S T A T E M E N T

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, March 16, 2022 — 7

Winter coats, rent 
payments and other 
thoughts from a First Gen 
student

Read more at 
MichiganDaily.com

MACKENZIE HUBBARD

Statement Columnist

In my adult life, the only time I 

ever asked my parents for money 
was when I needed to buy a winter 
coat.

I was a freshman in college at the 

time, attending Emerson College, 
a private school in Boston. I’d lived 
in northern Michigan my whole 
life, and I was sick of all of it — the 
weather, the people, the idea of 
staying close to my family. So I got 
out. Ran as far away as I could. And 
that meant running halfway across 
the country to a school I knew I 
couldn’t pay for but chose to go to 
anyway.

I underestimated the biting cold 

of fall and winter on the East Coast.

Somehow I had gone all of high 

school and much of middle school 
without a winter coat. My reasoning 
was simple — the only time I needed 
one was to walk from my car into 
school. Besides, I had three younger 
sisters who were not nearly as 
practical nor frugal as me, insisting 
that they needed a new winter coat 
every year. So, I resigned myself to 
hand-me-down fabric coats from 
my aunts.

But then freshman year of college 

came around and suddenly I was 
walking upward of two miles a 
day in Massachusetts. I realized 
a flimsy fabric coat simply wasn’t 

going to cut it. I knew nor’easters 
were a big part of the coast’s 
meteorological makeup, and I knew 
I’d need something warmer to walk 
to class in if something like that 
happened.

And sure, half the people I knew 

were walking around in Michael 
Kors coats, or sporting a Tommy 
Hilfiger jacket, but those were 
the same people who lamented 
about how the financial aid at the 
school just wasn’t enough. They 
were the same people who already 
had student debt simply because a 
private school on an urban campus 
is 
exorbitantly 
expensive 
for 

anyone. There was an openness, 
and a sense of camaraderie, in that 
we all understood the price tag of 
the school was nothing to scoff at.

I sent my parents a text, the 

request for a new coat veiled 
through laments about how cold it 
was and how different East Coast 
winter was to “Michigan cold.” But 
they didn’t catch the hint. Or maybe 
they purposely ignored it. Either 
way, I finally came out and asked 
them if they could pay for a winter 
coat. I’d go to Primark — before I 
knew what a disastrous company it 
was — and get something for cheap. 
The Macy’s in Downtown Crossing 
was also having a sale. Or I’d find 
something discounted at Marshalls.

Their response was a resounding 

‘no.’

***

At Emerson, I worked in the 

registrar’s office. I knew the amount 
of money some of the students at 
that school were dealing with. But 
I also witnessed the pain firsthand 
when I had to file withdrawal 
forms from students explaining 
that they just couldn’t keep up with 
tuition. On average, private colleges 
can cost upward of $40,000 per 
academic year, while public schools 
can range from $10,000 for in-state 
students and $20,000 for out-of-
state students. Scholarships and 
financial aid could only go so far 
when a year of Emerson’s tuition 
alone was nearly as much as my 
father made in an entire year.

I transferred to the University 

of Michigan specifically for their 
financial aid program. I knew 
my parents wouldn’t help me pay 
for tuition and I needed a school 
I could pay for myself, or receive 
enough financial aid to survive 
off of. I figured that a school like 
the University would be different 
somehow. After all, I personally 
receive the “Go-Blue Guarantee” 
and know many other students 
who receive substantial financial 
assistance. 

I should feel like I belong, right?
I can’t pinpoint exactly when I 

noticed this subtle isolation, but 
it became more apparent after a 
conversation I had with a friend 

during my sophomore year. I 
described my feelings of impostor 
syndrome and how I feared that 
the University only accepted me 
because I filled a quota and not for 
my academic merit. I theorized that 
they need to accept some students 
from the lowest income bracket 
to show that they do, in fact, have 
a great financial aid system. They 
needed enough charity cases so 
that they could blast their “Free 
Tuition” ad on every Youtube and 
Facebook page, talking about how 
they give students opportunities 
they wouldn’t otherwise have.

My friend laughed and said to 

me, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Taken aback by the response, 

suddenly I was watching everything 
I did and said about my financial 
status around anyone. And, I was 
watching others. I watched my 
roommate buy a week’s worth of 
groceries on her mom’s credit card. 
I watched someone buy two pairs of 
Lululemon leggings without calling 
her parents before swiping their 
bank card. I watched a friend leave 
a tip at a restaurant with their dad’s 
money.

The markers of wealth are subtler 

in Ann Arbor than in Boston. I 
don’t regularly see people walking 
down the street in Gucci sweaters 
here, but I do see people sporting 
Canada Goose everywhere I turn. 
People don’t pop across the city for 

cannolis and genuine Italian coffee 
during their lunch break, but they 
get oat milk and cold foam and an 
extra shot of espresso in their daily 
Starbucks drinks.

And no one talks about financial 

aid.

When 
it’s 
the 
middle 
of 

December and I’m waiting for my 
next semester’s aid to be processed 
so I can pay rent, I don’t hear 
anyone else mention how their 
reimbursement checks are late. I 
realized, at some point, many U-M 
students were not paying their own 
rent, including most of my friends 
— their parents were. Meanwhile, 
I learned how to sign a lease by 
myself, remembering to pay rent on 
the first of every month. I hunted 
for and secured an apartment in 
the hellscape that is the Ann Arbor 
rental pool while my friends had 
parents who were willing to help 
them find housing and pay for it 
outright.

When I walk out of Ulrich’s 

in tears because of the amount 
textbooks put me back, most of 
my friends don’t empathize. Their 
parents had paid for all their books, 
while I was hoping I had enough 
leftover aid money to pay for mine. 

I worked 12 hours a week on top 

of classes and extracurriculars, 
learning that many of my friends 
had never worked a job in their life.

Here, the discrepancies are small 

and almost invisible. And I can’t 
help but think that’s on purpose.

***

Once, I found myself crying in 

the storage room of the office I 
work at because I couldn’t get more 
hours and, thus, couldn’t pay for 
grad school applications. Asking 
my parents for a penny wasn’t 
even a thought. My education has 
always been and will forever be my 
responsibility, on both a personal 
and financial level, because my 
family simply doesn’t have the 
resources to support me.

My dad crafts metal parts for a 

living. When I first started filling 
out undergraduate applications, 
there was a section concerning 
your parents’ professions. I was 17 
years old and I didn’t know what 
my father did when he went to 
work, other than that he made these 
mysterious parts. My mom said to 
write ‘machinist,’ so I did.

He has worked the same job 

his whole adult life. Neither he 
nor my mother went on to college, 
his pay supporting a family of six. 
Essentially, that puts us firmly 
within the poverty line. Like my 
grandparents before us. And their 
parents before them. Turtles all the 
way down, or whatever the phrase 
is.

Design by Reid Graham /
/ Page Design by Sarah Chung

Behind the packaging: 
Unraveling ‘cruelty free’

CAITLIN LYNCH

Statement Correspondent

Design by Kate Shen /
/ Page Design by Sarah Chung

Content warning: Descriptions of 

animal abuse.

When I was in middle school, my 

favorite hangout spot was the skincare 

aisle of CVS. The perfect weekend 

destination was a one-to-two-hour 

trip with my best friend spent poring 

over rows of brightly colored face 

washes, acne creams and animal-

shaped face masks. As a 13-year-old 

with an ExtraCare card, I felt like 

royalty as I sauntered inside. It was 

my version of a candy store: an aisle-

long, gray-carpeted heaven under 

fluorescent lights. 

I was in an unfortunate stage of my 

skincare journey where I thought that 

if I just found the right beautifully-

packaged product, all my blemishes 

would disappear. This belief led me 

to switch skincare products about 

once a month, which did not end 

up helping. I had a brief and ill-

fated relationship with the classic 

Neutrogena Grapefruit Cleanser, as 

well as many other similar encounters 

with products that I initially had high 

hopes for. 

Years before, I had an obsession 

with Lip Smacker lip balms. I was 

mesmerized by the shiny packaging 

and delicious saccharine, slightly 

plastic-y taste of their Sprite- and 

Coca-Cola-flavored balms. And right 

before that, I recognized my older 

sister’s Baby Lips lip balm, with its 

label written in messy, neon font, as 

the epitome of coolness. 

Toward the end of middle school, 

however, I learned that some of 

the products I used were tested on 

animals and became aware of cruelty-

free products. After watching a 

slew of YouTube videos and Netflix 

documentaries about the horrors of 

animal testing, the nostalgic products 

of my childhood were now marked 

by the cruel treatment inflicted on 

animals before the products reached 

the shelves. 

In accordance with the Humane 

Society 
International’s 
definition, 

animal testing is the use of living 

animals 
for 
research 
purposes, 

which includes testing the safety of 

cosmetics. Methods of animal testing 

include long periods of physical 

restraint, force-feeding of chemicals 

to animals and dripping of corrosive 

chemicals into their eyes. These 

conditions and practices cause some 

animals to develop neurotic behaviors 

such as harming themselves or 

incessantly spinning in circles. Most 

animals are killed when they are done 

being used for experiments, and others 

are “re-used” for future experiments. 

I was horrified to learn this, 

especially as a consumer who was so 

enthralled by the bright and happy 

advertising that characterizes so 

many beauty brands. It contrasts so 

sharply from the realities of how the 

products are made. After learning 

about this cruelty, I made a pact with 

myself to stop buying cosmetics that 

were tested on animals.

I soon learned that, unfortunately, 

breaking down what is and isn’t 

“cruelty-free” yields a dizzying web of 

contradictions that makes it extremely 

difficult for consumers to know if 

what they are buying was actually 

tested on animals. Because there 

is no legal definition for the term, 

cosmetic companies’ use of the term is 

unrestricted. Brands take advantage of 

a linguistic loophole: a company may 

label a finished product as not tested 

on animals, but “rely on raw material 

suppliers or contract laboratories” to 

conduct the animal testing instead.

Attempting to shop cruelty-free is 

further complicated by the fact that 

some companies advertise as though 

they do not test on animals, but sell 

in countries where animal testing 

is required. Aveeno, for example, 

states on its website that “the fact is, 

AVEENO® doesn’t conduct animal 

testing of our cosmetic products 

anywhere in the world, except in the 

rare situation where governments or 

laws require it.” The “rare situation” 

described in this statement and in 

those of various other brands often 

refers to animal testing requirements 

in mainland China. With China 

making 
up 
the 
second-largest 

market for cosmetics, fragrances and 

personal-care products in the world, 

Read more at 
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