Alter Mater
A Penn Quaker finds herself constantly relegated to the Lions’ den.
by Christina Uss

The misunderstandings began innocently enough after my acceptance to the University of Pennsylvania. My boyfriend’s mother proudly presented me with a gift for school: a thick, fleecy, blue-and-white Penn State sweatshirt.

During my first week on the Penn campus, I began to realize that I might not be the only student hiding inaccurate clothing in my dorm closet. Lecture halls were filled with students in T-shirts clearly proclaiming “NOT PENN STATE.” I rarely wore anything emblazoned with the Penn insignia while on the Penn campus. Oddly, I wore the Penn State shirt all the time. What can I say? It was warm and soft, plus I look darling in blue and white. I probably would have worn the sweatshirt even if the logo were “Pennzoil: Lubricant of Champions.”

Throughout the years, the cases of mistaken collegiate identity continued. The obligatory “do-you-know-so-and-so” question that new acquaintances love to ask about your school usually went something like this: “Oh, you go to Penn! Do you know Bob something-or-other … kind of tall … wears glasses? He shares an apartment with my cousin’s best friend Becky out there in State College, hates the winters. Don’t you?” Even after graduation, it was obvious things weren’t going to clear up anytime soon. During a job interview, my prospective employer quoted something from CNBC about a Nobel Prize being awarded to a University of Pennsylvania science professor, commenting that it was about time a state school got on the prize committee’s list.

I admit that my personality intensifies the problem. Kindhearted to a fault, I can’t bear to point out other people’s errors. For instance, over numerous Thanksgivings, my Uncle Bob would turn to me and boom, “Say, those Nittany Lions sure are burning up the field!” raising his beer in salute. My standard reply was to politely smile, nod, and pass the yams, assuming this was some traditional autumn sports-speak made incoherent to me by my football ignorance. It took me years to figure out he intended to praise my imagined alma mater’s football team, and by then—well, easier to simply pass the yams.

Probably 50 percent of the time, people who learn I went to Penn (even if I articulate “The University of Pennsylvania” in all its multi-syllabic pomp) think I went to Penn State. Penn—though long on academic reputation—falls short when it comes to name recognition. Penn State apparently has better PR.

I could have given in to resentment and despair, but instead, the ever-recurring connection has become a fundamental part of the way I see myself. Penn State has snuck into my psyche as my alter mater. Mild-mannered Dr. Quaker with mighty Mrs. Lion lurking underneath, that’s me. If a story in the paper mentions Penn State, I’ll invariably take the time to read every word. When I flip channels and catch a bit of a Nittany Lions game, I feel little thrill of inexplicable pride. I can’t help exclaiming “Oooh!” with false familiarity when introduced to a genuine Penn State grad.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of making a pilgrimage to University Park. I’m not sure what I’d expect to find there: a wrong-but-satisfying sense of belonging? A chance to meet my doppelganger? At any rate, if I visit, I’ll wear my faded old blue-and-white sweatshirt and keep my eyes peeled, ready to exchange deeply empathetic glances with anyone wearing a T-shirt declaring “NOT UPENN.”


Christina Uss, a 1995 Penn grad, is a freelance writer currently without a permanent home, roaming the U.S. in search of adventure and people who can accurately identify the school she attended.

(The above column first appeared in the January/February 2003 edition of The Penn Stater magazine.)