Ericka Henriquez

It makes you question whether you should have reached out to people before arriving on campus, whether you should rush when you didn’t even know you could at Yale, whether you should archive that post or just stop posting altogether and fade into digital oblivion.

It’s social etiquette you neither signed up for nor ever knew about but are somehow being judged by anyway. Did you pick the right extracurriculars? Are you sitting with the right people in the dining hall? Should you start mysteriously adding “dm for inquiries” to your Instagram bio just to see what happens? Social capital has a funny way of making everyone — even the ones who seem like they have it all figured out — feel inadequate.

That sorority you really wanted and got a bid from? Someone will call it the “bad” one. But somehow they’re all the “bad” one, depending on who you ask. It’s in dining halls where seating arrangements feel strategic, in club applications where rejections suddenly make you rethink your entire personality and in frat parties where you have to fight your way to get to the door of their trashed house. It’s everywhere, quietly reminding you that Yale is both too small and too aware of itself.

Yale will change you. Whether consciously or subconsciously, you’ll adapt — sometimes subtly, sometimes entirely — to the social economy around you. It’s easy to believe you’re making choices independently, but are you? Did you actually want to join that club, or did you just want the validation? Do you even like those people, or do you just want to be seen with them? At Yale, social capital is a quiet undercurrent that pulls even those who think they’re above it. And at some point, you’ll wonder if you ever really had control over who you became here.

But is that a bad thing? Change isn’t inherently negative. Maybe we’re just more aware of it at Yale because we’ve been conditioned to overanalyze. Yale students, after all, are the type to find meaning in everything — a single interaction, an eye contact exchange across Old Campus, a like on Instagram from someone inexplicably important. We’re wired to track social currents as if they’re data points, measuring where we stand. It’s what makes us ambitious, self-aware and sometimes, neurotic. Maybe social capital matters more here because, for so many of us, it’s another metric of success.

Why do we fawn after social capital? Why do we adjust who we are to fit into Yale circles? Because at times, social capital feels like the only thing that makes you feel like you belong. But at what cost? The version of yourself that chases approval may not be the one you recognize years from now. And when you finally step back, you might ask yourself: Did I ever really want this, or did I just not want to be left out?

Take a breath. Because when you’re old, reflecting on your so-called “good years,” you won’t care about whether your LinkedIn looked polished at 19. You’ll care about the experiences that were authentically your own. The weird, sometimes embarrassing, always memorable moments that made Yale your Yale.

So, archive that post. Or don’t. Show up to that social event or skip it. Just make sure whatever you do, it’s for you.