Stripping off labels for self-discovery

You can spot them a mile away, those juniors who have been abroad. They get swarmed on the path by old friends. They adorn themselves with European clothes and the constant comment, "Oh, you can't get these in the states." They toss out random foreign slang like "minger" and "chou chou." My friend returning from Asia has even taken to cursing in Japanese. But Duke's newest ex-patriots are carrying more around than their new Fendi purses, scored cheap at an Italian outlet. They bring to campus a fresh sense of independence, a been-there-done-that glare that you can't buy on FLEX.

Last weekend at a frat party, my friend returning from Madrid grabbed my hands and groaned, "Let's go. We're too old for this." After insisting everything in Europe is better, another girl who'd been abroad told me that the most meaningful part of going away was the sense of being alone. "Your choices aren't made by anyone else," she said while flipping through her new salad cookbook. "And your actions only affect you. It was the most liberating feeling in the world." As she chose a vinaigrette, I wondered if she was right. Does freedom come from being totally alone?

In two weeks, I'll be boarding a plane to Scotland, and I can't wait. I am sick of Great Hall mashed potatoes, two-tone tote bags and anything listed on ACES. But the thing I hate most is that dreaded phrase, "Oh, I've heard so much about you." When I get off my plane next month, I will be a stranger and that will be the most liberating thing of all. The way I see it, being on my own has nothing to do with actually being alone. Instead, it's a way to shake free of your shell. I want my independence to be the freedom to create myself through my actions, not my reputation.

Remember the excitement of freshman fall? Everything was new, including us. When we get to Duke for the first time, we're fresh. No one knows us or our high school superlatives. "Most Likely to Succeed" could be the girl in the library or the guy getting wasted in section--in that first year, every identity is up for grabs. And then comes rush.

First, comes the week when every girl on campus wears tight pants and has a lip-gloss overdose. Next comes the time when freshman guys abandon their halls in favor of their favorite section. Pretty soon, half of the campus community is identified not by its personality or even past scandals. These people are all pegged down by some greek letters. Being in a selective social group is fun, and sometimes incredibly meaningful, but within the Duke bubble, it's sometimes hard to separate groups from their stereotypes and individuals from their groups.

Even for those not in an official selective group, other kinds of baggage abound. Eavesdrop on any Alpine conversation and there's bound to be a snide remark with the phrase "that girl," or "total player" mixed in with a Southwestern salad. More abundant on Duke's campus than designer labels are the labels that we give each other. And now I want to peel mine off.

So here I go, shipping myself off to Europe. I'm jealous of everyone who's already been away and had the chance to shed their old skins. I can't wait to find a cheap Lulu Guiness bag (she's Scottish, you know) and ride the Eurorail to France. I'm studying maps of the Tube and even practicing my too-cool-for-this glare for use when I come back to Duke. But more than all that, I'm looking forward to my freedom. Finally, the only label I'll have is on my suitcase, and I won't be judged or pigeonholed unless I dig the hole myself. Everyone says they're going to Europe to find themselves. I'll choose the more independent option and lose myself instead.

Faran Krentcil is a Trinity junior and trends editor of Recess.