Social Credit on Campus

We like to think that the “social credit” systems seen in dystopian sci-fi movies are far-off nightmares, but we are already living in a version of them right now. Think about how we judge each other based on digital footprints. We look at a person’s follower count, their LinkedIn connections, or even their “vibe” on a dating app before we even speak to them in person. We have started to rate each other like we rate Uber drivers or Airbnbs. It is a subtle form of social ranking that is changing how we form friendships.

On campus, this often looks like “clout” being used as currency. If you have a large digital following, you have more social capital in clubs and organizations. If you have been “called out” online, you might find yourself physically isolated in the dining hall. Our reputations are no longer built through one-on-one interactions; they are managed like a public relations campaign. We are constantly aware that one “wrong” post or a low engagement rate could affect our social standing.

This creates a high-anxiety environment where nobody feels like they can be truly authentic. We are all performing for an invisible audience, hoping to keep our “rating” high enough to stay relevant. But a community built on digital scores is incredibly fragile. We need to remember that people are more than their data points. Real trust and real friendship are built in the moments where the cameras are off and the “ratings” do not matter. We have to make sure we are connecting with humans, not just profiles.

The Rise of the Analog Hobby

In a world where everything is high-definition and instantly available on a cloud, why is my generation suddenly obsessed with things that are slow and clunky? Film cameras are sold out at thrift stores, vinyl records are outselling CDs, and physical scrapbooking is making a massive comeback. We spend all day in front of a screen for school and work, so when it comes to our free time, we are starting to crave something we can actually touch. There is a specific kind of magic in the “imperfection” of analog media.

When you take a photo on your phone, you can take a hundred versions of it and it costs nothing. When you use a film camera, you only have twenty-four shots and you have to wait a week to see if any of them actually turned out. That waiting period creates a sense of intentionality that digital life has completely deleted. You are forced to be present in the moment rather than just trying to capture it for a story. It turns a hobby from a task into an experience.

This “analog boom” is basically a collective rebellion against the digital fatigue we all feel. We want things that have weight, texture, and even a bit of physical wear and tear. A vinyl record can skip, a film photo can be blurry, and a handwritten journal can have messy ink stains. Those flaws are what make them feel human. In a world of polished algorithms and perfect filters, we are finding that we actually prefer the “messy” reality of the physical world.

The Ethics of Brain-Boosting Meds

Walk into the library during finals week and you will eventually hear someone whispering about “study drugs.” The use of prescription stimulants like Adderall or Vyvanse by students without ADHD has become an open secret on most campuses. We talk about it like it is just an extra-strong cup of coffee, but the ethics of using “brain boosters” are actually pretty complicated. Is it a form of academic cheating, or is it just a desperate response to a university system that demands an impossible level of output?

On one hand, it creates an uneven playing field. If one student can pull an all-nighter with chemical help and another cannot, the grades stop being a measure of intelligence and start being a measure of access to medication. But on the other hand, many students feel like they have no choice. When the curve is high and the tuition is even higher, the pressure to perform becomes a survival instinct. We have created an academic environment that is so intense that students feel they need to “hack” their own biology just to keep up.

The real problem might not be the pills themselves, but the culture that makes them feel necessary. We should be asking why our workloads are designed in a way that makes normal human focus feel inadequate. Instead of just policing who is taking what, we need to have a conversation about the mental health toll of the “constant performance” model. If we need medication to meet the standard, maybe the standard is what needs to change.