The Dartmouth Mirror 11/14/14

11.14.2014

MIRROR

A Global Disappointment| 2

“Telling My Story”| 3

First Times | 4-5

Cool Girl | 8 KATHY RAO // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

2// MIRROR

EDITOR’S NOTE

A Global Disappointment story

The first time I wrote for The Mirror was the second week of my freshman fall in 2011. Another new writer — hi Sara — and I foolishly volunteered to take on the centerfold as our first story ever. I had never written for a newspaper before. I dabbled in creative writing and had a passion for Emerson. But I was in no way prepared to take on what seemed to me at the time to be the most important story I could ever write. The pitch? A full-blown survey about political climate on campus. Not only did I know nothing about journalism, interviewing or surveying, but I was also woefully uninformed about politics — having come from an extremely liberal city where supporting George Bush was akin to murder and finding a real Republican was like encountering a unicorn. The rigorous training I received from the ’12 editors was well-guided but ultimately useless as I wandered FoCo alone attempting to get football players to answer questions about abortion. As my writers know, I subsequently asked a football player that I’d hooked up with to take the survey, figuring he’d take pity on me. Instead, he pretended like he didn’t know who I was (another first), and I slunk back to the light side of FoCo with my tail between my legs, having lost both my dignity and 30-plus survey takers.

Eventually, by trolling the Hinman line and gathering the courage to actually communicate with upperclassmen, we had enough interviews and surveys to begin writing. The political views we received were diverse and surprising — I had never met an evolutionist before, or even considered the reality that Tea Party Republicans exist in the wild. My second week at Dartmouth opened my eyes to the diversity of our campus and the challenges of communicating effectively with complete strangers.

Despite the awkwardness, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. The skills I’ve learned from my time at The Dartmouth are invaluable — from cold-calling professors at 11 p.m. to interviewing complete strangers about their sexual habits — I have become a better writer, editor, critical thinker and person during my time at this organization. As I write this bittersweet final editor’s note, reflecting on what aspects of my Dartmouth career shaped me most significantly, I’m recognizing how hard it is to say goodbye to something you’ve spent three years working on. The beauty of The Dartmouth, and The Mirror, is their timelessness — they will only continue to thrive and grow just as I will.

follow @thedmirror

MIRROR R MIRROR EDITOR ERIN LANDAU

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF LINDSAY ELLIS PUBLISHER CARLA LARIN

EXECUTIVE EDITORS MICHAEL RIORDAN STEPHANIE McFEETERS

By hannah hyun-jeong nam

As soon as I had confirmed my place at Dartmouth this past spring, the very next thing on my to-do list, ahead of all the bills, visas and health insurance, was housing. It was of the utmost importance to me where I would be living for my entire freshman year, so I started researching Dartmouth’s dorms with gusto.

After I got over my initial shock that communal bathrooms were a thing, I came across Dartmouth’s living learning communities. Five main options existed for incoming freshmen, but with an avid interest in international affairs and issues, especially as an international student, I was instantly drawn to the Global Village LLC. I could have access to international issues-orientated events and discussions as an integral part of my residence, among like-minded peers. I would be in such a diverse community, but still have a core community of freshmen. I would be living my interests.

Unfortunately, I set myself up for disappointment. I should have had taken note of the vague Global Village program statement on the LLC website, “Dartmouth’s Global Village is a residential community offering an interdisciplinary, integrated learning experience that holistically equips students to thrive as ethical, engaged and responsible world citizens and scholars … enabling them to take full advantage of the opportunities it affords to explore complex international issues and engage in off-campus experiences.”

Although I suppose I can make allowances for the usual grandiose drivel of mission statements, I was more than slightly mystified when I found nothing really that matched what the program claimed it would accomplish. I’m not sure when exactly Global Village plans to equip us to be “ethical, engaged and responsible world citizens” — we have had one off-campus experience that went as far as the Dartmouth Skiway for a Great Issues Scholar retreat. As for language and cultural exchange ... well, Dartmouth has left that completely up to the students to do for themselves. The discussions that I attended scratched the surface of the global issues they were based on.

I was worried at first that this disengagement I found with the program stemmed from a personal problem. Yet the more residents I spoke with, the more I recognized the pervasiveness of the issue. I spent most of this term talking to over a dozen of the Global Village’s 153 residents, collecting ideas and opinions since I moved in.

’16: “Guys, I haven’t had sex in four hours!” ’16: “I’m not even dating anyone.” ’16: “At least you’ve got that pap smear in a few weeks.”

Blitz your overheards to mirror@thedartmouth.com!

Akhila Kovvuri ’18, another in-house Great Issues Scholar who applied to the LLC because of her interest in international development, pointed to participation as a reason the programs were lacking.

“Not many people are willing to participate,” she said. “There are supposed to be 80 people in the Great Issues Scholars Program and barely 10 or 20 people turn up to events. The program is so dependent on participation that it wouldn’t help the people who are interested.”

Kovvuri said that one positive aspect of being a part of Global Village is the small group dinners, citing a particularly memorable one with the former deputy director of the CIA. But to me, and many I interviewed, the aspect lacking most distinctly in Global Village is community — especially interesting given its title as a living learning “community.” This expectation has instilled in many students an unconscious motive to attend events not for the event itself, but to meet requirements.

Kovvuri attributed this lack of community to the limited interaction between floormates and the short periods of time actually spent within the dorms.

“We barely know each other and the only reason we come back to our dorms is to sleep, and then we wake up and we go to classes,” she said. “And also as freshmen, even maybe for upperclassmen, we have alternative social spaces which are probably more appealing. You are introduced to Greek houses, which are probably more attractive to [freshman] because it’s our first year as college students.”

Despite the bonding that occurs on different floors, Kovvuri said she believes this has nothing to do with the goals of the Global Village.

“It just happened because the residents want to come together, it’s their self-initiative — it’s not a Global Village initiative,” she said. “Even if you remove the name Global Village, the people on who come together to do things would still be doing those things. The fact that it’s Global Village doesn’t seem to make any difference.”

To supplement this, Kovvuri suggested focusing on internationally related events, such as cooking recipes from different countries and sharing a group meal.

Jennifer Lee ’17 said she also felt the lack of togetherness within the Global Village, arguing that the community has not lived up to expectations as an alternative social space.

“When they first started talking about

’16: “My idiot brother has stopped doing all of the activities that would get him into college so he can work at Dunkin’ Donuts to support his girlfriend at the Cheesecake Factory.”

’16: “I didn’t get the courses I want. First World problems.

But actually, it’s a big problem.”

LLCs, they made it sound like it was going to provide a firm community for people, like some kind of alternative to Greek life,” she said. “That’s what I expected coming in, hoping that I would get a community.”

Lee attributed the lack of communal atmosphere to the mixed class floor plan, while most first-year students experience freshmen-only floors.

Program staff advisor Casey Aldrich said that the initial goal for this mixed-class setting was to allow students to engage with people not only from different regions of the world, but also different class years.

“It would surprise me if you told me that the ’18s who are living in there aren’t feeling a sense of community,” she said. “I might also feel surprised if those participating in a language program were to say that, although I can see how the general Global Village people might feel that way if they were looking for something a little bit more.”

Aldrich said she believes as more departments involved in the programming within the Global Village start to put events on the schedule, a greater sense of community will be fostered.

However from an upperclassman perspective, Lee said, mixing different classes together has not achieved this goal.

“For freshmen I feel really bad, because you guys don’t get to have that whole floor bonding time like other floors have,” she said. “I know a lot of people say that it’s a good thing that the freshmen and upperclassmen are mixing, but I don’t think that mixing is going on. We’re still two separate groups of people.”

Despite the doubts, the newness of the program is notable — we are only a single term into its first year as an LLC. “I think we’re figuring things out as we go along,” Aldrich said. “I think we’ll continue to tweak and make changes to the programming, and I think it’s largely going to be shaped by student input ... You guys make suggestions, and you’ll see the program change.”

She said she hopes that the students of Global Village will be comfortable in voicing their opinions and making suggestions to make positive change to the program.

Sometimes I wonder just how many people would have applied had this program been located in the River cluster, or how many would show up to the events if it did not have require a minimum number of attendances. I can only hope the program will improve from here so that it doesn’t lose those people who genuinely care about international issues.

’18: “There are just some frats where you are guaranteed to make out... like TDX.”

’15:“My dad told my family that our Thanksgiving plans include starting my sister’s Tinder account.”

MIRROR //3

“Telling My Story”: Greek Edition story

By victoria Nelsen

Trending

(The) D@RTMOUTH

Tearful goodbyes robo Courtesy of Victoria Nelsen

One Psi U. Two Sigma Delts. Two Phi Taus. Two unaffiliated women, one who had de-pledged. One KD. Two Tri-Kaps. And one women’s and gender studies professor. The theme? The Greek system — or rather, breaking down the invisible walls that surround it.

The discussions (and arguments) surrounding the Greek system are widespread on campus, but the conversations that I have had through Pati Hernandez’s “Telling My Story” program over the past term have distinguished themselves among the bunch.

I entered the program only two hours before I went to pref night, unsure of where my own affiliation would lie and even more unsure of whether or not I wanted to be a part of the Greek system at all. As the group sat on the steps of Dartmouth Hall, sharing words, both positive and negative, that they associated with the Greek system, I was more excited about Hernandez’s program than I was about my future sorority.

I first heard about Hernandez last spring, when I was surrounded by people whose lives she had changed through her class, “Telling Stories for Social Change.” A service learning class, “Telling Stories” connects students to inmates at a correctional facility in Windsor, Vermont. From my conversations about Hernandez, I found that she has this strange effect on her students and the way that they think and see the world.

Telling My Story’s foundation is based on another of Hernandez’s past programs, “Adult Literacy and Theater,” which worked with Latin American women in New York City who were learning to read and write in Spanish. When Hernandez moved to Vermont in 1999, she founded “Telling My Story,” though the program originally only worked with inmates.

It became a nonprofit organization in 2008 to allow for more funding.

Each program culminates with a show, and when women’s and gender studies professor Ivy Schweitzer saw a final performance of one program, she convinced Hernandez that students needed to be exposed to her work. The program debuted at Dartmouth in 2005.

Initially, Hernandez facilitated the program as an extracurricular activity

run through the Tucker Foundation, but in 2007, when involved students complained that it was too much of a time commitment, it became a class co-taught by Hernandez and Schweitzer.

One of the class’s main goals, according to Hernandez, is to demonstrate how theory and practice benefit in the presence of the other.

Hernandez said she hopes to put people on equal platforms, whether they are teaching the class, taking the class or experiencing the class as an inmate.

“In working with a population in crisis, you bring together the privileged and the underprivileged,” Hernandez said. “We try to neutralize the platform.”

Hernandez began another sect of “Telling My Story” in spring 2013, when she brought the program to campus to target Dartmouth-specific issues. The current Greek-themed program is her fourth on-campus version. Hernandez said she has wanted to incorporate the Greek system into “Telling My Story” since the Dimensions protest. She believes that while the Greek system has a lot of power, individuals within it do not have much of a voice — she wanted to provide affiliated students with a platform to share their experiences.

Other programs have included class division on campus and the separation between Dartmouth staff and students.

We started the program with conversations. Typically, Hernandez tries to limit these because she said she strongly believes in doing — our conversations, however, lasted weeks. This was okay with Hernandez because she saw them as necessary to build trust with one another.

The conversations often centered around a “bombardment.” In this, the entire group would be given a prompt and some time to reflect on it. We would then take turns sharing our responses. The prompts asked for responses that ranged from one word — “what is positive/negative about the Greek system?” — to sentences to paragraphs — “describe your ideal future for the system.”

After weeks of discussing, we moved on to creating. We used key themes that we had discussed for the

first few weeks to create skits, which will be performed at a final show on Nov. 18. The show will also include testimonials and poems.

People said they chose to get involved with the program because they wanted to join campus conversations surrounding the Greek system.

Hannah Collman ’15 said she wanted to increase her knowledge on Dartmouth and the rest of the system, as she is a part of a coed fraternity.

Dan Calano ’15 said he realized that he had not really engaged in conversations about the Greek system last year and thought this would be a good starting point.

“I wanted to surround myself with opinions that were different from my own and would challenge me,” he said. “Everyone experiences this school differently and life differently. I don’t think enough listening happens when we have these conversations.”

My own experience in the Greek system has fluctuated during my four terms on Dartmouth’s campus.

My opinion last year quickly transformed from accepting to curious to critical. I went from believing that it was wrong to make generalizations on the system as a whole to having no qualms in doing so. I never saw myself as being a part of this system.

Yet now I am a part of it, still feeling slightly hypocritical and still unsure of where I stand on both my own involvement and on the system as a whole. Hernandez’s program did not do much in answering these questions or clarifying my feelings, but she never promised to do so. In fact, she told us the opposite.

As we sat on the steps of Dartmouth Hall during our first meeting, with the dusk light casting shadows over the group, Hernandez told us that the program would not give us any answers. Instead, it would only inspire more questions about my decision to join the Greek system and my role in it.

Shannon Cleary ’16 said that hearing a diverse array of perspectives in the program allowed her to better understand Dartmouth’s campus.

She said that she only recently started thinking about Greek issues and her role in them, and the program inspired her to engage her sorority sisters in this dialogue.

Collman said that the program

helped her to see new perspectives as well, and she believes that she and the other coed fraternity member were able to diversify the group through their affiliation.

She said that she saw “Telling My Story” as a combination of theater and the circus — modern theater provides critiques and the circus proves that anyone can achieve the impossible, which she said helps inspire people.

Through the program, Calano said he realized how much he respects and values his fraternity.

He also said it reminded him of the importance of individuals in the system.

“I think the individual is really overlooked in the conversation,” Calano said. “I just want this entire community to move forward.”

But it has given me something too. I have heard firsthand from people to whom I would likely never have spoken candidly about a topic as polarizing as the Greek system. I have begun to understand more sides of the system, and the array of perspectives in the group has allowed me to hear from a deep pool of experiences.

Ironically enough, I have had more open and honest conversations in this group than I feel comfortable having in my new sorority.

The program has its flaws. It drew from a highly self-selecting group of people — no one in the group is apathetic or unaware of what is going on. People in the group are often silenced — there are few experiences that everyone can speak to, as insight varies based on gender and type of affiliation.

Conversations are often circular, and we tend to dwell on negative aspects of the system, as they are easier to discuss and dissect than anything positive.

But Hernandez has reminded me to see the individuals, not just the system. Though there is definitely a systemic mentality behind Greek life, affiliated people deserve to have voices and deserve understanding. When we seek to listen and to understand, perhaps we will finally tear down invisible walls and walk without the fear of breaking eggshells beneath our feet.

Where will we spend 24/7 now that our time in 216 Robo is up?

Valley News Visits

We finally get to see how this beast gets printed every day. Who’s excited? #partybus

Wine Wednesdays

Upon resigning, we’re thinking about replacing our weekly meetings with wine time, but are open to suggestions.

New Leadership

Although they obviously have big shoes to fill, we know next year’s production team will crush it.

free time If you see any of us wandering around, lost, confused and lonely, please take pity and say hi.

last looks from the porch

4// MIRROR

Centerfold

B y Mary Liza Hartong

The first time I felt really alone was this past spring, when I spent my off-term in Paris. I went there to write a book, to get away from dregs of Hanover winter and — like any good English major/expat — to find myself. In the first few weeks what I found were chocolate croissants and tulips. I found antique stores and creperies and hundreds of tiny dogs walking the streets that I desperately wanted to pluck off their leashes and carr y with me to complete my perfectly Parisian outfits.

Then, I found loneliness. I found myself wanting to go movies in English to feel like I had companions. I found sitting by myself at lunch to be the most humiliating part of my day. One Sunday, I took a trip to visit a woman who had attended both my high school and Dartmouth. She was in her 40s and lived alone, but she was one of the happiest people I had ever met. She introduced me to salted butter and flea market bartering, and for that I am eternally grateful. She also made me feel not so alone. For the next few weeks I made it my mission to see as many Americans as possible. I met with other alums from my high school, friends of my sisters’, friends of friends and anyone who could spend an hour or two over an espresso and a crepe. Toward the end of my trip, my parents came to visit. I took them to all of my favorite places, read them passages from the books I’d been devouring and, in doing so, discovered how valuable my loneliness had been.

This article, modeled off a similar piece from the University of Pennsylvania’s 34th Street Magazine, is about firsts and lasts and how they have impacted us for better or for worse.

Responses have been edited and condensed.

The first time I found out where Bagel Basement is

Alec Ring ’15 Freshman year I joined this club that doesn’t exist any more, Project Right Choice. It was a poorly named club because it makes you think we’re some kind of abortion group, which we’re not. It was a philanthropy-based club that did a lot of awesome work for the four years that it was around. It was started by some ’10s and ’11s. They raised upwards of $100,000 a year for a charity of choice. I had never heard of a group that was so far under the radar that did so much work.

So I went to the first meeting and was sitting around in one of those Baker 152 rooms. It was kind of stiff. Ever yone on was on their computers. I was thinking, “This is kind of stuffy, but I guess they get stuff done,” and I was looking to change the world, so I decided to stick with it. I ended doing a lot with that club over the next year. I had a leadership position. Regardless of all that, the first meeting I’m sitting there, ever yone’s talking and they’re in the middle of planning an event and they say that at the end of the day at Bagel Basement you could get the old bagels for free if you talked to the owner. I volunteer and say, “I’ll pick up the bagels, but where’s Bagel Basement?” I’m the only freshman. This one girl, she is typing and she looks up and she says, “You don’t know where Bagel Basement is? Oh my god. I go there ever y morning.” She was like, “how have you been there a month and you’ve never been to Bagel Basement?” Someone else was like, “Okay, do you know where EBA’s is?” and I said no and the whole group is like, “Oh my goodness, he doesn’t know where EBA’s is. Who is this clown?” And that’s how I learned where Bagel Basement is.

The first time I rode a horse The first time I experienced Daylight Savings Time

Ellen Plane ’15 The first time I experienced Daylight Savings Time was during my freshman fall. I’m from Arizona, where we apparently don’t need to save daylight and steer clear of the whole phenomenon. Anyway, my friends told me that during “fall back,” there’s a huge party for the hour before, so that anything that happens at the party is erased when the clock turns back. I totally fell for it, stayed up late and was super confused when no one showed up to party.

I’ve yet to attend a “fall back” party, but maybe next year will be the year.

David Cordero ’16 I told Morgan I was the least athletic person I knew. I was somewhat appalled by the thought of riding a horse, let alone joining a varsity team, but she told me she was serious. I left her to go back to my work, only to hear from her again three days later in an email aggressively urging me, “If you for real want to tr y out for the riding team you should come up! Nothing to lose!” So I did. I emailed the equestrian coach, met with her a week later and six months down the road competed for the first time. Sure, I skipped all the details of mounting a horse for the first time, learning how to keep a horse from bucking me, wearing pants that make me look like Peter Pan (or so my friends joke), and even taking a selfie on a horse to send to my mom, but all of these things are collectively a part of an experience I would have never imagined to have. Riding horses, competing as a part of the equestrian team and driving to the Morton Farm four or five times a week have all been firsts at Dartmouth, distinctly marked by a sense of pride, self-fulfillment and gratitude for a world I would have never stumbled upon unless by chance.

MIRROR //5

The first time I felt responsible for another person

Allison Chou ’17 While I feel responsible for my friends, I consider them on my same level, and I know it’s not my responsibility to educate them. It’s a mutual favor that friends do for each other. But in the trippee-trip leader relationship, it is a responsibility. I would say that I underestimated the protectiveness that I would feel over them and the self-imposed pressure I felt to inform them about the realities of Dartmouth, both positive and negative. The fear that I feel at even the thought of them getting hurt, whether it be physically or emotionally, is a deep one. I guess what makes it difficult is that these are 18-year-olds. They’re adults. They can make whatever decisions, make whatever mistakes they ultimately choose to make, and it’s difficult for me not to conflate my hopes for them with their reality. You can talk about responsibility as much as you want, but a lot of people won’t take those conversations seriously until something bad happens to them or one of their friends. That kind of barrier between those who have experienced or know someone who has experienced things and those to whom it’s just an idea is what complicates the trip leader role. At the same time, being a trip leader is something I really value, as is the opportunity to share my Dartmouth with these ’18s.

The last day I spent in Buenos Aires

Luke McCann ’16 I sat browsing airline tickets for my upcoming study abroad program in Buenos Aires. I remember feeling oddly anxious that day, eager for some grand adventure far away from the winter y hell that lurked outside my window. My then-boyfriend listened absentmindedly beside me as I mar veled at the possibilities of what I would find in Argentina. Three months, I decided, would not be enough. I needed more. I booked my airline ticket for two weeks after the end of my program, not knowing where I would sleep or how I would sur vive.

Fast for ward to my last 24 hours in Buenos Aires, my term-long journey of self-discover y coming to a close. My wallet was empty, and had been for several weeks. I met a guy in a bar a week or so before, a film student from Colombia. Unable to afford staying in a hostel and with no friends in the countr y, I had essentially been living with him for the last few weeks.

It was his turn to pick where we went for a date, and he chose the usual craft beer pub a few blocks away. I swallowed a few dark brews after scanning the menu for a red wine, which they sadly did not carr y.

We drifted back to his apartment, slightly buzzed by the mix of alcohol and a final night in the city. We’re both film students, and we returned to watch various indie films until morning rush hour told us it was time for bed. That last night, we laid together on his bed, a nest of thrownabout blankets, clothing and iPhone chargers. We watched “Blue is the Warmest Color,” and giggled as the sounds of sex on screen mixed with our own.

In the morning, he walked me to a close coffee shop and we split a drink with the last five pesos he had in his pocket. We hesitated when it was time for me to leave for the airport, not really sure if we were supposed to kiss, hug or just walk dramatically into the sunset without ever looking back. We made some promises about keeping in touch, about me coming back to Buenos Aires when I got a chance. Two hours later, I sat on a plane headed for Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a cup of vino tinto in my hand and the pride in knowing I had found a way to sur vive in the city with nothing but a half pack of cigarettes and my boyish charm.

For all the gay clubs, political rallies and drunken nights lost in Buenos Aires, my trip to South America ended with a boy, a cup of coffee and absolutely nothing else.

The first time I was a big in my sorority

Kaila Cauthorn ’15 This term, I was a big to a ’17. I really wanted to have that experience that I didn’t have last year because I was off in the fall and too busy in the winter. It really brought me back to when I was a little. It made me constantly think that I needed to live up to the level of being a role model that my big had exemplified. But at the same time, I realized that I didn’t have to go down the same path. There’s no wrong or right way to be a mentor. I think I was a little bit scared because I know that not necessarily my big but other ’13s in the house were always there for me when I was upset or breaking down. I was scared that I wouldn’t know what to do or say if my little ever needed me. She hasn’t had a crisis so far, but I feel a little more prepared now toward the end of the term than at the beginning because the feedback from her has been positive because of the fun bonding stuff we’ve been doing. It seems like the benefit that she’s getting from me is just from me being myself. If she ever asks me for minor advice, giving what’s directly on the top of my head and speaking honestly have been enough. Generally it’s come a lot more naturally than I thought it would.

The first time I said I had a best friend (and had a fleeting substantial conversation in a fraternity)

Michael Riordan ’15 It was sophomore Green Key. The night was young. Naturally, I was wandering frat row with friends. We found ourselves at Zete. As we climbed the stairs, searching for something, she turned to me. The words came quick — “You’re my best friend.” I smiled and said that she was mine, too.

We kept climbing.

SHUOQI CHEN // THE DARTMOUTH

6// MIRROR

Through The Looking Glass Making Space for Stories COLUMN

B y Annie Fagan

On the biology foreign study program in Costa Rica and the Cayman Islands this past winter, I was surrounded by some of the most diverse and engaging ecosystems in the world. Spider monkeys cavorted outside the classroom — scorpions lurked under the bathroom sink. As someone who grew up catching insects in Mason jars and playing in the mud, I felt alive. That’s not to say that the program wasn’t challenging.

We wrote scientific papers every four to five days and moved to a new field station each week. I stayed up late and woke up early, but I felt happy and fulfilled.

All this makes it hard for me to explain why, as my classmates spent the program’s last week exploring the beautiful coral reefs of Little Cayman Island, I found myself in the middle of a serious mental breakdown.

When it began, I felt numb. I couldn’t focus. Interacting with peers left me feeling suffocated, so I told everyone I wasn’t feeling well and avoided the group. Within a day or two, however, I was completely overwhelmed by feelings of sorrow and loss. I felt weak and tired. For 48 hours, I woke up only to bring food back to my bed.

I ate little. I cried alone, often and without being able to explain why. I felt hopelessly, deeply sad. My struggle was apparent to the rest of the group — my classmates constantly asked me how I was doing. I found their questions exhausting. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling, let alone explain it to others. I was depressed.

These feelings were not new to me. I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder my freshman year of high school, and I had experienced depressive episodes before.

But this time, I had neither the energy nor the emotional capacity to recognize that I was really in trouble. It was a grim spiral, and it could have gone on indefinitely were it not for several people whom I am lucky to have in my life.

Over Skype, my mom and my partner pushed me to seek help. I mustered all of my remaining energy to tell my best friend, who immediately reached out to our professor.

This professor responded with compassion and acceptance. She shared stories of loved ones who had struggled with the same issues and supported my decision to drop out of the class for the rest of the week. This professor also encouraged me to tell the other students what was going on. As someone who has been relatively open about my struggle with mental illness, I was surprised to find how vulnerable and frightened this suggestion made me feel.

But I couldn’t face the prospect of spending any more energy pretending to be okay.

Explaining my depressive relapse to my classmates was one of the most surreal and humbling experiences of my life. I had never felt so utterly incapacitated by this illness.

With my mom’s encouragement, I began taking the backup medication I had brought on the FSP “just in case.” I slept. I wrote a few sentences in my journal every day. Within a week, I was able to eat quietly with my friends at mealtime. I summoned the energy to go night diving with my group. When I spotted a blue-brown

ANNIE MA // THE DARTMOUTH STAFF

Annie Fagan ’15 describes the difficulties of dealing with mental health in a community that encourages silence, rather than storytelling. octopus skimming along the sea floor, I felt a tiny glimmer of excitement for the first time in what felt like a very long time. (Was that a good sign? I tried not to think about it.

Hoping was still painful.) Two nights before we left Little Cayman, I went to a Mardi Gras party with my classmates and professor and watched them dance together under a moonlit sky. Very slowly and somewhat surely, I began to return to myself.

What brought all this on for me? I’m still not sure. Depression can be triggered by sudden life changes or stress, but it can also come on inexplicably and with very little warning. According to William R. Marchand, M.D., half of those who have experienced one significant depressive episode will relapse again. So maybe it was the academic and social stress of the FSP that got to me. Or maybe it was just time.

When I returned to Dartmouth in the spring, feeling better, I still worried about handling the chaos of an academic term. I met with my undergraduate dean to make a contingency plan in case I relapsed again. She informed me that she would only be able to support me academically if I had a record of having sought counseling. I felt trapped by that ultimatum. It was controlling and impersonal, but I didn’t think I had a choice. I pursued therapy outside of the Dartmouth bubble and met with multiple counselors in the Upper Valley area throughout the term. None seemed to be a good fit. I found myself borrowing friends’ cars, missing classes and shelling out hundreds of dollars for out-of-network counseling. I got tired of the debilitating rigmarole of reciting my entire medical history to strangers.

By week seven, I had given up.

Looking back on this, I resent that my dean’s response to my request for support was so bureaucratic. When it comes to mental

illness, everyone’s needs are different. Some people benefit from therapy, others use medication and many need neither or both of those things. It was wrong of anyone to tell me that I had to jump through certain hoops in order to receive academic support for a medical condition.

When I tell my story, people ask me what they should do for friends who are struggling with depression. It’s easier for me to say what not to do. Sometimes well-meaning people try to tell me that what I’m feeling isn’t real.

They insist that I’ll feel better soon. This is like telling me about the finish line during the first five minutes of a 100-mile race — you might be right, but it’s impossible for me to see or understand that. Other people try to make me feel better. Most of the time, this is a fool’s game. The only thing that works for me is medication. In the meantime, attempts to cheer me up usually just leave me feeling inadequate. I know what kind of a response you’re hoping for, and I just can’t give it to you.

What does work for me, sometimes, is support. My sophomore spring I experienced a series of personal tragedies and fell into a depression for a couple of weeks. One night I walked to a friend’s room and fell crying into his arms. He was unprepared but he knew enough to listen. It was a relief that someone else knew what was happening. I felt safer. Other times, like this past winter, I needed someone to connect me to serious help because I was unable to do that myself.

Sometimes, even I don’t know what I need.

But the majority of the time, it’s just helpful to have someone around that I trust — to recognize my feelings as legitimate, to accept that I am sad and may stay that way for a while.

Being comfortable with another’s sadness is a difficult job. If you think that someone you know may be having a hard time, reach out.

Let a professional know if you are concerned for their safety. Otherwise, be present. Ask for nothing. Listen. Accept.

These days, I’m doing really well. This past spring I left my sorority, a decision that’s put me a little bit closer to finding happiness at Dartmouth. I spent the summer working for the Dartmouth Outing Club, cleaning cabins, splitting wood and sleeping under the stars.

I play a lot of frisbee. I sleep seven to eight hours a night. I’m busy, but I feel loved on a daily basis.

So why am I telling you all of this?

Partially for myself. It’s freeing. And partially for you. I think my story may surprise some of you. I’m a senior at Dartmouth and a captain of my sports team. I helped train more than 300 trip leaders for the Dartmouth Outing Club first-year trips program. I’ve done research in the biology department and studied abroad twice. I have a loving family and partner and a vibrant social life. I’m that girl you see in Collis, the one with the starry jeans and the big glasses. If you’ve ever spoken to me, you probably thought I had my act together.

But mental health problems can and do touch many of us here at Dartmouth. My story is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg that is our community’s silence on mental health issues. Our peers and classmates suffer from anxiety, learning disabilities, eating disorders, PTSD, addiction and more. And my perspective is only one of many.

What works for me may not work for others.

I cannot and would not speak for anyone else.

Meanwhile, stories about struggles with mental health — especially those of womyn, queer people, people of color and other marginalized communities at this institution — still remain largely untold at Dartmouth. We must make space for these stories on our campus and in our lives.

MIRROR //7

Boots and RallIES COLUMN

By Aaron Pellowski I’m sure you’re all familiar with the beloved children’s program “The Magic School Bus,” in which a batty school teacher leads a group of intrepid elementary school students on wacky adventures through time and space, learning a broad array of facts about the natural world along the way. Each of these little nerds has a distinct personality — the black girl is sassy, the ginger Jew is a weakling and the Italian-American boy is the natural leader of the bunch.

All these neat character-types did a fantastic job force-feeding a generation of pre-adolescent viewers a host of useful prejudices by which to exclude and exalt one another in their mature years — but what did they do to help them learn about themselves?

I always identified with “Carlos Ramon,” not because I’m a MexicanAmerican, but because Carlos was a clown. In ever y episode, I could expect Carlos to throw himself headlong upon each micro-opportunity to crack a bad joke. I was on the edge of my seat, listening carefully for the conditions of humor to arise. And then they would, and Carlos would get his annoying one-liner and then the entire class would turn to him and groan “CARLOS” with a mixture of endearment and irritation.

I wondered whether Carlos would replay these episodes in his head at night, wincing at the memor y of having bothered his friends with his incessant attention-seeking. Did he feel, in the moment, like he had no choice but to make the joke, knowing already how poor it was and what the reaction would be? Did he enjoy all the eyes on him, or feel scrutinized, or both? Did he feel like was being laughed with or at? Did he feel like he, himself, was just a bad joke Pinocchio’d into a small boy?

I wondered this because, I confess such is the case for me. I am, to slightly alter a more common but misogynistic term, an “attentionhoarder.” For my entire life, I have been “That Guy,” interrupting and dominating conversations with an endless string of jokes, declamations, trivia and anecdotes. I forcibly seize the spotlight of ever y discussion and thrust it upon myself. My hand is always raised in class. I ask questions and offer commentar y at the end of discussion. I go nuts on online forums and Listser vs. I write for four campus publications, in addition to managing a satire page on Facebook with 12,000 followers.

At all times I am torn by feelings of helplessness at my own inability to resist the urge to grab so much attention, the pressure to perform not just at, but above my previous level, the immense relief that comes with waking up with new ideas, the fear that one day I will run dr y and lastly, the unmatched joy I get from

making people laugh, rethink things or doing both at once.

And yet I feel the need to apologize and explain things from my perspective, since I have more than enough data to verify that besides my friends and fans, there are always people who just find me self-centered and obnoxious. I feel guilty about the people I’ve hurt by talking over them, for all the regrettable jokes I’ve ever made in poor taste or ignorance of harmful social issues. I have wasted a lot of people’s time they will never get back, listening politely to some or another absurd rant.

My defense is one that resembles insanity — I can’t stop writing and talking. I become itchingly conscious of myself as I sense a great welling-up in my chest and ignition of my mind in the presence of people whom I suspect I can entertain, but at the same time know that I will tr y and keep tr ying even when it becomes obvious no one cares what I have to say. Even when I’m alone, I plan out stories and puns and points to make in arguments I might not actually have for years, so that my brain constantly bears a thundering swarm of ant-like tidbits of logic, irony, factoids and plot. I summon to my presence my friends and professors and even dead authors I admire. I force them into hypothetical dialogue, I make them laugh and furrow their brows in my imagination.

Being stamped a “Funny Guy” early on in life brings with it a share of little-discussed unhappiness. You feel pressure to meet expectations, you regularly misjudge other people’s positive or negative opinion of you based on whether or how much they laugh, you are embarrassed and loathe yourself in those moments where you feel like a clown, a human joke. You go through all of this with an obligator y smiling exterior.

I was severely affected by the death of Robin Williams. The terminus of his depression suddenly looked like it was marked as that of my own, and that of all the other sad, funny people of the world: Joan Rivers, Evelyn Waugh, Stephen Fr y, Hugh Laurie, Conan O’Brian, George Carlin, Pagliacci. Their miser y differed in quality and magnitude, but ever y case feels cosmically inappropriate to me. How could these people not be tremendously happy? They have the ear and eyes of the entire world.

Yet all the laughter in the world cannot restart a broken heart, or alleviate an inch of loneliness. A room of people roaring in rapture at my words is a magnificent simulation of community, but it is really just a lot of breath. None lingers. My closest friendships, I realize, have been with people who liked me for reasons that had nothing to do with the 24-7 Pellowski Per formance. In their company, I feel wordlessly warm.

8// MIRROR

I Will Never Be The ‘Cool Girl’: Myths and Magic of People Who Do Not Exist story

By Rachel Hein

Courtesy of Twentieth Century Fox

With the popularity of the book-turned-movie “Gone Girl” (2014), the Cool Girl trope has been on an impressive publicity scheme, when she usually just lurks in the shadows. Gillian Flynn, author of “Gone Girl,” claims that this gendered role doesn’t exist — she is merely a fantasy that takes different forms in the minds of men, while tormenting women as she laughs and flips her hair. She never demands attention, never intimidates and never threatens. She simply reaps the benefits of being seen as femininelooking and masculine-minded, but with zero self-acknowledgment of either. “Sexy? Who me?

I’m just one of the guys,” she proclaims. Girls want to be her. Boys want to be with her. They wait for the day to come when a girl will just prance into their man cave, eat day-old chicken wings and drink Keystone while beating them at “Call of Duty.” He will know has found the one. And if he hasn’t found her yet, it’s just a matter of time until she appears with a glowing rim of light surrounding her — most likely at a beer-league slow-pitch softball game, a Bruins autograph signing, Comic-Con or a street meat hot dog stand in Alphabet City.

For those who still waiting their turn to be graced with their own God-given Cool Girl, there are celebrities — like Zooey Deschanel in “500 Days of Summer” (2009), Cameron Diaz in “There’s Something About Mary” (1998) and Jennifer Lawrence in real life — to hold them over until they meet their own. Though these actresses are modern representations of Cool Girls, this phenomenon dates back to earlier stars. Not an obvious bombshell like Bardot or Monroe, not classy sophisticated like Hepburn, but a whole new genre. If Marilyn is wearing a silk slip and Audrey is wearing a tweed petticoat, Cool Girl wears cutoff overalls and a white tank top and her hair in a messy side ponytail. Take Clara Bow, for instance.

A BuzzFeed article described this 1920s actress as having “short, flaming red hair, a thick Brooklyn accent and horrible manners; instead of dining with the stodgy Hollywood elite, she spent her weekends hanging out at the USC football games, flirting with the players, including a young, pre-stardom John Wayne.”

If in fact Cool Girl is merely a unicorn-type phenomenon — only rumors of sightings, no factual evidence — then it takes a smart woman to play the role of Cool Girl. She has to realize subconsciously that she will get the best of both worlds while toying with gender. I would be foolish to claim that a real, true Cool Girl does not exist for the same reason I have never claimed mermaids aren’t living layers beneath us. Who am I to say that the massive chunks of unexplored ocean aren’t mermaid-laden aquatic metros? Who am I to say Cool Girls aren’t out there too, probably offended by allegations of deception and manipulation (but still somehow totally chill about it because of her incessant “chillness.”) And to be honest, I don’t give up on either idea because a small part of me likes the idea that Cool Girls could exist, the same way

the existence of mermaids could ensure that my childhood fantasies are real.

However, the Cool Girl aesthetic seems to be a tool developed by those who seek to be desired by all, but threaten no one. And at a place like Dartmouth, there are a high number of Cool Girl perpetrators and enthusiasts.

You’ve seen her, the Dartmouth Cool Girl.

She wears wool socks, doesn’t blow-dry her hair and skis in the winter. She plays club sports, bikes to class, could kick your ass at tennis and doesn’t “believe” in the gym. She runs the table in a basement, appreciates a good dance party and never gets sloppy-drunk, but always stays at a carefree tipsy. After ordering EBA’s with the guys, you’ll find her at in the library at 9 a.m., studying, polished and put-together, cheeks rosy from her morning run and ready for the class she is TA’ing.

She does it all. She isn’t obnoxious, but when she talks, people listen. She studied abroad in Morocco, speaks fluent French and plans her exams around the sunny days when she can lay on the Green and read a book. She combines intelligence, wit and humor. We don’t see her break down crying about a midterm, vomiting outside a fraternity or gossiping on 3FB. Jillian Katz ’17 said that at Dartmouth, the concept of Cool Girl represents an impossible standard of behavior. “[She] represents the combination of the things we hope to achieve at campus — a perfect balance of academic and social, effortlessly beautiful, surrounded by girl friends and chased by guys,” she said. “Many of these things are inherently paradoxes. How can she finish the last three slices of EBA’s and still be skinny? Be the last person in the basement, yet also ace her econ exam?”

Florence Gonsalves ’15 agreed, commenting on how Cool Girls are more than happy to drink Keystone, eat Collis mozz sticks and still maintain an impossible figure. They don’t care about work but are naturally brilliant.

“The Cool Girl is unobtainable as all Cool Girls are,” she said. “I don’t think it’s an issue of gender roles but an issue of doing and being it all. There is a widespread goal of literally being everything, but it’s a paradox. Like being able to drink a lot but never being too drunk.”

From Flynn’s perspective, the Cool Dartmouth Girl is only an act. But for many of us, she so clearly epitomizes everything we feel that we cannot be, at least all at once. In fact, Cool Dartmouth Girl might take form in several different human beings, each possessing a quality that makes up her beast. Somewhere between female and male, she relates to both. Cool Dartmouth Girl is a bundle of insecurities manifested in a nonexistent being who we think others desire.

But do they?

Cody Nilsen ’15 said she believes most women make some attempt at achieving the Cool Girl ideal no matter how much they deny it.

“I think women must walk the delicate line between being flirty and feminine while also low

key and able to ‘hang,’” she said. “I think a lot of it involves a low-key sex appeal, and making it come off as natural and effortless, when in reality it is anything but.”

Nilsen said she thinks people are aware of the delicate nature of the gender politics debate on our campus, but that few people have genuinely internalized the issue and formed real opinions.

Instead, Nilsen said people focus on not “coming off” as sexist, while in reality they secretly continue to idolize the people who seem to be Cool Girls which in turn only strengthens stereotypes.

The delicacy means that these important issues are not discussed and dispelled, she added.

“Do most girls want to go into a smelling, Keystone-infested basement and hit a ball back and forth for an hour-and-a-half?” Emory Orr ’16 questioned. “My personal guess is no, but ‘since the girls that guys actually think are cool do it, I have to do it or they’re going to think I’m some princess.’”

With the creation of Cool Girl, comes the counterpart of “Cool Boy.” Less famous, underrated and less scrutinized, he resides as Cool Girl’s counterpart. From the female perspective, he has rock-hard biceps and broad shoulders, but he also plays guitar and writes poetry. He doesn’t need to be asked to listen, he understands.

He cooks you gluten-free blueberry pancakes.

Cool Boy is just as ridiculous as Cool Girl, and he exists in the mental realms of Dartmouth as well. Girls complain that “every guy is the same,” and they wait for Cool Boy to hit them like a ton of bricks. What they don’t see is that Cool Boy must live up to a different set of standards. To achieve his status, one must execute “effortless indifference.” Cool Boy must work hard, but not too hard. He must crush his paper, but if he doesn’t make it out to play three games of pong, can we really call the night a success?

Boys must excel in all areas of their life while appearing care-free. This paradox sets up the belief that it’s cool to succeed, but uncool to care.

There’s social pressure for boys, too. Orr said most boys don’t actually want to get dressed up for every formal with the “hot sorority girl.”

Instead, they’ll argue that attending said events are necessary to be liked by friends and eventually to hook up.

Dartmouth culture can expect male and female students to exist in either one of two gendered spaces. Men crawl down to their basements while women get prepared to “go out,” be social and “cool.” Either Cool Boy is expected to dress up and take selfies all night or Cool Girl is expected to shotgun beers and sink cups.

The labels, Alexander Velaise ’15 said, come from the separation of genders at Dartmouth.

“I do think men strive for a lazier version of what you’ve described, with a bit less cooking

and more drinking,” Velaise said.

But Dartmouth students often build their lives around a standard of perfection. Unfortunately, academics only represent one pillar of perfection, and this standard trickles down into daily decisions.

“Eating alone? You may as well put a sign over their head that says, ‘I’m unaffiliated, not an athlete and there’s nobody around me — stay clear because there’s clearly something wrong.’”

Orr said. “Mental illness? Eating disorders?

Bipolar? ADHD? Those are weaknesses and signs of vulnerability. Many don’t like either of those traits here at Dartmouth. They don’t have time for weakness. They’re always busy because even though they’ve binge-watched season two of ‘House of Cards,’ and put off work for three days, they still can’t be bothered with a FoCo dinner.”

The aesthetic that we are balanced, carefree, efficacious human beings must be met at all time, with our only alternatives as lying or hiding. Cool Girl and Cool Boy don’t come out until their wellsecured masks are on.

“The façade of Cool Girl/Boy is rampant on this campus, and it’s a façade that needs to be addressed and terminated,” Orr said. “We are not perfect. Individuality is not a sin. But often times we’re treating it like it’s one.”

Let’s not overlook the obvious here. We are talking about children, Cool Girl and Cool Boy. That’s because Cool Man and Cool Woman don’t exist. If they did, they’d come along with a load of other inevitable qualities that make them man and woman — products of biology and evolution — and those qualities are far less convenient tools.

Maybe drinking vodka cranberries, using an elliptical, admitting to spending time on my hair and sometimes crying for no reason makes me so utterly not Cool Girl, but that’s okay. Just like it’s okay for a boy to skip the rom-com movie, question your overpriced KAF coffees and sometimes light stuff on fire just because. And it’s okay to fall somewhere in between those extremes. Gender politics are complicated enough without “Cool People” testing our ideas of perfection.

“When you think you found one in real life, they’re surely faking it, even if they’re good at it,” Mark Baum ’15 said. “Nobody can do it all.

Nobody can even come close without lots of effort. It just takes a little time to realize that and let go of the ideal, because it’s dangerous. You lose yourself in the process of becoming ‘cool.’”

Cool Girl may have hit the big screen this fall, but she is just another face in the crowd at Dartmouth. Ask yourself if she can really immaculately strike down the gender binary, but also ask yourself if Ariel swims in the ocean with Flounder and Sebastian.

Courtesy of Frank Lloyd Films