Piper Slinka-Petka | Ivy doesn’t grow in Appalachia

During the same conversation all first-year students find themselves in, state follows directly after name. Students, myself included, wait expectantly for one of four common answers: Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, or California. Penn’s student body, while diverse, leaves many geographical regions underrepresented in their class. 

When I reveal I am from West Virginia, home to Penn students few and far between, I get one of a few responses:

I haven’t heard that one yet. Are you the only one? (No, I am not.)  

Like from the song? (Yes, the very state described by John Denver’s 1971 song, “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”) 

I have family from Virginia, same thing right? (Two different states, separated in 1863.)

Growing up in Appalachia is an identity I spent my adolescence running away from. Portrayal in the media, such as by vice presidential candidate JD Vance’s "Hillbilly Elegy," paints Appalachia as a place for the uneducated, poverty-stricken, and lazy. The misinterpretation of rural America creates a narrative that all people inside of it are “white, conservative, and dumb.” In conversations with other Penn students, I would explain my rural upbringing, and end with “but at least I made it out.” 

I felt compelled to abandon my background to find my new place at Penn. 

Perhaps the entire purpose of orientation is to emphasize that despite our diverse backgrounds, we are all equal because we are the Class of 2028. What students come to realize, though, is that arriving at Penn does not mean we can easily shed the identity and constraints that have always defined us. Especially for first-generation, low-income and underrepresented students, it becomes increasingly apparent that identity poses larger boundaries for some than others. Penn made it clearer than ever that our backgrounds shape how we fit in — or don’t. 

It wasn’t the light pollution, lack of nature, or noise that made Penn so different — it was the culture. I found myself struggling to find an anchor with my urban peers, feeling out of the loop about everything as little as their high school experience to restaurants they loved. I was always a step behind. 

My differences were possibly the most apparent at the dining hall. I grew up on simple, hearty foods like pepperoni rolls and baked mac & cheese — nothing like the diverse and unique food options my peers raved about. Penn’s food options felt like an entirely new language. What were the halal food trucks outside of Riepe College House? Could I survive on Hill College House french fries for a whole semester?

The education I received, too, lacked greatly in comparison to my peers. In 2024, West Virginia was ranked the worst state for education. Approximately only 20% of West Virginians over 25 have a bachelor's degree or higher. While I’d been admitted to Penn, I was still the product of a struggling academic system. Even though I already knew my education put me at a disadvantage, I underestimated how much I would feel out of place at Penn. 

Perhaps even more than educationally, I was lacking socially. In my town of less than 3,000, I’d had the same friends since childhood. But, because they’d come from a culture of relentless interaction, Penn students from urban areas were excellent at navigating the transient social situations integral to making friends as a first year. Can I ask someone to get lunch if we’ve just met? Do I wave to them on Locust Walk, or is that only after a certain number of conversations?

It felt like my classmates were all members of a secret club which gave them these answers. I was floating aimlessly in the ocean; they’d made it to shore.

Coming from a geographically underrepresented area meant I was at a disadvantage in navigating Penn. While my classmates seemed to effortlessly adjust to this new world, I felt lost grappling with new social dynamics, cuisine, and academics. The culture shock was not just locational; it was a reminder of how deeply our backgrounds influence our future. Although I felt the need to abandon my old life for Penn’s new offerings, I couldn't just put West Virginia behind me. I would have to actively work to bridge the gap between my unique upbringing and my new life at Penn.

Sitting down with fellow first year and West Virginian Aneesh Banerjee, he shared my same struggles. He mentioned that coming to Penn brought along anxiety to leave his hometown friends and form a friend group here. He recounts feeling, “jealous of the students from more populated states like New Jersey, Connecticut, and New York because they already knew people.”

Banerjee admits that adjusting to Penn academically was “definitely hard at first.” He felt “at a disadvantage coming from a small state because [the] education system didn’t prepare [him] well for an Ivy League education.” He expressed feeling behind in comparison to his peers that had “access to all AP classes and had great teachers,” which he feels “helped them stay ahead.” 

Banerjee came to the same conclusion I’ve realized: that we would have to “work a little harder to catch up.” 

Despite the challenging adjustment I, like Banerjee, am growing to recognize that our backgrounds don’t make us any less qualified. In fact, our upbringing gives us a unique perspective and purpose. We need to challenge the stereotypes that follow rural areas; being "country" doesn't equate to being ignorant.

The perspectives of rural students deserve to be reflected at Penn. We contribute as much to the University as it contributes to us. While Penn gives us the opportunity to explore the world outside of our borders, this does not mean we must neglect our origins. We can take pride in being rural. 

The connections we make at Penn cannot be solely created within geographical boundaries — our similarities aren’t found exclusively in streets we’ve walked along and restaurants at which we’ve eaten. We should embrace the chance to intertwine our diverse backgrounds rather than discarding them in favor of a single, collective identity. 

No student should ever feel the need to lose an integral part of themselves — even if that part includes pepperoni rolls and country roads. Rural students are essential to Penn because of their backgrounds, not in spite of them. Let’s start believing that.

PIPER SLINKA-PETKA is a College first year studying health and societies from West Virginia. Her email address is pipersp@sas.upenn.edu.