With social media becoming an essential part of most young adults’ social lives, it has removed any perceived safe space to avoid comparison; I assume we have all experienced it, the doomscrolling where we are bombarded with multiple images of other peoples’ perfect lives and how different they are from our lives. You constantly see people going to fun events but don’t see them studying or doing homework; or you see them travel extensively, but not hesitate to spend money while complaining about being broke and never having any money. The “comparison trap” is constantly in the minds of young adults, and it runs rampant at Oberlin where everyone feels the need to do three majors, fake poverty while wearing designer, and pursue some quirky hobby. 

At first, it was the theory. In every class since I got here, at least one person has brought up some theoretical framework or writer to over–explain their reasoning for thei answer, and the unfortunate part is it’s mostly never applicable to the actual topic at hand. I understand college is the perfect environment to apply this framework to topics that seem disconnected but are part of a greater systematic issue. However, that point is overplayed when people use it to sound smarter when emphasizing a simple — and quite frankly, obvious — point. Sentences are so clogged with jargon that it seems like you are running around in circles trying to decode the central message.  The main purpose of this is  to sound more educated on a topic than you are, but a downside is making others feel less educated on a topic when they may be more educated through different methods — or, better yet, actual experiences. It is normal in higher education to go through imposter syndrome, feeling like you were lucky to be admitted or that everyone is 12 steps ahead of you all the time. This feeling of imposter syndrome is amplified by the performative intellectualism that thrives in environments like Oberlin. It’s not enough to understand a concept or engage in meaningful discussion; instead, there is pressure to one-up others with obscure references or convoluted jargon. The irony is that the people most eager to flaunt their knowledge are often the ones who struggle to apply it in real-world settings. Knowledge becomes social currency rather than genuine learning, and those who don’t participate in this academic performance can feel left behind, even if they are just as, if not more, intelligent.

Beyond the classroom, the pressure to craft an identity extends to every aspect of student life. The social scene is a battleground of carefully curated personas where students strategically display their quirks and passions to fit within the acceptable mold of “Oberlin culture.” It’s a paradox: individuality is supposedly celebrated, yet there’s an unspoken expectation to conform to a particular brand of unconventional. You’re supposed to have a niche, an area of expertise that sets you apart, while still aligning with the broader aesthetic of intellectual radicalism. The result? People exaggerate their interests, feign depth in subjects they barely understand, and adopt opinions not because they truly believe in them but because they fit the narrative they want to project. This extends to activism, where the pressure to be constantly engaged and outspoken can feel overwhelming. It’s not enough to care about an issue, you have to be vocal about it in the “right” way; using the right language, citing the right theorists, and aligning with the most accepted viewpoints. Any deviation, hesitation, or even a lack of public discourse on a topic can be met with scrutiny. While activism is important, the expectation to be publicly and performatively involved in every issue creates a culture of superficial engagement rather than meaningful change. There’s a fine line between genuine passion and the need to appear engaged for social validation, and that line is often blurred.

The social media phenomenon only intensifies these pressures. The omnipresence of Instagram stories, threads on X, formerly known as Twitter, and TikToks showcasing people’s curated thoughts, experiences, and political stances means there’s never a moment where you aren’t being observed or measuring yourself against others. This constant exposure reinforces the need to be “on” all the time, clever, engaged, knowledgeable, and effortlessly cool. And yet, the more one performs, the more exhausting it becomes. The cycle of comparison, competition, and self-doubt feeds into itself until it feels impossible to separate who your identity from who you present yourself to be.

At some point, it becomes necessary to ask: Who am I outside of all this? Outside of the expectation to perform intelligence, outside of the comparisons facilitated by social media, outside of the persona I have built to navigate this environment? The scariest thing is that, for many, that question doesn’t have a clear answer. The pressure to meticulously construct an identity can make it difficult to step back and determine what is authentic and what is just a response to external expectations. There is, of course, no easy solution. The nature of college, particularly one as self-consciously intellectual and socially aware as Oberlin means these dynamics are unlikely to disappear. However, recognizing them is the first step. Understanding that social media is a highlight reel, that not every opinion needs to be wrapped in layers of academic jargon, and that self-worth isn’t measured by the ability to maintain a carefully-crafted persona is crucial in breaking free from these pressures. Perhaps the most radical act is to embrace imperfection, to allow for silence in discussions without rushing to prove knowledge, to engage in interests without feeling the need to brand them as part of a greater aesthetic, and to acknowledge that self-worth does not need to be constantly validated by peers. It is in these moments of honesty, rather than performance, that true individuality can emerge.