The Student Government Association (SGA) isn’t a distant organization operating quietly in the background of campus life. It allocates funding to student organizations and oversees budgets. The decisions made in those rooms ripple outward into club programming, campus events, athletics, campus resources, and student initiatives.
Much of that funding comes from the very students who rarely think about it. “If people ask why they should care, they’re paying for the budget,” FSU Student Body Vice President Candidate Sela Teplin states plainly.
Every semester, Activity & Service fees are built into tuition with dollars that help fund the system, electing its leaders this week. For Teplin, voting isn’t about political theatrics or campaign slogans. It’s about stewardship.
“You don’t have to be directly involved,” she says, “but you should know where your money is going, and you should have a say in who’s making those decisions.” For her, SGA isn’t a personality type, but applied leadership. For Teplin, that responsibility is personal.
Campaign week for the FSU’s SGA began at midnight on Feb. 23. For Teplin, that meant election codes, compliance rules, and a calendar packed with meetings. By Monday morning, she was exactly where she insists she always is first: in class. “I’m a student first,” she says.
Between lectures and late-night strategy sessions, she carves out time for lunch with friends, involvement across campus, and quick phone calls home to her family. Leadership, for her, doesn’t look like isolation; it looks like community. When Teplin arrived at FSU as a freshman, she wasn’t thinking about running for Student Body Vice President. She was thinking about finding friends and finding a place for herself. “I didn’t really go into it thinking I could be running for something like this one day. I just needed a home.”
In searching for that home, she found more than a circle of friends. She explored her Jewish identity, Cuban heritage, and Panhellenic sisterhood. Somewhere along that sense of belonging, something shifted. She found mentorship and a confidence that would eventually shape her leadership.
“I wouldn’t be here without the mentors that guided me,” Teplin says. “I was told this quote when I was a senior in high school: ‘At a table full of people, pull up a chair for yourself and the women around you.’ That’s what’s been done for me since I was a freshman, and I’m going to continue to do it.”
That culture of mentorship is part of what drew her to the Legacy Party. She describes her involvement less as political and more as relational. During a JSU banquet, she remembers scanning the room and seeing familiar faces, including Legacy’s co-chairs, Miranda Ojea and London Jackoboice, both women who had modeled how important showing up for each other in leadership could look like.
“I feel like Legacy has really just shown up for me. That’s showing up for my community. We’re bridging the gap between key areas on campus… that meant everything to me.” She says.
For Teplin, that’s what representation looks like. Out of Legacy’s slate, executive board, and cabinet, 14 of 33 members are women. It’s not parity yet, she acknowledges, but it’s progress. It’s proof that women aren’t just participating in student government, but they’re shaping it. Leadership slates within SGA have historically reflected gender balance, setting a precedent of representation across the ticket. While anyone can advocate for students, Teplin believes perspective matters.
“No one can advocate for us like one of us,” Teplin says, not in exclusion, but as experience. “No one knows the female experience as we do. I think it’s unfortunate when women aren’t part of conversations that directly impact them. There are issues that you understand differently when you’ve lived them.” For her, that understanding shows up in everyday realities such as walking home from her sorority house aware of her surroundings, thinking critically and constantly about campus safety.
Representation at the table is only one part of the equation. Barriers women face aren’t always institutional, as sometimes, they’re subtle and unspoken. When asked what barriers she’s faced, whether at FSU, in professional spaces, or within student government, Teplin pauses. “To be a woman and to be qualified — it’s never going to be enough,” she says.
She’s quick to clarify that this isn’t unique to Florida State. “I don’t even think that’s just here,” she adds. “I think it’s a microcosm for what’s happening in the world.” For her, the challenge has often been perception. “I think it’s very easy to look at someone who’s kind, who’s compassionate, who’s empathetic, and think there’s no backbone — there’s no spine,” she says. “Just because I’m kind and compassionate doesn’t mean that I’m not a boss, or qualified.”
Those perceptions don’t stop at the individual level. They shape how leadership itself is viewed. SGA can carry its own set of stereotypes. It can feel distant with polished Instagram videos, campaign graphics, and curated messaging. To some students, it looks one-dimensional. Untouchable. Like something reserved for a certain type of person.
For her, SGA isn’t a personality type. It’s applied leadership. “All of the skills that I’ve learned can apply to someone who’s never touched SGA in their life. There’s something for everyone.” That accessibility matters, especially to women who might look at student government, such as myself, and quietly think, that’s not for me. “It is for you,” Teplin insists, “there’s space.”
When asked what impact she hopes to leave behind, Teplin doesn’t mention titles or election results, but she talks about visibility. “FSU has so many resources people don’t know about,” she says. “Career, community, mental health… I want to create visibility and opportunity. If it’s not me helping someone directly, I want to guide them so they can find it themselves.”
For her, leadership isn’t about being the loudest voice in the room. It’s about making sure other voices know where to go. Too often, she says, women arrive on campus with ideas but no roadmap, unsure of who to ask or whether they belong in certain spaces at all.
That uncertainty was once familiar to her, and yet, she refuses to let perception define her, dampen her spirit, or harden her outlook. Instead, she chose something else: self-belief. “You have to be the first one to believe in yourself. Walk into the room with the confidence that you can do whatever you put your mind to.”
It’s advice she wishes she could give her freshman-year self, the version of her who sometimes felt unsure, who didn’t yet see herself as a Vice-Presidential candidate, who just wanted somewhere to belong. “If I could go back, I’d ask her, ‘Why not you?’ There are seats at the table. If no one’s going to pull up a chair for you, go find one.”
That’s the impact, not holding a title, but modeling what it looks like to leave your legacy, believing in yourself first, and making room for others along the way. At a table full of people, pull up a chair for yourself and for the women around you.
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