In the early days of the semester, when my 14-hour jet lag made waking up at 5:30 AM a habit, I would wander around West Campus. I’d video call my parents, who couldn’t come with me to Duke, and pause to marvel at every carved archway and poised squirrel. I was equally in awe of the variety of campus food choices and surprised that many didn’t open until 10:00 AM.
My wide-eyed wonder at the grassy green quads, gardens and the sheer size of Wilson (A climbing wall? Excuse me?). The Maccas (or, as you’d call it, McDonald’s) in the Bryan Center constantly reminds me of the question I’ve been asked countless times since arriving: “What’s the biggest difference between your home and Duke?”
As a visiting international student from the University of New South Wales (UNSW) in Sydney, Australia, Duke has been the adventure of a lifetime. Yet, as I live, study, meet new people, and attend many sporting, cultural and musical events, I’ve become acutely aware that while all universities aim to educate and mentor capable, confident students, they approach this goal with very different ideologies.
Of course, the vast difference in resources between UNSW and Duke plays a role — Duke’s annual budget was $7.7 billion for 2022, compared to UNSW’s $1.7 billion (adjusted from AUD to USD). But this isn’t just about resources; it’s about the mindset each institution cultivates.
The most drastic shift in my lifestyle came with the arrival of my roommate on an unremarkable Friday before FDOC (I’m picking up the Americanisms). She’s lovely — we’ve become great friends, and we'll talk for hours into the night — but being assigned to live with a stranger is foreign to me. You mean I’m supposed to sleep 1.5 meters (that’s about 5 feet for non-metric users) away from someone I just met?
Reflecting on this experience, I realize a roommate symbolizes a larger cultural difference in how the U.S. approaches college. Having a roommate is part of the American ethos of providing a built-in support system, creating an immediate social structure and cultivating skills beyond academics. It’s not just about sharing space — it’s about learning to communicate, navigate conflicts and build relationships, which are vital for personal development. In many ways, a roommate is a microcosm of the broader safety net U.S. universities construct for their students. With extensive academic support services and mental health resources, the system strives to ensure that students have a sense of community that catches them before they fall.
I was astonished when I heard about Duke’s writing center, where students can receive feedback on their work. The option to discuss extra-credit assignments or take a professor to lunch for advice highlights a culture that values connection and mentorship as central pillars of learning. Here, college isn’t just about mastering content — it’s about building a network, advocating for yourself and seizing opportunities beyond the classroom.
Contrast this with the Australian model, where most students live at home, in private accommodations, or, if on campus (a small minority), in private rooms. This setup fosters independence but often leads to a more solitary, self-sufficient experience. The expectation in Australia is that by the time you reach university, you’re ready to manage your academics and personal life with minimal external support. My largest class at Duke has 25 students, which feels luxurious compared to UNSW’s lecture halls, where 400 students are the norm. This forced self-reliance in Australia teaches you to navigate university life independently, without the same level of guidance or built-in social structures.
This difference in philosophy extends to the admissions process. Discussing with new friends how we transitioned from high school to university, I was struck by how the differences across our countries promote different schools of thought. In Australia, admissions are almost entirely based on academic performance in state-wide exams and your Australian Tertiary Admissions Rank (ATAR), which assigns students a country-wide rank in comparison with all other students. It’s straightforward: your ATAR determines your eligibility for your degree (apart from a few exceptions that may have additional constraints). Your grades largely determine your path. In Australia, there’s a deeply ingrained culture of earning your achievements, with a more pejorative attitude towards leveraging connections for personal gain. This attitude shapes how we approach opportunities and relationships.
Here in the U.S., I’ve been struck by the transactional nature of some interactions, where networking and self-promotion are common. The insincerity with which I am asked about my week, or my opinion on this or that, can be jarring. At first, these conversations felt more about gaining something than forming genuine connections. But over time, I realized this wasn’t intentional; instead, it reflects how deeply embedded networking and opportunity-seeking are in American culture. People here expect to build relationships that will help them professionally and personally throughout their university years.
The American admissions system mirrors this focus on building a narrative. Grades are just one part of a much larger puzzle that includes personal essays, recommendation letters, extracurricular activities, leadership roles and, crucially, your ability to communicate who you are and why you belong at a particular institution. It’s a process that demands networking, storytelling and knowing how to present yourself in a way that aligns with what universities want to see.
These cultural differences — from college life to social dynamics — shape how people interact in the real world. In the U.S., the focus on striving to be recognised and networking echo the college experience of crafting a professional identity. Meanwhile, Australia’s more relaxed approach to social and political conversations mirrors the emphasis on self-reliance and authenticity.
The contrasting college experiences in the U.S. and Australia influence how people interact and build relationships well after they graduate. In America, I’ve noticed that a common conversation starter is often centered around work — your job becomes a key part of your identity. This focus on professional life reflects the importance placed on career-building, which starts in college and continues into the workplace. On the other hand, in Australia (and many other places overseas), work tends to be a topic more avoided in casual conversation. Social interactions are less driven by professional ambition, and there’s a sense that who you are is not solely defined by what you do for a living.
Ultimately, both systems offer valuable lessons. The American focus on collaboration can inspire Australians to embrace networking without sacrificing authenticity, while Australia’s emphasis on self-reliance can remind Americans of the importance of personal accountability. I’m immensely grateful to my Australian education for fostering my independence and teaching me to navigate challenges with confidence. At the same time, I’m eager to learn as much as possible from my time here at Duke, embracing new opportunities and expanding my perspectives.
Annie Ming Kowalik is a Pratt sophomore and a visiting international student from the University of New South Wales. Her column, "The Tasmanian devil: An Aussie's experience in Americana," typically runs on alternate Mondays.
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