Exposing the Gaps in Princeton’s Facade of Economic Inclusivity

Meanwhile, my heart sank as I looked around at the intricate buildings around me, whose pictures would likely appear in tandem with her braggadocious Facebook post. It hit me as I stepped in front of my country-club looking dorm for a picture–I couldn’t live here. The buildings were too nice, the students roaming on campus looked too put-together; there was no graffiti, no homeless people asking for money outside the library, no sign of “poor-ness” which I had always associated with reality. The familiar signs of a stratified society were missing, what I considered middle to low-income normalities were completely hidden. This school was unnatural and unreal, its campus made up. And I wasn’t meant to be in its fantasy world. I too, should have been tucked away in some corner, not to be seen by the tourist groups or fancy visiting professionals.

As I would come to realize, for me and for many students with low-income backgrounds, the beautiful campus would become a facade of isolation, a reminder that I don’t belong, that this place was not made for people whose clothes were thrifted, not out of a taste for fashion, but out of a practiced necessity started in elementary school. The school that I had immaturely chosen because of its beauty suffocated me with its manicured gardens and proud stone arches.