Exposing the Gaps in Princeton’s Facade of Economic Inclusivity

I spoke with my friend Ray, a student who had also come from a low-income background, about my discomfort on a trip to Brooklyn. For us, trips to NYC taken on the unclean public transportation felt like a reset, a connection to what we were familiar with. We laughed as we passed down an alleyway that would have made Princeton shudder. I told him that I was sad that the Princeton Public Library didn’t smell like piss and body odor. He told me that he missed running into people in the street who would try to sell you fake jewelry while shouting obscenities. We giggled at how crazy we were, missing what some would call the worst parts of city life, because it reminded us of home, that there was a world out there where men dressed in pants besides khakis and chinos. Where income levels below $100,000 were normal, and the hecticness that came with low- and middle-income neighborhoods was expected.

I began to realize that the “orange bubble” which all Princeton students can relate to– the feeling of isolation and lack of connection to the world outside of Princeton– hits differently for different students. While I cannot speak to the experiences of students of color, for low-income students, the orange bubble not only confines us to campus, but casts an orange tint on the walls of every building, reminding us that the walls inside the bubble aren’t ours either. The orange bubble is not a hemispheric boundary, but rather a membrane filled with congested air that permeates throughout the whole campus, simultaneously trapping us within and isolating us from a beautiful facade that is supposed to be our home .