In 1872, Friedrich Nietzsche wrote: “Only as an aesthetic product can the world be justified.” one hundred and thirty seven years later, much of society seems to agree. Entire industries and lives revolve around this belief. Every self-conscious teenager recoils at the idea yet spends an undue amount of time looking in the mirror. Aesthetics affect us whether we like it or not, for people expend great energy seeking their own ideal of how things should look. But how much do our own aesthetic ideals lead to an irrational satisfaction or disappointment in our academic lives?

In the collegiate sphere, there do seem to be idealized forms for professors. Lecture is heavily visual: Students sit and observe, as an audience. Otherwise, we could all listen to recordings in our rooms. Practically speaking, a professor’s image can enhance—or erode—the individual academic experience. Stereotypes of intellectuals range from the mad scientist to the bearded philosopher. In “A Beautiful Mind,” John Nash is the absent-minded eccentric, focused on game theory rather than his wrinkled clothes. And who but the venerable, bespectacled Dumbledore could have watched over Hogwarts? Many ideal forms of the academic exist, but each comes with with its own set of expectations and implications.

Indeed, many professors—aware of the ways in which first impressions can enhance, destroy, or create an image—use this concept to great advantage. Any student seduced by a shopping period class will know the effect of pristine lectures or exciting demonstrations. In 1950, an MIT study confirmed that prior information given about a guest lecturer colored how students perceived him. Those told that he had negative attributes graded him harshly post-lecture; others told that he had positive attributes perceived him more kindly after the very same class. Apparently, good aesthetics can enhance one’s reputation regardless of what one is “really” like. Unfortunately, if professors project an attractive but false image at first, students face disappointment as the “true” professor emerges.

However judgmental they may be, students’ impressions are inevitable. The theatrical setup of lecture invites students to observe rather than interact with their teachers. Professors become objects of analysis, to be examined aesthetically from behind a laptop in the back row. This distance can keep students from going to office hours, even when professors beg them to. For many students don’t know—or want to know—what their teachers are like outside of lecture. Faculty dinners and other interactive events allow students a wonderful way to break down ossified images—but even then faculty members are still often in business attire. In our minds, professors stand eternally at the podium in coat and tie, a perpetual ideal: How strange would it be to see a professor in pajamas?

Because we’ve always had to live with our own ideals in mind, consciously or not, we’ve learned to deal with the disappointment of realistic forms. We’ve become hardened to it. Clearly, a student won’t drop a class because the professor’s beard isn’t long enough. Yet I can’t ignore that twinge of satisfaction I feel when a professor’s style or mannerisms slide right into place in my mind. Maybe someday, “aesthetics” can even be another category in the Q Guide.

Diana McKeage ’12 is a Crimson editorial comper in Winthrop House.