As I gazed upon the other 200 students in lecture, I felt like a cog in the academic machine. In high school, I was forced to wear a uniform. I could blame looking like everyone else based on our identical plaid skirts and embroidered polo shirts. Yet, now that I had the freedom to express my individuality through my clothes, I still decided to dress like everyone else with my green army jacket, cuffed jeans, and black Herschel backpack. My unique Banner ID number was the only signifier that I was not, in fact, exactly the same as everyone else.
I wanted to be more than an anonymous statistic, but I didn’t know how to create an identity for myself. I could write a transcendental literary analysis, but that would require actually reading the assigned texts. I could bother to show up to office hours and introduce myself to the professor, but I’m pretty sure office hours are an urban legend.
Unable to establish my own identity, I—somewhat paradoxically—looked at my classmates for inspiration. “Man Bun Dude” proudly flaunted his topknot. “Sleep Deprived Snoozer” had already claimed the back row as his personal napping zone. And I wasn’t about to challenge “The Man Who Never Wears Shoes”—that’s just not really my aesthetic.
I finally realized that my only option was to succumb to the normal kid’s easy way out: laptop stickers. It was quite metaphorical, really. I was just one of many plain sliver laptops. While I had different Word documents and tabs on Safari open on the inside, my outer appearance looked the same as everyone else.
This solution seemed too good to be true—and it was. My fear of commitment manifested itself in my inability to choose stickers that would accurately convey my interests and idiosyncrasies. For example, although I’m a regular at Blue State Coffee, I felt tempted to buy a Dave’s Coffee sticker because it’s closer to RISD and, therefore, way cooler. I didn’t want to betray my coffee allegiance, but I needed to establish a brand.
Paralyzed by indecision and the questionable morality involved with crafting a misleadingly hip façade, I showed up to the next class sans stickers. I think I’ll try to establish an identity the old fashioned way by introducing myself to my classmates instead of relying on others to approach me based on an obscure sticker. Either that… or I’ll put stickers on something a little less permanent, like my water bottle.
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