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Though the “Harvard man” primarily exists in our imaginations, a new prototypical archetype has emerged: She works in the library late into the night, prides herself on her overscheduled, colorful Google calendar, and is hellbent on achieving a prestigious career. Her transcript lists Ec10 and CS50, her favorite topics of conversation are LinkedIn and punching for final clubs. She sports Sambas and a Longchamp purse while flaunting her finished PSet.

I used to see this archetypal Harvard student as the ideal. But as an Orthodox Jew, my own self-identity often failed to adhere to this model — both in theory and practice. During my time at the College, I have been slowly trying to undo this way of thinking. I hope we can all learn to do the same: Harvard is enriched by people who bring authentic identities rather than a myopic focus on an aesthetic exemplar.

During freshman year, I was embarrassed by the many ways in which I differed from the modern standard. At the time, I felt that my adherence to an intricate and complex system of religious laws separated me from my peers. Some of this is unavoidable: I miss many Harvard events because of Shabbat or other Jewish holidays. To mitigate my discomfort, while I only wore skirts, keeping with traditional Jewish ideals of modesty, I tried to wear a trendy outfit occasionally, joking with my friends that I was an Orthodox Jew undercover. I declined Saturday plans without explaining that it was because of Shabbat, and I only ate certain foods in the Dining Halls rather than explaining that I keep kosher.

I thought people would not understand why I follow all of these rules — perhaps they would even feel apologetic. But the problem instead lay within: I had to learn that attempting to hide my identity from my peers only served to distance me from them.

As a sophomore, I have begun to share my religion with others. I ask friends to meet me at Harvard Hillel Bagel Brunch, which serves as a community event for Jews and non-Jews alike. I explain that I observe Jewish holidays and Shabbat, engaging in conversations with peers about my religious practice and its significance to my life. In these interactions, my peers are curious to hear about my way of life and community, often finding it interesting and unique, not strange or outdated as I sometimes feared.

Harvard College prides itself on its diverse student body and sees it as a core tenet of its undergraduate education. But it is incumbent upon us, the students, to ensure that we allow ourselves to learn from and appreciate our own and our peers’ diversity of thought, tradition, and experience. My unique identity as an Orthodox Jew would go unnoticed if I insisted on conforming to every Harvard stereotype and campus trend.

To my classmates: do not fear judgement regarding the ways in which you are different. To the extent that aspects of your identity separate you from the traditional Harvard ideal, make efforts to share your experiences with others. Dress in ways that make you feel comfortable and confident, rather than mindlessly copying what others are wearing. Celebrate your special and differentiating qualities, especially the things that may seem weird to those unfamiliar.

My Jewish identity has taught me that it is commitment to my own ideals, rather than conformity to those of others, that brings meaning. If we sequester our differences in service of a monolithic Harvard identity, we fail the responsibility to diversity that students bear. There are artful ways to be a College student while respecting your sense of self. While I may never achieve the “enviable distinction” of being a Harvard man, I have been known to sport trendy sneakers under a fashionably long skirt.

Miriam E. Goldberger ’28, a Crimson Editorial editor, is a Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations concentrator in Dunster House.