With my first year at Penn coming to an end, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on how I’ve changed and how Penn has changed me. Navigating this new era of my life, I’ve discovered that I seriously need to learn how to cook, how to manage my time better, and how to employ various methods of networking. And while I’ve changed in many ways for the better, I’ve also changed in a peculiar way that I’ve struggled to name.
As Penn students, satirical notions about the University’s elitist, toxic culture are a part of our conversations. Still, we can’t deny the confident commitment we made once we received our acceptances — a commitment made based on the alluring prestige of Penn and the Ivy League. We decorate our Instagram bios by tagging Penn and wear the big, bold letters on our navy crewnecks through the airport and in our hometowns. This pride is logical, and we deserve it because of the sacrifice of sleep and social lives we made in order to attain the golden fleece of American academia, right?
While our institution is certainly influential, it results from luck. Penn’s prestige is the result of an ideal combination of time, influence, and money. During the birth of this nation, the founding fathers and others at the top of America’s budding hierarchy needed yet another thing to distinguish themselves and their descendants from the lower class, the indentured, and the enslaved: education. These elite institutions arrived at the perfect time, many predating the founding of the country, and served as the hub to protect and uphold the existing power gap.
Penn, as America’s first university, played a strong role in maintaining and elevating the status of this population of Americans. Today, it continues to work as a hub that seemingly sets those invited to the “boys club” above the rest. Almost three centuries after its founding, this boys club is much more diverse, with students of varying races, ethnicities, genders, and economic backgrounds. Yet it seems like the attitude created and fostered by the privileged few doesn’t discriminate and instead embeds itself into every student once they step foot on this campus.
Despite my hard efforts against it, I’ve contracted what I’d like to coin as the “Penn Complex.” I am not alone in this — all current undergraduates 10,325 students wrestle with the Penn Complex to some degree. This condition is a sense of superiority which we hold ourselves higher than others outside of, as well as within, Penn. Our belief functions as a defense mechanism to cope with feelings of inferiority.
The change done by the Penn Complex can show up in various ways. Those in the College of Arts and Sciences who start out criticizing students at the Wharton School for “selling out” might end up announcing a Goldman Sachs internship one summer — and, by the time graduation comes along, be among the majority of students who enter finance or consulting after graduation.
One of the first things students hear as a first year is “don’t go past 40th street,” a phrase that shapes how many students interact with the city for their next four years. Many students are fearful of walking past the McDonald’s and Playa Bowls or choose to take an Uber over the $2.90 SEPTA instead trying to navigate and learn about the city past our campus. Students who came in looking for lifelong friends begin to social climb, whether in Greek life or preprofessional organizations, to attain a network rather than a connection. These are just a few of many examples of how the Penn Complex embeds itself in students’ mindsets and actions. An affiliation with Penn creates a sense of entitlement among their peers and the rest of Philadelphia.
Within myself, I’ve noticed the Penn Complex show up in my interactions with West Philadelphia. As I venture beyond University City, I find myself playing the warnings that I have heard from peers and friends. In normal conversations, I’ve also noticed that there’s this lingering goal to build my network and gain entry into exclusive places or positions. I’ve been putting this above building authentic relationships. At Penn, we weaken our ability to build connections, defending ourselves from something we think is fleeting, and in doing so, we change who we are.
When we made our commitment to Penn, all of us — from the legacies to first-generation students — had in our minds the visions of influence, wealth, or comfort that the privileged few received all those centuries ago by virtue of their affiliation with the University. In an age where the prestige of the Ivy League and its students are being called into question, we’ve begun to compensate with the Penn Complex. The prestige granted to our institution is beginning to quiver, and it is quite scary to reckon with. So, instead of facing this question, we settled into a feeling of entitlement that’s actually harming us.
You once came in as a student with passions, individuality, and empathy, ready to make your mark in this exclusive club. A year or maybe even four years in, look at how Penn has changed you. Are you secure in your place in this institution and beyond? Was the change worth it?
I’m still asking myself these questions. Penn has taught me so much already in one year and I don’t regret my decision to come here. However, I do regret allowing insecurity and the chase toward influence impact the young woman underneath my Penn label. Being a student here shouldn’t mean adopting the attitudes of prejudiced rich white men. More importantly, it shouldn’t mean losing the person you are or the ideals that brought you here in the first place.
GLORIA OLADEJO is a College sophomore studying law and society and Africana studies from Coopersburg, Pa. Her email is gloriao6@sas.upenn.edu.
