Defining lines

When I first heard that college would be the time to define myself, I didn’t think that that “Boy Meets World” episode meant my e-mail signature.
At the time, I pictured other stuff. Like growing intellectually. Shaping my worldview. Making out with tons of girls like Topanga.

When I arrived at Columbia, I experienced a major existential epiphany. The first part of the epiphany was I would never make out with tons of girls. Second, I learned that given the modern age, e-mail composition would be the main mode of communication to define me for the rest of my life.

Since I’ve never been a huge fan of talking to people, I soon discovered my sense of e-mail culture was seriously outdated at a savvy place like Columbia. First I learned everybody forwards everything to Gmail. That was easy to deal with, and it gave me a perfect excuse to finally retire “spacejamdude8@hotmail.com.” Next I learned there was a precise science behind the writing of e-mail valedictions. My UWriting professor blew my mind in his first e-mail when he signed it “Best, Thomas.” What the hell does “Best,” even mean? Best… what? Friends? Where is the line drawn between a concise valediction and one that’s confusing and hurtful to your other good friends?

I’ve spent most of the past two years trying to figure out Gmail and answer these critical questions. It’s been tough. But as I’ve now crossed the halfway mark of college, it’s time to confront that main online expression of individual definition that I’ve left untouched until now: the e-mail signature. Also, I’ve been wondering if Topanga even goes to this school.

Like Maya Kelty when she dumped me in seventh grade, I was clueless about how to begin, but I was very determined to get the job done. So I decided to consult the e-mail signatures of smarter, more successful Columbia peers to plagiarize—I mean, to learn from. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in college, besides that consent is sexy but unattainable, it’s that Columbia students know the correct answers to everything. How did our esteemed student officials choose to define themselves in four lines or less?

Learned’s signature (“Learned Foote | President, CCSC 2011”) was efficient and frank. It emphasized his role as student council president, a defining responsibility. The only problem was that I felt the Columbia-centric acronym use was out of touch with the rest of the world. I already go to a school where they decided it was a cool idea to carve “Plato” onto the library. I don’t need to give the Producers another reason to call me elitist.

I looked ahead to Kamal’s signature for further guidance: “Kamal Yechoor | President, Class of 2011 | School of Engineering and Applied Science | Columbia University.” His signature was a little longer, perhaps indicating a SEAS-like clumsiness with words. Still, I found that Kamal handled the possible elitism problem well by spelling out the school in full, and like Learned, he focused on a single role that defined him.

I thought these were great principles to apply. There was just a minor issue: I didn’t have any prominent positions that defined me like they did. I tested a few possibilities:

“Tony Gong | Jaded Bwog Commenter.” Doesn’t really show off my leadership potential.

“Tony Gong | President, Bedford High School Latin Club 2006-2007.” Only three people even knew this club existed.

“Tony Gong | Unsuccessful Female Seduction Artist.” Accurate, but doesn’t say much to employers.

Perhaps our high-achieving student reps were not the best models for me. I searched my Gmail archives for other examples. Some people simply listed their college and graduation year. “Tony Gong | Columbia Engineering 2011.” It seemed like my best shot so far. Then I realized the crushing problem: All I’m saying about myself is that I’m an Asian male in SEAS. People wouldn’t even know how mean I am on Bwog.

In what seemed like a last-ditch effort, other people just provided additional contact information. As an avid supporter of last-ditch efforts, I thought this was a great idea initially. But the surplus of contact availability is just a distraction that overlooks the real issues of personal definition.

“Tony Gong | 781-987-4459” doesn’t inherently say anything true about me, other than the fact that I am available to talk, at some later time, in an ambiguous context. To quote someone’s AIM away message, which, um, might’ve been quoting Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, “Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating.”

Perhaps I’m a wimp for not finding an all-defining e-mail signature. But I’d rather believe my decisions are telling me something deeper. In today’s hyper-competitive, Internet-connected world, it’s likely that people judge by an Ivy League Facebook network, or a list of LinkedIn connections, or, yes, your e-mail signature to measure the quality of an individual. While we’re still young, the last thing that we need is another medium for fake hierarchies and pretension to pollute genuine communication.

And come on, does “Tony Gong | Dedicated Space Jam Fan” sound like a wimp to you?

Tony Gong is a junior in the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences majoring in applied math with a minor in philosophy. Bears frighten him. Tony Gong Explains the Universe runs alternate Thursdays. opinion@columbiaspectator.com