Author: Molly Spaeth

When I first found out that I had a column in The Stanford Daily, I skipped and paraded around the house for a full day, bragging to anyone who would listen (i.e., my cat and brother) that I was the next Carrie Bradshaw!

Upon hearing this, my cat stared at me blankly and my brother asked me to pass the Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Unfortunately, however, up to this point I don’t think I’ve really done Carrie Bradshaw justice. Namely, I haven’t touched on the subject near and dear to her heart, and the hearts of all those other tortured souls who, like me, came into Stanford still believing in truth, beauty, and above all things, love.

Dating at Stanford, or more accurately, the lack of dating at Stanford.

Ahhh, the argument harkens back to the beginning of time, as every year the producers of the Real World wrestle with their consciousnesses, trying to prove to the new freshmen that this lack-of-dating stereotype doesn’t exist, while simultaneously resigning themselves to the fact that it really, truly does.

O.K., to be fair, I should clarify what I mean. Stanford’s romantic realm consists of three main genres: you’re either married, “hooking up” or spending your weekends waiting for your own Mr. Big with your girlfriends, Nutella and endless Sex and the City marathons.

But, why is this the case? Although apparently the Stanford student body as a whole is supposed to be really smart, anyone eavesdropping on the conversation I had at brunch this morning (my roommate from Madrid spent five minutes trying to figure out whether someone had switched her toothbrush because she couldn’t remember if it was dark purple or not–afterward, I had to pick a speck of tater tot out of her eyebrow) could come to the conclusion that the majority of us are a far cry from high-minded intellectuals; some of us (myself included) might even be more along the lines of 10th graders straight out of Sweet Valley High. All in all, we’re relatively “normal,” and relatively normal people go on dates, right?

Either we’re not actually that normal, or I’ve just been rollin’ with the wrong crowd.

A dear friend of mine described her thoughts on her own dating woes to me in detail over a mixed greens salad at Pluto’s a few weeks ago: “People at Stanford don’t date because we’re already so critical of ourselves. We’re even more critical of the traits we look for in a significant other. We set impossible standards that no one can ever hope to live up to because we can’t even live up to our own standards.”

I gave her theory a lot of thought and was really starting to agree with her when I ran into an old friend at Stern dining this past weekend. As we were catching up, she mentioned in passing that she had gone to Cirque de Soleil the night before. After a little more squeezing, she admitted that it had been a date.

“Yeah, but I’m probably not gonna go out with him again. He’s nice, but I’m just not that into him. It’s O.K., though, I have another date on Tuesday.”

At this point, the risk of dropping my tater tots in my coffee was running pretty high, as both my jaw and arms fell to the floor in bewilderment. “Homegirl,” I said. “How did you manage to find THE TWO boys at Stanford that actually go on dates, never mind that you’re cycling through them both in one week?”

To which she waved me off and said, “No, no, that’s not it. Guys want to go on dates. The thing is that girls at Stanford come in with this pre-conceived notion that boys don’t go on dates, so they just accept it. It’s great for the guys, they don’t have to spend money and get their fill of frat-party hook-ups. I COMMAND to go on dates, so I go on dates. It’s actually pretty simple.”

Homegirl’s got a point. I suppose I could be a little more proactive, rather than hanging out in my pajamas all day, eating Nutella and over-analyzing every other text from last night (“What do you think he meant by, ‘See you later’?”). However, it must be said that a prerequisite for this whole COMMANDING the date thing has to be that the guy is at least remotely interested. (But, you know, minor detail. We can work with that.)

In any case, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to start COMMANDING to go on dates (Editor’s note: oh dear sweet baby Jesus), and I suggest you do it, too. If we start now, hopefully by the time the incoming class of 2016 rolls around, the producers of the Real World will have some new stereotype that needs disproving. (GPAs plummet as Stanford students average four dates a week?!)

We can only hope.

Let me apologize up front. I’m admitting the inspiration for this forthcoming column came to me approximately 37 seconds ago after a 45-minute run around Campus Drive Loop while listening to “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga on repeat.

I’m apologizing, secondly, because while writing this forthcoming column I’m still listening to “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga on repeat, lest I forget what I wanted to say (my condolences, Faisan third floor).

But that’s exactly where the idea for this piece originated, the same third floor of Faisan that will continue to suffer through the next 25 minutes of the Lady herself as I pump the adrenaline out of my veins and onto my pink keyboard-covered MacBook.

I’m a junior coming back from a fabulous quarter abroad in Madrid, and like most of my fellow returners, I was dropped into third-tier upperclass housing like it’s hot, in a complex I lovingly refer to as the “Flo.” Although I was a little nervous about doing a second year in Florence Moore Hall (I partied with Mirlo sophomore year), I vowed to go into my Faisan homecoming disregarding the less-than-encouraging insights of my fellow jaded juniors.

But what a homecoming it was. Third day back on campus and I had what seemed like every freshman in EastFlo smiling, waving and shouting, “Hey, Molly!” at me in the hallways. Now I’m notoriously bad with names, but their enthusiasm and genuine interest in getting to know me and welcoming me into their freshman community instilled in me an equally genuine interest in wanting to learn more about them.

I remember something my freshman year RA in J-Ro, Laura Holmes ’08, told me: “I love living with freshman,” she said. “My friends are all so jaded and wrapped up in their own personal concerns, but you guys have so much enthusiasm. It’s so refreshing.”

I hate to sound like a naïve idealist, but this was not the only thing Laura ended up being right about (but isn’t that the point of freshman dorm RAs? They’re right about EVERYTHING). What happened to that freshman enthusiasm we seemed to imbibe at nearly every new prospect of Stanford discovery? Participation at class events has been shown to steadily decrease every year and it is a constant struggle for the class cabinet to keep up interest at these events. As a result, you have events leaning steadily toward those that can reel the most people in (like free In-n-Out during finals week) and less toward those with actual substance, like class-wide community service events or academic workshops. And I understand it. If you have similar events you attend with groups you’re more dedicated to, why would you choose to participate in something with random people you don’t know in the Class of Oh-Leven?

Is it, as my beloved editor Zachary Warma put in his Jan. 11 column, that we have just realized that all of those Stanford traditions that were so unique to our class and our class only have been repeated in almost the exact same fashion every year since? Was the inception of our cynicism marked at the first moment we heard Dean Julie tell the Class of Oh-Twelve that THEY were the best class ever, after having heard nothing but the same about the Class of Oh-Leven for the entirety of the year before? Did we get so preoccupied with finishing cover letters for McKinsey’s Summer Business Analyst internship that we’ve lost a genuine interest in each other?

It’s not that we need to be coddled, and I don’t need someone to hold my hand and tell me how special I am every day; I have a mom who does that practically every hour. But something has got to be said for these SLE freshmen, with arguably the worst stereotypical reputation on campus, who go out of their way to welcome an old, jaded, Lady Gaga-loving stranger into their perfect, solidified, third-floor community (and as a former energetic, bright-eyed freshman, you KNOW how strong freshman communities are).

It’s time to go back to the basics. I’m not asking you to de-pledge Pi Phi or boycott your Stanford in Government meetings, but merely to step back and realize that there are about 15,894 other groups on campus that still might be able to enrich your life outside of your entrenched comfort zone, even if you think you don’t need them. You may not need them, but I sure as hell know that a little nudge out of my comfort zone garnered me about 45 new friends and that same freshman-inspired, revitalized enthusiasm I thought I had lost. But in all honesty, the latter just might be the adrenaline talking.

I’ll see you at Junior Formal, Oh-Leven.

A friend of mine from back home in dear, freezing Fargo came to visit me this past weekend. I was ecstatic; I love Stanford, but going to school so far away from home in what my grandpa lovingly refers to as the “Fruit-and-Nut State” (the last time NorDak went blue was in 1964) definitely has its drawbacks, namely that my Stanford world and my past usually never intertwine.

But that all changed this weekend, when Grant got a little too drunk after a particularly epic champagne power hour.

“Molly, you got into this elitist institution because you’re a legacy. There are people smarter than you in North Dakota who should’ve gotten in, and you know it.”

The next morning, although Grant had no recollection of it and we merrily skipped off to have pancakes, the echoes of his drunken, belligerent rant remained: a friend from the past questioned my legitimacy in the present.

Here it goes. I’ll finally, painfully admit it: I. Am. Legacy. Not only am I legacy; I had to use an addendum to fit in all my legacy connections on my Stanford application. I have pictures of myself wearing Stanford pajamas hours after I left the womb, and ever since I can remember, I’ve dreamed of only Stanford.

This is not something I confess lightly. I’ve done everything in my power to hide my legacy background for fear that anyone who finds me out may arrive at the assumption my belligerent friend Grant made. While talking to a friend (also legacy) last week, she remarked, “I can’t explain it, but something changes when you tell someone you’re a legacy. It’s like a falter; you can see it in their eyes that their perception of you and your legitimacy has forever been changed.”

As I see it, there are two main responses a legacy student may have upon initial admittance to Stanford. There are those, like myself, who do everything in their power to keep their legacy a secret and perform in almost frantic desperation to prove to themselves and their peers that their admittance was not a product of a family name. You’ll find these students among the most terrified during NSO, pretending alongside their new friends that they, too, had no idea that John Elway went to Stanford (even though they’ve heard about Elway’s epic 1982 game-winning play five times a football season since before they could even say the word “Cardinal”).

And then you have the others, who have known since middle school that their acceptance letter has been their birthright and have used that advantage to its fullest. These are the ones at NSO who look you straight in the eye with their Christian Dior eyeglasses as they proudly display a framed picture of their dad receiving an award from Dick Lyman.

But then NSO ends, you start to get into the swing of things and, before you know it, you’re far too busy trying to create the most whacked-out thesis in IHUM to worry about anything that mattered in life before you met your tall, dark, handsome RA. However, that occasional B- on a paper or a poor presentation can always bring back the legacy insecurities faster than Bravman can throw out iPods at Mid-Year Convocation.

But all stereotypes aside, what can we make of the legacy institution as a whole? All it would take is one look at Dubya’s track record to make James Madison rise out of his grave with a new Virginia Plan abolishing any and all types of name-affiliated favoritism. But it must be said that there have been extremely talented families who have devoted their lives and their passion to doing good for this country, the extent of which may not have been possible without the existence of the family name (you gotta love those Kennedys).

In any case, the legacy of the legacy really comes down to what you make of it. Although it may have given me an advantage on my application, I can definitely assure you that my legacy status did not, unfortunately, give my GPA any advantage while I was trying to fulfill my natural science requirement (yeah, that was fun). But all in all, I’d say I hold my own pretty well with the rest of the non-legacies. Maybe I should just move on and accept my legacy acceptance as an unfair advantage I got in my youth–one that karma will be sure to make up for in the next 20 years of my life (dear sweet baby Jesus, I hope not).

Stanford’s relationship with its own legacy is extremely complex–a relationship that I cannot even attempt to fully explain. And although I by no means wish to come off as a poor, middle-class white girl suffering from some poor, middle-class, white girl guilt syndrome, I do hope to illustrate that at least for this girl, a student’s relationship with the existence of her own legacy is a little more complex than you might think.

Pamon Forouhar '11, pictured with Mika Wang '11 in Berlin, described his time abroad as a life-changing experience. Fresh from their exposure to a new lifestyle, students often find the transition back to the routines of campus life difficult. (Photo courtesy Pamon Forouhar)

Students abroad fall quarter find it tough adjusting to classes, housing, lifestyle at Stanford

January always marks the beginning of the rainy season and a new quarter at Stanford. But for many students returning from a fall quarter abroad, the beginning is not such an easy transition.

“I haven’t heard a word longer than six letters in six months,” said a dazed Justin Hefter ’11, after his first PoliSci 2 lecture of the quarter. Hefter had just recently returned from a six-month “Semester-at-Sea” program.

Cameron Poter ’11, who studied at the Stanford in Madrid program and had abided by the Spanish-only contract unique to the Madrid program, wore a similar, glazed expression.

“I almost liked the classes in Spanish better because it was already understood that I wouldn’t understand anything,” he said.

Alas, the return to the reality of classes is not the only hardship returning students face. For some, relationships and experiences fostered abroad were some of the hardest things to leave.

“I had a lovely 65-year-old señora that I fell in love with,” Poter said. “She cooked like no one’s business AND she really included us in any family outings that she had. I got to know her family really well, too.”

Pamon Forouhar ’11, who studied in Berlin, said that his experience abroad exceeded his expectations.

“Everyone had said that going abroad would change my life and I was very determined to not have that expectation,” he said. “I went in with low expectations and my experience did end up changing my life. I don’t think that’s always true, but for me personally it absolutely changed my life.”

The return to the joys of Stanford housing has also been one of the biggest obstacles to overcome for returning students. Many were left unassigned until the first week of school, while others struggle to fit back into the campus swing of things while living in off-campus housing. For many, the two-day move-in that Stanford Housing allowed before the start of school proved to be a little overwhelming.

“It’s tough moving into a dorm where everyone knows each other, and I feel like everyone’s already used to school and I just came back from the summer,” Poter explained. “I’m not used to my dorm or my classes; I feel a lot more overwhelmed than the typical Stanford student now.”

Katie Gera ’11, who studied in Oxford, communicated a sense of isolation upon returning to campus.

“The worst part has been realizing that life at Stanford went on while we were gone and we didn’t get to be a part of it,” she said. “Also, since now I live in Oak Creek, it’s really strange to not have a home base on campus.”

Lee Dukes, student relations coordinator for Stanford’s Bing Overseas Studies Program (BOSP), said that many students enjoy their abroad experience to such an extent that they make plans to continue their work after graduation.

“A lot of students that I speak to have enjoyed their time abroad and many of them wish they could go back there and even have a hard time adjusting to being back on campus,” he said. “Some students get motivated to go back there and do so either to do research, work or even do some graduate work.”

Forouhar, for one, agreed.

“It’s much, much harder to be back than I thought. It’s great seeing everyone but I could definitely do another quarter abroad,” he said. “But it’s also made me think of working in Europe after graduation. I would definitely like to take some time off and go back and work.”

But some students don’t wait to graduate. Many enjoy the first quarter abroad so much, they elect to stay and do another quarter abroad. According to Dukes, during the 2008-2009 academic year, 43 students stayed more than one quarter at the same location, 25 students went to two different locations (e.g., one quarter in Madrid and one quarter in Florence) and 63 students did a quarter abroad and then stayed to do an internship in the location.

Although many returning students have expressed their delight at returning to Stanford and seeing all the familiar sights and locations, the transition from an abroad program back to the Stanford bubble can prove to be quite interesting and may even produce reverse culture shock.

“Being immersed in the European lifestyle for three months gave me a new perspective on what it means to be American and what cultural idiosyncrasies differentiate Americans from the rest of the world,” said Robert Toews ’11, who is also a writer for The Daily. “For instance, the more laid-back and relaxed approach Europeans have toward things–taking longer lunches, stopping to chat more often and not being in a rush all the time.”

For those students experiencing reverse culture shock, Dukes offered some advice.

“Stay active in the BOSP program and talk about [your] experiences to students who are thinking about going abroad,” he said.

I spent three months in Spain, and let me tell you, I learned a lot.

I mastered enough Spanish to justify the “working fluency” currently listed under the “Skills” section on my resume. I learned enough about olive oil and Spanish cuisine to make tortilla de patata. And I learned probably more than I ever cared to know about how to get your severely dehydrated roommate into a hospital and hooked up to an IV on a Spanish national holiday whilst you both suffer from food poisoning. But oddly enough, one of the most important lessons I learned wasn’t some great domestic, political or cultural phenomenon.

No; the most important lesson I learned came from a 10-minute conversation with a 30-year-old Spanish entrepreneur.

I had the opportunity while studying in Madrid to intern for a technology start-up called Opinno, Open Innovation. Our team in the Madrid office was small but tight-knit, and one of our larger responsibilities this fall was organizing the first annual “Competición de los Emprendedores,” an event aimed at developing relationships between Spanish technology start-ups and Silicon Valley angel investors.

The design of the competition was pretty simple. Forty-eight different Spanish entrepreneurs submitted 90-second elevator pitches to our company, which were then evaluated by a variety of pre-selected American judges. The top ten ideas were then selected to compete in the final round of judging held in Madrid, complete with five new American judges, an investment forum and a ten-minute question-and-answer session. The only catch? Everything had to be in English.

For most of the competition, each finalist demonstrated a relatively high proficiency in English, and both judges and finalists could understand each other well enough. But when Cesar Marco, the CEO of Rhythmography, a teaching tool geared toward helping the hearing-impaired learn to read music, came to the podium and asked for a translator, we [the Opinno team] all looked at each other frantically. We didn’t HAVE a professional translator.

Eventually, our CFO, Tomás Baylac, stepped up to the plate and began to translate. But because he wasn’t a professional, a large part of Marco’s presentation was (excuse the pun) lost in translation, and the evidence of this confusion was clearly visible on the judges’ faces.

An hour later, I took a seat next to Marco and asked him to explain his product and business model to me, in his native Spanish. Ten minutes into our conversation, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that his product and passion were the most impressive I had seen that day. But because of Marco’s inability to communicate in the “language of the business world,” Rhythmography didn’t even place.

I’m the first to admit that I don’t have an MBA, and the extent of my experience working with entrepreneurs and business models has been exactly three months. But I will say that I understand people, and I understand passion, and Cesar Marco had more belief and conviction in his idea than a great many people have in themselves.

I went home that night with Marco’s burden on my shoulders. What he had finally made clear to me was that there are individuals all over the world with great ideas. Some of them may be as innovative as a way to help the deaf understand music whereas others may be as simple as a new way to take out the garbage. In any case, whether we like it or not, without a connection to resources or adequate means of communication, these great ideas never make it past the theoretical stage.

But I have those resources. I study at one of the greatest research institutions in the world, in the middle of one of the most innovative environments in the United States, and I’m fluent enough in English that some fool on The Daily’s editorial staff lets me publish 800 words every week. But instead of creating great ideas, I’m too focused on the immediate terror of finding a PoliSci adviser.

They say studying abroad changes you, shapes you and makes you never want to come back. I disagree. I learned more than anything from my time abroad that I am an American, through and through, and that my jokes in Spanish, although still pretty terrible, will never be as terrible as my jokes in English [Editor’s Note: True]. But what I have gained is an appreciation and a newfound sense of social responsibility. Cesar Marco’s conviction in his idea and to Spain’s 20-percent unemployment rate demonstrated the need for my maximum contributions to both society and the marketplace. Above all, however, I gained a responsibility to be passionate.

And that is a responsibility I have only to myself.