“You’re not a typical Stern girl.”
The comment is supposed to imply that the woman being addressed is somehow better than her fellow students. It’s a statement loaded with implications: mainly, that the woman being addressed thinks for herself and does not let others define her. Not being a ‘typical Stern girl’ is meant as a compliment. Four years ago I would have taken it as one.
When I began college, I was anxious about my decision to attend Stern. I had never really considered the school during most of my high school career. That changed during my senior year when, swayed by a generous scholarship and intimidated by the $40,000 a year price tag attached to the colleges that topped my “dream” list, I decided that Yeshiva University was a prudent choice. Still, although my decision made financial sense, I wasn’t sure it added up socially. Would I fit in at Stern? Could I possibly find the sort of people I wanted to meet, have the sort of discussions that I wanted to have, form the sorts of friendships I wanted? I wasn’t sure. After all, I knew the Stern girl stereotype, and that wasn’t what I wanted to become.
Stern College students are generally associated with uniformity. We are often thought to think alike, dress alike, to pursue the same sorts of careers and aspire to the same sorts of lives. According to some, the average Stern College student cares about little more than her dating prospects, her dream engagement ring, and the latest episode of Girls.
Of course, there is some truth to some of the stereotypes. Yes, we have far more than our fair share of science majors. Yes, lots of students go into various therapy-related fields. Yes, many Stern students get married far earlier than the general population. And yes, it is undeniable that the student population of Stern College is probably the sole reason that knee-length denim skirts are still sold in the New York area.
But the students at Stern College are also so much more than anything a stereotype could possibly encompass. During the past four years I’ve had the privilege of studying, speaking, laughing and crying with some of the strongest, most motivated, brightest women I’ve ever met. They’ve been my friends and my role models. They are future journalists and politicians, doctors and lawyers. They are writers and artists and musicians, passionate leaders and teachers. They are women who will change the face of the Orthodox community. They are women who will not listen to anyone who tries to tell them that they cannot change the world.
Yesterday, during the last training session of the year at the Beren Writing Center where I work as a tutor, we spent a few minutes going around the room discussing our plans for the summer. One tutor spoke about the breast cancer research she would do, another about her internship at a nationally circulated magazine. We enthused over one tutor’s plans to work on a screenplay over the summer and expressed our profound jealousy of the tutor who was planning a trip to Brazil. The passion and creativity that filled the room as we spoke about our future plans was not unusual. It is exactly what I’ve come to expect from the women I’ve been lucky enough to call my friends over the past four years.
Four long years ago I took it as a compliment when a friend told me that I would never really be a Stern girl. Today I can smile, look that friend in the eye, and tell him that I hope that nothing is farther from the truth.