conversations about Plato’s theories on art or Fanon’s seeming affinity for anti-colonial violence, rather than trying to keep up with the scandals of frats and the latest STD doing the rounds. I’d conjure up images of cozy teas discussing romanticism around fireplaces, convinced that being at Trinity was stifling my brilliance, hindering my ability to be me.
Things changed sophomore year. After struggling through a mundane summer characterized by a sloth-like persistence to be unproductive, I came back to Trinity with a certain appreciation for every experience that being in a new world brings. Without the cloud of resentment over my head, the undeniable anti-intellectualism of the student body became a refreshing challenge, rather than an insuperable obstacle to my growth. It wasn’t the philistinism itself that I found endearing (that would really be tragic), rather the skills that were prioritized in the place of intellect.
One could see the prioritization of networking over intellect as a problem, I certainly did. But there is a surprising amount of perks to being one of the few genuinely intellectually curious and aware people in a culture that neither accepts nor values these qualities. The most obvious of these is that you shine in every academic environment you are in, stealing the spotlight from those immensely beautiful, immensely ignorant creatures to whom networking is the greatest skill one can exploit in college. But there’s more to be gained than a simple comparative advantage: being in an environment that stifles one’s natural intellectual inclinations allows one to pick up other skills, skills one would never deem necessary for the safety of other intelligent, academically oriented people.
In the absence of a comfortable little bubble of like-minded introverts, I’ve spent the last year learning to engage with the world around me in its own language. I’ve learnt how to Trinity-fy my vocabulary, to cater my conversation to people whose idea of the world extends from North America to Western Europe. I’ve opened myself up to engaging with real life Trump supporters and stopped myself from cringing every time someone professes their desire to visit my country and ride elephants and camels. In doing this, I’ve come to realize that it is both ignorant and unfair to assume that an entire student body is simply stupid or disinterested in having an academically oriented conversation. One must diagnose Trinity’s anti-intellectualism to a deeper rooted culture -- in this case, one driven by a bias towards extroversion and appearances. The reason so many people shy away from a real conversation, so to speak, is the immense fear of being judged for not belonging to the dominant type of rich kids unconcerned with anything but alcohol and partying. By learning to work with this fear, I’ve come to establish surprisingly meaningful relationships with people who, a year ago, I would have dismissed as ignorant or just plain stupid.
I still know that someday I want to be in an environment populated by people like myself, people who derive genuine pleasure from academia and discuss their work with as much passion as they do the shoes they bought last weekend. But having immersed myself in the extrovert-oriented, appearance driven Trinity culture, I cannot deny the appeal of the occasional frivolity, nor the immense importance of being able to establish a connection within seconds of an interaction. For the first time in my life, I am creating relationships with people from entirely different backgrounds without fearing the lack of something real to say, and I owe this entirely to Trinity’s seeming anti-intellectualism -- a blessing in disguise for the introvert in me. Learning to assimilate smoothly into this entirely unfamiliar culture has given me a whole new skill set that I could have learnt nowhere else. For that, I am forever grateful I landed up somewhere I didn’t immediately fit in. So if you’re questioning your choice of college in this anxious flux of acceptances and rejections, remember, it really isn’t the worst thing to be somewhere you don’t belong; you may just end up a better version of yourself for it.
