Last semester, I started to develop a peculiar ache in my right shoulder.
Initially, I attributed this lopsided pain to a multitude of things that come with the freshman experience: Maybe I wasn’t acclimated to my new dorm mattress yet. Maybe orchestra left more tension than I realized. Or maybe, after a summer free of assignments, my right arm just wasn't ready for the return of frantic scribbling. Whatever the reason I came up with in my head, it was in denial of the fact that there was a very clear reason I was having issues — my purse. After seeing how popular shoulder bags were on campus, I retired my burgundy key-chained Kankën backpack from high school and began carrying all my school supplies (laptop, iPad, notebook, pens, gum, lip gloss and more) in a large gray leather tote.
Even though I didn’t have a specific personal justification, I was quick to make this change when I noticed that shoulder bags were a prolific choice amongst female students in my classes. I vividly remember sitting in Econ 101D, Economic Principles, during the second week of school and marveling at a peer who was able to fit her laptop, iPad, change of gym clothes, running shoes, and large makeup bag, all in her medium Longchamp Le Pliage tote.
It was at that moment that I decided that if she could do it, so could I. My shoulder bag made more sense with my outfits than my bulky backpack, and made me feel more put-together. Being a tote bag girl was empowering — until I started feeling the woes of its inconvenience.
Before coming to college, I had envisioned backpacks as quintessential characters to the four-year story, only to be parted with at graduation and replaced with a shoulder bag upon entering the “real world.” Media centered around college students echoed this sentiment, with movies from “Good Will Hunting” to “Pitch Perfect” featuring main characters who sport backpacks throughout their university journey. Even college brochures and advertisements are filled with images of students and their backpacks, chatting on the quad or walking cheerfully to their classes. But coming to Duke shattered my preconceived notion that shoulder bags, satchels and briefcases were reserved for grad students and young professionals.
Of course, backpacks are still used on campus. However, I had a serious case of fashion whiplash seeing such a saturation of all kinds of bags but backpacks. Sometimes, people didn’t even bring a bag to class at all, and carried their laptop free. These patterns in fashion make sense at competitive, pre-professional and career-focused schools like Duke, where progressions from student to young professional are blurred. As an incoming student, you are immediately in a constant state of focus on your future. Whether it's hearing your colleagues during O-Week already talking about landing an internship for the next summer, or doomscrolling on LinkedIn (if you made one already), you are immediately thrown into coffee chat mode upon your arrival to campus.
I am not saying that being ambitious, driven or competitive is bad. After all, providing a platform for our careers is why many of us chose Duke in the first place. However, I think the impact that the unique Duke culture has on the freshman psyche is interesting, and for me reflected both in my fashion choices and my mindset.
Just as I wasn't exactly sure why I switched from my bright backpack to a more professional-looking tote, I wasn’t exactly sure why I skipped orchestra to go to a rush event for a business fraternity I wasn’t actually passionate about. When my right shoulder began to ache from carrying the weight of my tote bag during my first semester, I was simultaneously beginning to feel burnt out under the pressure of the Duke student atmosphere.
Although my colleague in ECON 101D seemed to be fitting everything perfectly in a Longchamp, it may not be the most realistic choice for most class-goers. After my campus observations, I was quick to make the switch to a similar minimalist tote, and leave behind my colorful backpack that retained a sense of individuality and unseriousness. Despite being more “professional,” the tote holds less, is not super convenient, and while it makes me feel more put-together when I wear it, hides the expression I previously demonstrated in my colorful and adorned backpack. Accepting the fact that I was growing away from my backpack took a period of adjustment, but so did acclimating to the high-pressure nature of the Duke student community.
As a second-semester freshman and proud rising sophomore, I’ve found ways to deal with burnout and embrace this pressure as a unique and motivating aspect of this institution. Instead of letting the shared sense of ambition on campus stress me out, I smile at how fortunate I am to attend a school where people are passionate, driven, and collaboratively work toward success.
I don’t believe my change in mindset is succumbing to the pre-professional pressure, but rather, is accepting and acknowledging it. It is possible that I’ve grown out of being scared for the future or intimidated by comparison, and in this new semester, have started seeking out opportunities to advance my career despite fearing failure. Maybe, switching out of my backpack was another part of maturing for me.
Even though my grown-up tote bag is heavy — I love it, and haven’t been able to make a consistent switch back to my high school backpack after incorporating it into my day-to-day. While I wish I hadn’t been consumed by stress about my future during my first semester, I am now at a place where I find the Duke culture more invigorating than intimidating. Looking back, my advice to the Class of 2029 would be to always remember that they are students first. In hindsight, keeping my backpack around a little longer might have saved me some initial stress and shoulder pain.
Juliette Workman is a Trinity first-year.
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