Girls of a Certain Age

Girls of a Certain Age

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Girls of a Certain Age
Girls of a Certain Age
New wave night

New wave night

Let's journey—shall we?—to the year 1983

Kim France's avatar
Kim France
Oct 17, 2024
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Girls of a Certain Age
Girls of a Certain Age
New wave night
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“You seem like an Oberlin girl to me,” my high school college counselor said during our first meeting, at the beginning of my junior year. I wasn’t so sure I agreed.

I knew nothing about Oberlin except for that it was a very small school in the middle of nowhere in Ohio, and I didn’t think I wanted to go to college in Ohio. I had liked the Northeast during the three years I spent there in boarding school, and thought perhaps somewhere like Vassar was more my speed. But the counselor gave me an Oberlin catalog, and I liked what I read. It was the first college to admit Black students, and the first liberal arts college to award degrees to women. The town itself had been a key stop on the Underground Railroad. I liked that the student body had a reputation for being socially aware and politically active.

Oberlin also had a strong creative writing program, which I was very interested in, and a reputation for being a place where even misfit types found their people. Though boarding school had been an improvement for me from Houston, socially, I still felt like something of an outsider there. The more I found out about Oberlin the more convinced I was that it was the place for me. Even Ohio, I decided, would be OK.

I arrived at orientation in the fall of 1983 with my mom, my stereo, and more clothes than were probably strictly necessary. My roommate was a girl from Brooklyn Heights named Margaret. Her grandfather, she had disclosed, was a legendary art dealer—like famous enough that even I had heard from him—and she immediately struck me as more refined than me, more sophisticated. Most girls from New York, I would soon learn, seemed that way.

We both smoked—back then you could still smoke in the dorms—and you were assigned a smoking roommate. Margaret and I ate in the smoking section of Dascombe Dining Hall, and studied in the ground floor smoking section of the library, and after a while our social life, because of this, pretty much revolved around other smokers.

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