Maybe it’s because the small fraction of upperclassmen who are back on campus early are still waiting for many of their close friends to return. Maybe it’s because so much of Valentine is closed off and there simply isn’t enough seating available for people to be as antisocial as they would like. And, who knows, maybe it’s something in the good food after all—a healthy dash of some drug to reduce inhibitions (mmm … tastes like ecstasy) could be the secret ingredient that turns Charlie’s Chicken Sandwich into something magical.
It’s only natural that the first-years exhibit such un-Amherst-like sociability. After all, they know such a small number of their peers that they have little choice but to introduce themselves to each other to increase their cadre of friends. Let’s also not discount the number of name games being played on campus this time of year. It’s perhaps surprising we don’t introduce ourselves as “Psychotic Peter” or “Kooky Karen” or the like. But, year after year, upperclassmen also demonstrate susceptibility to the friendliness bug. After watching the ’08s move on to greener, or maybe simply less purple pastures, the time has come to refill our social networks.
Once classes begin, the introductions quickly fade, to the point that by the time my birthday rolls around (September 28—mark your calendars now!), the pleasantry exchanged as strangers pass is simply “Hi,” if anything, with little interest in continuing the conversation past that point.
I came to Amherst College, population a meager 1,600ish, so that I wouldn’t get lost in a sea of faces. In my high school class of 219, I at least knew everyone well enough to say “Hi, Nora” or “Hi, Josh.” Here, however, I have always felt like I hardly know a quarter of my class, and that I’m basically hopeless when it comes to other classes. Most everyone is at least recognizable, holding vague identities, such as The Girl Who Works at Schwemm’s or That Guy Who Lives Across the Hall from My Freshman-Year Roommate. These are people I see on a daily basis, and people whom I recognize but do not know. Amherst becomes pseudonymous. We become familiar strangers. And when we do introduce ourselves, it is usually in crowded social situations, where the inhibition-lowering effects of alcohol often play a part.
I myself am probably known by a number of monikers across campus. I have been called, to my face, “The Guy Who Rides the Bike Everywhere.” Even to my friends or floormates, I’m sometimes The Guy Whose Shoes Are Two Different Colors, The Guy Who Drinks Tab, Eats Jell-O and Listens to Duran Duran, or, on some of my less-kempt days, simply Jack Black. More than once, I’ve even caught myself introducing myself as The Guy With The Big Origami Sculpture or something other than my proper name.
I am all of these things and none of them. Yes, I go biking often, but I do tend to walk when I’m indoors. Yes, my shoes don’t match, but I am not my shoes. Yes, I like Tab, Jell-O and Duran Duran, but I also really like Fresca, Chex Mix and Depeche Mode.
The psychology or neuroscience or sociology majors among us will probably tell us that we think of each other in these ways because it allows us to identify the unfamiliar people in terms with which we are more familiar, much like we tend to describe nearly every new food as tasting like chicken, even if it doesn’t. We get to keep each other at arm’s length, avoiding genuinely meeting and getting to know our classmates. If the workshops and presentations of Orientation (especially Voices of the Class) teach us nothing else, it is that the 1,600 seemingly innocuous people that surround us here are very interesting and have countless stories to tell.
Too often, we hear graduating seniors tell us that they wish they had gotten to know more people here. It is incumbent on each of us to do so—to eat lunch with a stranger, to introduce ourselves to one another, and to simply stop and say “Hi” rather than nodding or cocking our head or looking away as we pass each other.
Hi. I’m John. Take a moment to stop and introduce yourself to me sometime.