Simple, it is, to think that college students, boys, girls and everything in between, are one in the same. To think that there could be overarching similarities even within one campus is a stretch, so to expect similarities between separate universities is just short of insanity. Granted, movies and popular media portray a very uniform “college experience” that consists of a smorgasbord of people and clubs and subcultures that somehow manage to be sewn into the same web, the same story, but it’s all based on a pre-planned plot. While this is not entirely false, it is a pretty idealistic view of what truly goes on in college. This realization became glaringly apparent when I visited USC.
Looking out the window at passing cars and a not-so-glamorous Los Angeles roadside, it all looked vastly different than the pictures social media portrayed. In a clouded oblivion, I expected that every road would be lined with the infamous palms that stretch towards a blue sky. I imagined every man and woman meandering through the streets would be dripping in luxury, as if they had just walked off the runways of New York Fashion Week. The stars would be out the right window, and off into the distance, the Hollywood sign would be triumphantly nestled among the hills. What I came to understand, however, was that the City of Angels is a massive compilation of microcosms, each filling separate niches that make it the vibrant and unique city known around the world.
USC itself was something out of a picture book, or rather a pamphlet titled “Your Future Starts Here” that comes in the mail around the time students start to apply to college. The trees were all the same height, the flowers miraculously all in bloom. Even the shrubs were trimmed perfectly into small round spheres, dotting the flower beds. Unlike the campus I have become accustomed to in my two years at UT, every building was the same red brick with white detailing along the edges. The pavement looked as if it had been scrubbed clean in preparation for my arrival, and the students all seemed to have a semblance of a smile as they headed to class. It was, for lack of a better word, immaculate. My trip thus far had been the complete opposite of what I had expected, rendering my preconceived notions void.
Then came game day. Game day at UT is the same each week, and its consistency is something that I did not appreciate, not fully, until I found myself walking past hoards of USC students feeling more out of place than ever. Had it not been for the group of friends surrounding me, I would have followed my gut feeling to march myself home before making it to the tailgates. We stood out like sore thumbs, the biggest giveaway being our slightly staggered gate, a product of the cowboy boots we had all decided to don just as we always do for UT football games. Next on the list was the utter lack of copious amounts of skin showing amongst the members of our group. In a variation of browns, whites and burnt oranges, we were all wearing an outfit that I would describe as appropriate, meaning I would not mind meeting adults in what I was wearing. We were by no means dressed overly-conservative, but the difference between our outfits and those of the USC girls was stark and, honestly, a bit comical. The skirts and shirts adorning the enemy line were small, to put it vaguely, as their clothes seemed to be more of an accessory to their skin. However, alongside the Texas boys, in their button downs and light-washed, Wrangler jeans, we carried on, trudging down what seemed more like a battle grounds than “Greek Row”.
The tailgates were rowdy and each time a group of Texas students entered the room one of two things would happen: either we would be received with whoops and hollers of a welcoming nature, or we would be the target of innumerable stare downs, followed by an eye roll and a side giggle to friends. Enemy territory is always a hit or miss.
Things started to wind down, so naturally, we rummaged through our purses and pockets to assure that we had made it through the day without losing our tickets and asked around about the best mode of transportation to the game. It was through the confused looks and insufficient answers that the most shocking difference surfaced: the majority of SC students did not plan on attending the game. Rather, they were calling cars home to rest up for post-game festivities. Shell-shocked, it was our turn to roll our eyes. Football culture in Texas raises us strictly. Tailgating is primarily for socializing and the fans leave in time to see the kick off. Sun burns and sweated-through clothes are seen as proof that you stuck it out under the beaming Texas sun to watch the boys, win or lose. Being a fan is not a choice as much as it is an obligation.
Looking back, there seemed to be more differences than similarities in the venn diagram comparing the University of Texas and the University of Southern California, even down to the nitty-gritty. The people, the slang, the traditions, everything was different, but then again, I cannot seem to fathom why I expected anything different. That is the beauty of college. It is the contrast that gives people the basis for saying there is a place for everyone, a college for everyone, if you actively look for it. I came to appreciate that the girls had a completely different way of dressing, and that the boys seemed to take way more pride in the way they styled their hair. The culture shock, while numbing at first, became intriguing and entertaining to observe. Would I go to USC? Probably not, but then again the USC students would probably not go to UT either, so I guess it’s a win-win for everyone (except the Horns, close call boys— we almost did it!).