One of the most challenging decisions Princeton seniors must make is what to write their senior thesis on –– you will spend countless hours working on it throughout your senior year, after all. Of course you are limited to a topic related to your major, but there is a certain degree of freedom you are given, depending on how you can justify its relation to a concept central to your major. In earnest, your thesis is what you want it to be. Because of this, I have decided to research the economic implications behind something I have been collecting since my childhood: Pokémon Cards. 

At first, you may think that Pokémon Cards (or trading cards in general) are merely childhood collectables, but you may be surprised by the immense value and vibrant marketplace surrounding these assets. In fact, a Pikachu Illustration card sold for a whopping ~$5.25 million back in 2021. Like many assets, Pokémon cards revolve in market cycles based on popularity and other factors like supply and demand. Currently, Pokémon cards are hard to find in retail stores or online at retail price –– market price places many of these products at a steep premium varying from 10% to double retail price. 

Because of this, I thought it would be really interesting to take a deeper dive into the Pokémon market and understand what economic principles are most prevalent. My thesis investigates the economic structure and asset-like behavior of the Pokémon trading card market, with a focus on how pricing, scarcity, grading, and collector behavior interact to produce financial returns and market cycles. The main question I seek to answer is: To what extent do Pokémon cards behave like a financial asset class, and what economic forces –– such as supply dynamics, grading shocks, hype cycles, and speculative behavior –– drive returns and market volatility? My main hypotheses include that 1) High end/ultra rare cards act more as high end art market pieces, with auction sales being driven by specific consumer desire rather and fundamental values, and 2) Market segmentation between sealed vs raw, graded vs ungraded, and Japanese vs English cards creates submarkets that create differences in liquidity and unique arbitrage opportunities that differ from the stock market.

One of the other interesting things about this exploration is the possibility to travel for research. I am currently applying for funding to travel to Japan to research the Pokémon market where it was created. In doing so, I hope to better understand the secondary resale market, and how differences in unopened products, quality, language, and stock influence the current market environment. You will definitely see another blog about my travels if I am awarded funding, so stay tuned! 

Cross Country is a sport of repetition and rhythm. Your feet take turns striking the ground, pushing off, then striking again. Your racecourse is a series of loops. Your weeks repeat their training schedule. And if you fail to find a rhythm while running your race pace, your mind talks you out of the discomfort, and you race poorly. 

On September 5^th, my cross country teammates and I opened our season at the Jersey Jam, a home race which we try to take as un-seriously as possible. We call this race a “rust-bust”—its purpose is to remember how to race, how to get into the rhythm of race day. We remember how to eat before a race, how to deal with race day nerves, how to warm up, and what it feels like to put your body on the edge.

So, on the Friday evening which concluded our first week of classes, the cross team met at our locker room to rediscover our rhythm. We did our stretching routine, pinned our racing bibs to our singlets, screwed the spikes into our shoes, jogged a few warmup miles to our racecourse, a maze of low-cut grass pathways through the high meadows. We won “the Jam” handily. Against the rest of the prominent NCAA cross country teams in New Jersey, we put 7 runners in the top 10 finishers. 

The morning after a race I can never sleep in. So, early on Saturday morning, I texted my mom, who spent the night after the race in Princeton, asking to get breakfast. We grabbed a bite and walked around campus. Early morning campus was empty, belonging just to us. My mom also went to Princeton. She was also a member of Mathey College and also a member of the cross-country team, its captain in 1987. I’ve always been aware of how I followed in my mom’s footsteps, but during our walk I really internalized the resemblance of my path to hers. A rhythmic cycle of repeating events, like that of the cross country season, but on the scale of our lives. As we walked, she pointed out places which held meaning to her—old dorms, hangout spots, classrooms—and she told me of old conflicts with roommates, late nights on Prospect Ave, and eccentric professors. For each story she told, I had equivalent situations and people who have permeated my time at Princeton. It felt uncanny, how my time here has mimicked hers.

The walk reminded me of E.B. White’s “Once More to the Lake,” in which White writes of taking his son to a lake he visited as a child. It is a short story of the “pattern of life indelible.” When White gets to the lake, he is struck by how little it has changed. He writes, “I began to sustain the illusion that [my son] was I, and therefore, by simple transposition, that I was my father.” That morning walking around campus, I began to sustain the reverse of White’s illusion—that I was my mother. 

I have many questions after the walk with my mom, ones of free will and intergenerational persistence, topics related to the discussion in my sociology classes. In class I’m trying to find some answers. Outside of class, I’m enjoying  the rhythm cross country and college life, of setting an early alarm for a morning run, rushing to class after breakfast, winding down with friends, and resetting the alarm to do it again. 

Entering Princeton, Writing Seminar, a frosh-year rite of passage commonly referred to as “Writing Sem.,” was one of my biggest fears. I had never heard any student, past or present, say they had fond memories from the seemingly notorious distribution requirement — some alumni even claimed Writing Sem. was the hardest class they took during their four years. Upon being notified of my placement into one of the fall semester cohorts of WRI 161: Friendship, I was, naturally, a little scared — but also a bit relieved because at least I did not have to wait until spring semester to encounter the disastrous storm. Although my expectations were flooded and formed by horror stories, Writing Seminar, out of all my first-year classes, turned out to be one of my favorites, teaching me skills I will unquestionably use for a lifetime.

Before sharing my Writing Seminar experience, I want to spell out some basics of the class. Every Writing Sem. has a distinctive topic — mine being Friendship, but others include Curiosity, Interpreting Illness, and Educational Equities; consists of 12 frosh and one professor, whose area(s) of study largely align(s) with the Seminar’s topic; and meets twice a week for one semester, with each class lasting an hour and twenty minutes. There are four major “Assignments” — known as “A1,” “A2,” “A3,” and “A4” — completed throughout the semester, and nearly all follow the same order of steps: 1) Draft, 2) Workshops, and 3) Revision. The first step, Draft, is exactly what it sounds like: you write a draft responding to the prompt of the Assignment — “A2 draft,” for example. The second step, Workshops, is all about improving your draft. To do so, you and your entire class collectively read, analyze, and discuss the drafts of four randomly selected classmates (I know it sounds stressful, but it really is not; everybody has to have a draft “Workshopped” once and only once throughout the semester), and you meet with your professor to review your draft, either one-on-one or alongside another classmate. The last step, Revision, is the grand finale. Taking what you learned from Workshops and conversations with your peers and professor, you transform your draft into a revised final paper — this revised version is what is graded, not the draft. Structurally, Writing Seminar is a very small and straightforward class. 

Only a few weeks into Friendship, all my not-so-great Writing Seminar preconceptions were disproved. I quickly realized my classmates were just like I was, trying to navigate all the novelties of college, and my professor wholeheartedly wanted us dozen of frosh to grow and do well. My classmates were not light-years ahead of me, and my professor was not an evil witch who preyed on student suffering. Rather, an unadulterated sense of care and support seemed to pervade every class, helping me feel surrounded by friends in Friendship. As classes progressed, my classmates and I kind of coalesced into this community of thinkers who sought to challenge current ideas and propose new ones. We examined affectionate works of art and heartfelt letters in nineteenth-century friendship albums in Special Collections; questioned the authenticity of a friendship between an A.I. chatbot and a human; debated the views of scholars, old and new; engaged in outside-of-class meetings with our professor; and, above all, embraced the power of our voices and the strength of good academic writing. Week by week, Friendship taught us to listen to and express all that our voices had to say, a skill necessary for both the academic world and the real world. 

Our voices roared louder than ever as we dove into our fourth Assignment, or A4: The Final Research Paper. Each little aspect of the A4 revolves around you: you decide what you want to investigate, the sources you want to use, and the route you want to take; you are in the driver’s seat. For our A4, we were required to pick a friendship-related concept, representation, or object and then utilize that “con./rep./or obj.” to expound upon an aspect of friendship that puzzled us — that was all we were given, no sources or anything else. I will not go too in depth on the con./rep./or obj. and aspect I chose in case someone wants to choose the same con./rep./or obj. and/or aspect as I did, but I will vaguely say that the main focus of my A4 revolved around the impacts of smartphones on friendship. Finding various sources to support this theme was fun because at least I was exploring an issue in which I was interested, but no doubt strenuous. I scouted the endless shelves of Firestone to retrieve books, assiduously used Google Scholar to pluck high-quality academic articles and papers, and scoured YouTube for reputable videos and documentaries. In doing so, I felt like a scholar. I had formed my own hypothesis and searched for evidence to aid it; by meticulously inspecting my collected evidence, I converted my hypothesis into a cohesive paper. No one was telling me where to go or what to do; I steered the ship — but I always had a “map,” AKA my professor and peers, to turn to if I ever got off course. When I submitted all 13 pages of my revised A4, I was very proud — and also crazy relieved because I was officially done with Writing Sem.! My A4 embodied not only all the progress I had made throughout the semester but also an early chapter in my career of independent work at Princeton and beyond. 

Writing Seminar is a unique class. You are put into a room with 11 other frosh and a professor who is supposed to equip you with some of the most imperative tools for service through scholarship. You may absolutely despise your Writing Sem., you may totally relish it, or you may wind up somewhere in the middle. Writing Seminar is not a walk in the park, but I hope my personal experience may give you some hope. If there is anything Friendship taught me, aside from writing and research, it is that helping others, leaning into your voice, contributing as actively as possible, and doing your best are all keys to true growth. You can do it!

*If you want to learn more about Writing Sem., please take a look at Ava’s blog "Braving the Beast of First-Year Writing Seminar" — it is amazing!*

Yes, that’s not a joke. I chose to write my Senior Thesis—one of the most momentous milestones and greatest feats for Princeton students—on the hit reality competition TV series Survivor.

Specifically, my thesis centered around the phenomenon of television fandom and involved an ethnographic exploration into how humans perform their devotion to their favorite show and to their fellow fans on both a macro- and micro-level. As an Anthropology major, the culture of fanhood, particularly as it relates to entertainment like films, television, and music, has always been fascinating to me. And as a longtime Survivor fan, I was so excited by the opportunity to merge my academic interests with something that has brought me so much personal joy over the years.

I’ll be honest: I had a lot of hesitation entering into the thesis writing process with this idea. I worried that people would think my study of the Survivor fandom was silly or less legitimate than other people’s topics. After all, at a school like Princeton, all of my peers seemed to be writing on such impressive, complex subjects—from constitutional law to quantum mechanics—across all different disciplines. I’ve always been in awe of Princeton students’ intellectual ambition and writing about reality TV seemed niche or even a little frivolous in comparison. However, I’ve come to realize that these feelings were a textbook example of the imposter syndrome we hear so much about in college and here at Princeton specifically. Indeed, even as a senior and soon-to-be graduate, I still experience moments of self-doubt and comparison. Anytime I had these doubts though, I’d try to think back to some of the amazing courses I’ve taken over the past few years which initially inspired me to pursue this topic in the first place.

By far one of the most transformative courses that I’ve taken here has been ANT437: Gaming Blackness: The Anthropology of Video Games and Race. While this is partially because of the University-sponsored trip our class took to Tokyo (which you can read more about in my previous blog!), hearing how Professor Akil Fletcher turned his love for video games into his main subject of research also gave me the confidence to pursue my own independent work topic. His course reinforced to me why studying the cultural significance of the minutiae of more “everyday” occurrences, popular culture phenomena, and digital media can be just as intellectually rigorous and meaningful as traditional field sites.

In addition to Professor Fletcher’s class, I also drew inspiration from two courses I’ve taken at Princeton outside of the Anthropology department, both taught by the same professor. I had the privilege of taking Professor William Gleason’s courses ENG275: American Television and his seminar AMS425: Reality/Television. These were also among my all-time favorite classes I’ve taken over my Princeton career. Getting to analyze how various genres, narrative structures, and cultural representations operate within the medium of TV and gain a deeper understanding of how these things reflect, critique, and shape society was surprisingly insightful and of course lots of fun. I mean, we literally got to watch TV for homework—who wouldn’t love that?

All this to say, I truly can’t think of a better way to have capped off my journey at Princeton. This thesis is a culmination of all the learning, growth, and joys I’ve had while navigating both the academic and emotional ups and downs of college life. As I conclude this blog post, which will be my last ever before I graduate in just a few days, I’m filled with an immense sense of gratitude for my experiences here, love for all the friends and memories I’ve made, and pride to forever be a Tiger!

Rah rah rah
Tiger, tiger, tiger
Sis, sis, sis,
Boom, boom, boom, ah!
Princeton! Princeton! Princeton!

The end of my sophomore year was a whirlwind — of work, packing, and emotions. Now that I’m home, decompressing from this academic semester, I have a better chance to reflect on my final months as a sophomore, and I find myself filled with gratitude and nostalgia.

In my last couple of weeks on campus, the sun finally made an appearance. This came after what seemed like the longest winter, and the happy weather filled me with some much-needed motivation. I found myself taking more walks with friends, hosting study picnics, and stopping to admire the nature around me every chance I got.

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The sunshine was a welcome break from the seemingly endless rainstorms that marked April. In fact, the long-awaited event of Declaration Day was filled with mucky rain. During ‘Declaration Day’, a keynote event for sophomores to declare their chosen major, I declared Comparative Literature, excited to acclimate to my small but stimulating department, and enjoyed the day racing around the mud to take pictures with friends.

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After that, the semester seemed to zoom by like a roller coaster: there was the last week of classes, Lawnparties, Reading Period, Finals, and, finally, move-out. During this Reading Period, I toggled between extensive studying and vast socializing periods. This period of the spring semester, specifically, is always bittersweet. You start to recognize that the people you see daily will be scattered worldwide for many months during the summer holiday. Although I had a lot of work to do, I devoted as much time as possible to being with friends. Whether it was day trips to New York, midday picnics, or study breaks to grab a sweet treat, this was the most fun-filled Reading Period of my Princeton experience. And it made the stress of finals a little more bearable.

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My last day on campus was filled with packing. I had 24 hours to pack my sweet dorm into boxes and garbage bags. I think this was the most wistful part of all. I adored my sophomore dorm and found myself waxing nostalgic for all the memories that would live there: late-night hangouts with friends, floor picnics, study sessions. My dorm served me well, and I was sad to leave it.

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More than anything, putting a bow on my sophomore year was more difficult than I thought it would be. This was the year that I finally felt like a true Princeton student. I found my community—socially and academically. I realized my passions; I pursued them.

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A bittersweet fact dawned on me in the middle of my drive home from the spring semester: I was halfway through my Princeton experience. And just as fast as the last two years rippled by, the next two surely would as well. With this realization, I’m doing my best not to take anything for granted and to cherish every opportunity to spend time with friends and learn in this community. It goes by fast, but I’m excited for the beauty the next two years will bring.

When I applied to college, I was curious what types of classes universities offered and the quality of lectures. In writing this, I hope prospective students see the value of a Princeton education and give it a chance:

This semester, I took POL 396: International Organizations, taught by Professor James Raymond Vreeland of the Politics Department and School of Public and International Affairs (SPIA).

Among students and faculty, this class is famous for many things — including but not limited to its incorporation of music (shoutout to Bob Marley and Adele!), prizes, and movie references. When students ask one another what classes they should take next semester, this class is high on the list. Often, over 400 students clamor in the early hours of course selection, hoping to get in. 

In the course’s reviews, this class has been dubbed “truly phenomenal” and a “rarity,” with several students emphasizing “TAKE IT!!!!!” (yes — with several exclamation marks).

In truth, there is nothing I can say that would add to these reviews, but I still feel an obligation to do so because this course was genuinely one of a kind. It’s the type of class where you walk in with absolutely zero expectations, then walk out asking yourself, “what just happened?”

Substantively, I learned details about international organizations in ways that I never would have conceptualized alone. Somehow, Professor Vreeland has managed to relate Adele to the “trilemma,” the Smurfs and Gargael to economic policy, and of course, Taylor Swift to the Bretton Woods institutions. 

More practically, I learned lots of useful skills as well — such as reading data tables and writing the perfect abstract for a research paper. And of course, with every class, Prof. Vreeland’s random selector taught us how to embrace public speaking with confidence. 

This class was unique because it emphasized the value of Princeton’s community. With every lesson, I was reminded time and time again that this was the type of class I wanted to take when I applied to college. As you learn about the difficulty of credible commitments and giving up sovereignty, you also learn how to work locally — with your neighbors, friends, and classmates — to make a tangible difference.  

It is a reminder that education can be fun and collaborative. Prof. Vreeland’s emphasis on engagement, introspective reflection, student well-being, and the capacity to make a difference reiterated the value of an undergraduate education. This is the type of class where the unspoken lessons are just as important as the spoken ones.  

Starting over your thesis less than three months before it is due is, needless to say, not ideal. And yet, that is exactly the situation I found myself in at the start of this semester.

In early September, I had set out to research the immigration policy preferences of Latinos born in the United States. I applied for funding from the Politics Department to carry out paid interviews in order to learn more about participants’ political views and immigration backgrounds. To make a very long story short, however, due to complications in the timeline of my interviews and limitations surrounding the sample size I was able to secure, by late January, it was clear I would have to scrap the nearly forty pages I had written to change my thesis topic—and change it fast.

The day that I realized this would be the case, I started frantically sending out emails to my thesis advisor and the relevant faculty members in the Politics Department. By the next morning, I was on the phone with my thesis advisor discussing possible next steps, setting up office hours with my professor who I view as a mentor, and chatting non-stop with my close friends about what I should do. A billion worries and ideas swirled around in my head non-stop for these first twenty-four hours until I finally accepted that changing my topic would be the best course of action. After what seemed like dozens of conversations with the people around me, I settled on expanding my junior paper topic.

From the moment my thesis advisor and I settled on this decision, I spent every single day in the basement of Firestone Library compiling the research I would need to bring a new thesis together. I started the now familiar process of compiling a literature review and the possible primary sources that I would be using. My advisor helped me establish a new timeline for myself with realistic internal deadlines, and the faculty in my department reassured me that I’d have their support.

During all of this turmoil, I was not alone. I spent every day receiving support from—and giving support to—my friends. Although we were all at different stages of our writing at this point, being in each other’s company gave us not only the morale, but the accountability to do what we needed to do. This meant scheduling breaks to go get coffee or takeout, and changing locations every time we got tired of the same four walls. It meant staying up until late at night, but getting to leave the building and walk back to our dorms together. By the end of spring break, I had four out of seven chapters written. By April 13, after two months that now feel like a blur, I submitted my completed senior thesis in the tower of Firestone while surrounded by some of my closest friends and my family on the phone.

For any prospective students reading this, I want you to know that the purpose of sharing my story is not to freak you out, or to scare you away from the possibility of having to write a senior thesis while at Princeton—starting over is not by any means the norm. But if you take one thing away from my experience, it’s that even if things go wrong, the key to surviving the senior thesis is an incredible support system—one that you are guaranteed to find here at Princeton. 

Every part of my thesis journey has proven this much. From having an advisor and a department that were immediately willing to communicate with me when I started considering changing my topic, to having other professors on campus to lean on for advice and support during the process, to having friends that never stopped believing in me, to having loved ones back home that were always willing to answer the phone when I felt like crying—despite the enormous obstacle that I faced, I made it through as a testament to the support system I had around me. In the end, I submitted a thesis that I am proud of given the time that I had, and I feel excited about the prospect of doing research again in the future. I know the thesis seems intimidating, but believe me when I say that you will always find people who want you to succeed—and you will.

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When I first heard that Princeton requires all A.B. students, or those who plan to earn a Bachelor of Arts, to obtain — at minimum — a 107/108-level proficiency in a foreign language, I just felt bummed out and a little frustrated. Up to that point, I had already taken three years of elementary Spanish and thought my foreign-language time had peacefully come to an end. Well… I was wrong. So, after taking Princeton’s Spanish placement test during my pre-frosh summer, I grudgingly signed up for Spanish 101 and sighed at the thought of the three long semesters ahead of me — side note: I actually placed into Spanish 102, but that was just because of my lucky guessing skills! ;) 

Spanish 101 was my very first class at Princeton. As I walked into that McCosh Hall classroom, I honestly felt like Dorothy experiencing the Land of Oz for the first time, not just because I was entering my first class on my first day of college, but mainly due to the daunting narrative I had created in my head: “This is Princeton-level Spanish; this is not rural high-school Spanish where you may spend a whole month or two trying to master a set of vocabulary or reviewing one verb tense.” Needless to say, I was hesitant of “Princeton Spanish,” having no earthly idea of what to expect and not really knowing if I wanted to find out.

Upon meeting and getting to know my professors and classmates, though, all my fears were thrown out the window. My Spanish 101 class consisted of two professors, with one in charge of teaching the first month of class and the other one leading from then on. Both of my professors were from Spain and did a phenomenal job at teaching us beginners the foundations of Spanish, like the alphabet, common verbs, and common cultural customs. They were well aware of our toddler-like level of comprehension and were always very encouraging of us, helping us to not only notice our mistakes but to also genuinely learn from them. Thus, as my classmates and I grew to embrace our imperfections, we simultaneously grew closer to one another. In Spanish 101, most conversations revolve around personal interests and day-to-day routines, so as classes went by, my classmates and I gained a stronger understanding and appreciation of both Spanish and each other. By the end of the semester, I had developed a real desire to know Spanish, not just seeing the language as a “requirement” but rather as a radiant world of growth, and I know that is largely thanks to the wonderful professors and classmates who continually challenged and supported me. 

Now, as freshman year comes to a close, so does my time in Spanish 102. Spanish 102 has been just as impactful and family-like as Spanish 101 and more! Because we are now no longer toddlers, our Spanish 102 classes are taught solely in Spanish. I can gladly say that my ability to both comprehend and speak Spanish have substantially improved through the immersive environment of Spanish 102. Every week, we take part in an “improvisational exercise” where each of us is assigned a role and has a one-on-one 10-minute conversation in Spanish with another classmate who has an opposing role — role A with role B. The role-A students do not know the situation of the role-B students — and vice versa — so there never fails to be lots of laughs! I always enjoy these exercises because they enable us to practice recently-covered vocabulary and grammar in a fun yet instructive manner. As a result, just like Spanish 101, I have so much love and gratitude for my Spanish 102 peeps! My outstanding professor is from Mexico, and my classmates are from diverse backgrounds and are involved in a range of activities across campus. I am beyond grateful for the progress and memories I have made through my Spanish 102 class. 

So, if you cannot tell, my perception of Spanish has changed drastically since arriving at Princeton. What I once saw as “three painful semesters,” I now see as “three transformative semesters.” I have enjoyed my Spanish classes so much that I am even considering studying abroad next year in a Spanish-speaking country or possibly minoring in Spanish! Who would have thought that a language requirement of all things would open up a whole new avenue of interest?

Learning a new language, as my professors say, is a “productive struggle.” I still have a great deal to learn, and regardless of where I end up in my Spanish journey, I will always be thankful that Princeton helped me reconsider an area of interest I was ready to leave behind. 

The Politics Junior Paper (JP) is a 20-30 page project that juniors in the Politics Department must submit near the end of April. It is largely open-ended, giving students the opportunity to pursue research on topics that fascinate them. Students work closely with an advisor and can run experiments, analyze data, or do something entirely novel.

I’m currently working alongside the (truly) wonderful Professor Stephens-Dougan in the Politics Department to look into what role race plays in shaping voter perception of electoral candidates. My junior paper will be a springboard for my senior thesis, which will dive into the realm of identity politics more comprehensively. 

I imagine several students, both current and prospective, are wondering what starting the process of writing your own paper looks like and what type of support systems are in place. 

Below, I’ve written a few reflections on what starting this process has looked like for me, where I am now, and what I have learned along the way:

— 

Like most research projects, mine began as a simple idea.

After completing several readings for a related class, I became deeply curious about how identity and politics intersect in different ways. I knew I wanted to take what I had learned in the classroom and turn it into something tangible.

The rest of the experience has been a blur — during sophomore and junior fall, I took a mix of required lectures and preceptorials that taught me how to conduct research and data analysis. By the end of my junior fall, I was expected to formally articulate my research question, methodology, independent variable, dependent variable, and hypothesis in a “prospectus,” which helped me solicit feedback and accordingly adjust my research design. 

Then, shortly after receiving feedback, I worked with my advisor, former preceptors, and some PhD students — all of whom have been of the utmost help for my project — to go over my research design. 

Concurrently, I was also applying for funding from different sources at Princeton, which required submitting an itemized breakdown of how I planned to utilize such funds; And, since I was working with human subjects, I was also going through training with the Collaborative Institutional Training Initiative (CITI) and requesting approval from the Institutional Review Board (IRB) so I could launch my study. 

Since then, I’ve been able to conduct my experiment. And now, I am in the final stages of refining my draft before I submit the final copy.

— 

In undertaking this experience, I have truly witnessed how research can be deeply rewarding — especially when the topic at hand is something you are deeply passionately about. 

But admittedly, there are days where I fear I have fallen short of what I had hoped to achieve. Sometimes I wonder if what I am doing is interesting enough, if it's different. 

However, if there is anything I have learned, it is how to take a step back and remember the bigger picture: research at Princeton is a once in a lifetime opportunity, where I am able to work with some of the greatest minds on this campus to make a contribution, no matter how small, to the wealth of human knowledge.

My four years at Princeton are flying by, and there are so many classes I would love to take if I had more time. If I listed them all, it would probably be the length of a senior thesis, so here’s a selection of my top 7:

1. Making an Exoneree (Department: School of Public and International Affairs)

   Making an Exoneree is one of the most unique courses I have ever come across. The course was started by a professor at Georgetown University who helped to exonerate a childhood friend who spent almost 18 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. An intensive, hands-on course, students have contributed to freeing three wrongfully convicted individuals since its inception at Princeton in 2018. Students describe the course as "life-changing... If you want a real look into the criminal legal system and care deeply about justice, then this course is something you absolutely should take during your time at Princeton."

   

2. International Organizations (Department: Politics)

   Taught by Professor Vreeland, an expert in international political economy, International Organizations has quickly become one of the most popular courses at Princeton, with enrollment exceeding the 400-person cap every semester it is offered. The course examines the origins, effectiveness, and future of institutions from the UN and WHO to the European Union and African Development Bank. I had to see what the buzz was about and sat in on a lecture during shopping period last spring, and I would have given an arm and a leg to take the class. Professor Vreeland was an extremely engaging lecturer, making memorable references to popular songs and movies, and keeping students on their toes by asking for participation using a random name selector. He also cares deeply about students inside and outside of the classroom and regularly publicizes and attends students’ performances. This course review says it all: "Professor Vreeland teaches you how to read, how to think, and how to learn at a fundamental level. He's the quintessential educator: a professor who wants his students to learn for the sake of learning and knows exactly how to motivate them and work with them. You should not leave Princeton without taking this course." What a shame I’ll have to do so!

   

3. Poverty, by America (Departments: Sociology and African American Studies): 

   I still remember reading Evicted on a sunny afternoon during a summer in junior high and the impression it left on me of the challenges of facing housing insecurity. I was impressed to discover that the author, Matthew Desmond, had spent a year living among the eight families featured in order to write the book. When a friend told me that she worked with Professor Desmond in the Eviction Lab at Princeton and was taking a class taught by him, I knew it would be among the top on my wishlist.

4. The Great Russian Novel and Beyond (Department: Slavic Languages and Literatures)

   I love to read (send me an email if you have any book recommendations!). Last fall, I was looking for a literature course to fulfill my remaining literature and the arts distribution requirement and a good friend of mine (who was actually my Community Action orientation leader) recommended this introduction to Russian literature. I enrolled in the course and discovered that it was a hidden gem tucked away among the many interesting literature classes available at Princeton. Professor Chances clearly loves the books, and I was eager to learn about famous and lesser known works of Russian literature in a small class setting. The weekly precept (small group discussion) was led by Professor Chances and only had four students! Unfortunately, I had never read any of the books before so I was having trouble keeping up with the reading. I made the difficult decision to drop the course at the end of the second week, known as add/drop or shopping period. I was able to borrow the books for the semester through the University library, so I hope to finish Fathers and Children and read Anna Karenina once classes end.

5. Beginner’s American Sign Language (Department: Linguistics)

   Princeton began offering for-credit ASL courses in 2018 which could be used to fulfill the foreign language requirement starting in 2021. I would love to learn a language which uses a completely different part of my brain, gain a better understanding of deaf culture, and think about how we can increase accessibility for individuals who are hard of hearing. Former blogger Naomi wrote a wonderful post about learning ASL three years ago which makes me want to at least shop ASL101 in the fall.

6. Princeton University Steel Band (Department: Music)

   Steel Band is another popular course in which students learn how to play the steelpan, an instrument originating from Trinidad and Tobago with a beautifully resonant sound. The course is P/D/F only, which means students receive a “pass”, “D”, or “fail” for the course, removing the stress of receiving a good grade (read more in Jocelyne’s blog post about P/D/F classes). Almost every review reads, “Take this course!” and one student commented that they’ll be talking about it for many years after Princeton. Although I won’t be able to fit it into my schedule, I plan on attending the class performance at the end of April which will also feature the student steelpan ensemble TigerChunes, led by one of my friends!

   

   

7. Practical Ethics (Departments: Center for Human Values and Philosophy)

   Last but not least, I wish I could have taken Practical Ethics, which discusses topics ranging from abortion to the ethics of what we eat, and actually made my Outdoor Action co-leader become vegetarian. Taught by Professor Peter Singer, author of a number of fascinating books including Animal Liberation and The Life You Can Save, students praised the application of different ethical theories to real-world issues and Professor Singer as an “excellent lecturer, speaker, and arguer.” Unfortunately, the course is no longer offered following Professor Singer’s retirement in 2023, but I hope he will return to give an occasional lecture!

   Honorable mentions include: 

8. Analog Photography, or any course in the Visual Arts department
9. The Glass Class, a freshman seminar on the science and art of glass which travels to Venice over the break!

Clearly, I could go on. Princeton offers a wide array of unique courses which stretch students in different ways, whether by learning a new language on campus or abroad, engaging with community members and organizations, or simply discussing topics and authors you had never heard of before. As my time at Princeton comes to a close next semester, I am grateful to have had access to scholars, professors, and students who continue to stimulate my intellectual curiosity and teach me something new every day.