2C
Wednesday, October 17, 2018 // The Statement 

A case study on pretending to be someone 
you are not
BY SHANNON ORS, DAILY STAFF REPORTER

statement

THE MICHIGAN DAILY | OCTOBER 17, 2018

Managing Statement Editor:

Brian Kuang

Deputy Editors:

Colin Beresford

Jennifer Meer

Editor in Chief:

Alexa St. John

Photo Editor:

Amelia Cacchione

Designer:

Elizabeth Bigham

Managing Editor:

Dayton Hare

Copy Editors:

Elise Laarman

Finntan Storer

F

or a population that 
bears the seemingly 
perpetual 
stress 
of 

finding a place to live near 
campus, it is curious how college 
students have such wanderlust 
for the world beyond. The 
evidence is glaring: World map 
tapestries draped across dorm 
room walls, screens of people 
lustfully googling flights during 
lectures and laptop stickers 
with cliché adventure quotes. 

This ubiquitous focus on 

the next destination translates 
to my own tendency to view 
college as a four-year excursion 
rather than a home address – the 
feeling of being a tourist rather 
than a permanent resident.

When I say tourist, I am not 

trying to allude to the postcard 
definition of a vacation with 
palm trees and no reason for 
an alarm clock. But rather, the 
transient nature of the college 
experience that manifests a 
lack of permanence.

Of course, there are certainly 

instances during which college 
produces an intense sentiment 
of 
belonging. 
One 
could 

argue football games provide 
this 
feeling 
of 
inclusion, 

motivating even those who 
don’t understand the sport. 
For me, whenever I witness 
college tours traversing the 
Diag or squeaking through 
the library I feel a rush of 
pride and connection to the 
institution. 
The 
entrance 

of wary high schoolers and 
eager parents into my purview 
embodies a physical distinction 
between tourist and resident. 
I find myself standing up a 
little straighter and relish my 
affiliation with the University 
of Michigan.

I 
have 
always 
been 

fascinated by the distinction 
between considering yourself 
a true resident of a place and a 
fleeting visitor. It is why when 
I am sitting at an airport gate 

eating Cheez-Its and thumbing 
through a magazine, I try to 
guess who is a tourist and who 
is a local of the destination 
typed across the gate screen. 
I quietly sit collecting the 
empirical evidence of accents, 
conversation 
snippets, 

appearances and personalities 
contributing to my conclusions 

of each traveler. My inferences 
of who is a tourist and who is 
a local are rarely confirmed, 
but that is not necessarily my 
ambition.

If 
anything, 
the 
most 

rewarding compliment while 
traveling 
is 
when 
people 

assume you are a local. Visiting 
a new place gives you a chance 
to shapeshift, to be a chameleon 
with the local crowd. At least 
for a few days, you can imagine 
yourself living somewhere else. 
Some destinations are easier 
to fake the criteria of being a 
resident than others.

For example, in order to bear 

the title of a true New Yorker, 
the lore of the Big Apple states 
you must have endured the 
city for a decade. Not only that, 
but the city conceals a list of 
unspoken rules far beyond what 
we learn from Buddy the elf. 
These criteria should have been 
enough to deter my desire to 
look like a New York local.

When visiting New York, 

you have two choices. You 
can embrace the persona of 

Times Square tourist — walk 
in the middle of a sidewalk, 
take a selfie on the steps of the 
Metropolitan Museum of Art 
and wear the most comfortable 
shoes you own. Or you can 
attempt to apply your education 
of how to be New Yorker 
learned from a curriculum of 
“Sex and the City” and Nora 

Ephron movies.

On this particular trip, my 

friend and I opted for the latter. 
We wanted to be effortless, to 
blend into the gilded city. Our 

moms thought we were crazy.

After 
a 
Sunday 
morning 

diet of bagels, we meandered 
through Central Park, perhaps 
one of the few landmarks 
receiving the same respect from 
both New Yorkers and tourists 
alike. We had no idea where we 
were going, but we tried to act 
like we did.

An adorable family that could 

rival Prince William and Kate 
Middleton’s brood approached 
us asking if we knew where the 
carousel was. Confession: We 
had absolutely no idea where 
the carousel was. But this was 
our chance for just one person 
to believe we were New Yorkers.

That we belonged.
So, we played the part of two 

girls who looked like we knew 
how to navigate Central Park 
and responded with a general 
wave in the direction behind us. 
Looking back, this was not the 
most tactful decision. I honestly 
still feel guilty about it. Our 
own ego of an image blinded the 
more honest answer. We were 

responsible for leading this 
idyllic Sunday morning family 
in a direction we certainly 
could not guarantee was the 
location of the carousel. 

The 
moment 
the 
family 

continued 
onward, 
mewy 

friend and I ditched our New 
Yorker status aspirations. The 
image with which I had become 
obsessed suddenly now seemed 
utterly 
ridiculous. 
Karma 

surfaced as we spent the rest 
of the afternoon hobbling with 
blistered heels as we regretted 
not choosing a more practical 
footwear option. 

The transience of college 

can easily aggregate a desire 
to find a home or sense of 
belonging beyond Ann Arbor. 
The 
wanderlust 
constructed 

from caricatures of jet setters 
and adventurers often lead us 
to want to assume a different 
lifestyle, even if it is just for a few 
days. Yet, the social dynamics 
of these images can often leave 
you feeling inauthentic — with a 
side effect of bad blisters.

ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL 

“... in order to bear the title of a true 
New Yorker, the lore of the Big Apple 
states you must have endured the city 

for a decade. Not only that, but the 
city conceals a list of unspoken rules 
far beyond what we learn from Buddy 

the elf.” 

