While many like to say that opting out of the eating club scene deprives you of a full Princeton experience, this somewhat condescending generalization fails to acknowledge the diversity of students' ideas on what makes a college experience good. Saying my college experience is incomplete without the eating clubs would be like saying my high school experience was incomplete without sports (I was in the band).
Believe me, I have no regrets.
Undoubtedly, the field hockey girls were generally cooler and hotter than the band girls, with a camaraderie that anyone would want to join. But joining the team, forcing myself to wave a stick around and stumbling across a field every day — my definition of torture — would have been a mistake. Band defined my high school experience because it was where I belonged, and Spelman is doing the same for me in college. "Deprived" is hardly how I would describe my life.
While Spelman occupants are sometimes viewed as loners, this stereotype reflects a misunderstanding on why many people choose to go independent. The decision isn't necessarily based on a loathing of social situations or an unwillingness to meet new people, despite the assumption made by those eager to feel socially superior. Spelman living is ideal for the socially independent — for those who reject social lives that rely significantly on the eating clubs, which a friend jokingly refers to as "the crutch of contrived congregating." Independent living does not by any means preclude socialization. You have your extracurricular activities, for example, where people are likely to share your interests. The extra effort to cultivate friendships is worth it to those who value control and flexibility.
The twist is that Spelman is known for what my roommate calls "scandalous windows." If you aren't careful with your blinds, especially on the first or second floors, your room becomes a fishbowl. Passersby and neighbors can see everything: your traipsing around in mismatched pajamas, your consuming an entire carton of Ben and Jerry's at the computer, your falling asleep on the couch at random times of the day (the word "scandalous" wasn't referring to me). Look up into Spelman rooms, and you'll see people eating dinner, putting on makeup, having Bible study, hooking up, getting drunk, watching television, being silly in all sorts of ways, and maybe even doing work.
Although the Spelman-fishbowl comparison is usually seen as a negative, perhaps the fishbowl effect is precisely what can make the Spelman experience valuable. Each of the inhabitants becomes a fishbowl of his own, scrutinized constantly by his friends in a way that so far only his family could. And you can't abuse your friends nearly as much or as selfishly; they don't love you enough. When you're independent, it's not just a room you're sharing with your roommates, it's every aspect of your daily lives. All the little things start adding up: the brand of their toothpaste, whether they fry or bake, if they leave hair in the shower, how long they let dishes sit in the sink, at what point they deem food inedible, what they eat as they study. These are facts a novelist could detail to reveal volumes about a character. The daily grind of this kind of "overshare" can be grueling, and forces you into self-examination. How mature are you, really?
People choose to become independent for a variety of reasons, and to assume independents are socially inept or are missing out on the "true" Princeton experience is wrong. We can't all play field hockey, and not all of us want to. There is value in eating what you want, when you want, and in wiping your own floors, washing dishes by hand, cleaning your own toilet, and buying and preparing your own food. Living in the fishbowl of independent living forces you to taste more of real life, and it does it all in the relatively secure environment of a college dorm. That's the beauty of a fishbowl: It's safe.
Julie Park is an English major from Wayne, N.J. You can reach her at jypark@princeton.edu. Her column appears on alternate Tuesdays.