Those who stand for nothing, fall for anything — Alexander Hamilton
Hey readers, it’s been a minute. Glad that you’re back here. Hope you’re keeping well.
Have you seen the film “Good Will Hunting”? A late-90s classic, 2 Oscars.
There’s this interesting scene in it where the young genius Will Hunting, the protagonist, tells a cocky student that there’s no point in an expensive education if all he’s going to do is regurgitate what he’s read in books. Will tells him he could have learned the same things for a fraction of the cost by borrowing books from the public library and thus he could’ve easily been “original” — a critical thinker. The student rebuffs Will and says that his Harvard education will likely get him a good job while Will remains poor. Will brushes this off and reminds him that he’ll still be an “unoriginal” uncritical thinker.
The Harvard student is portrayed as the stereotypical “finance bro” no doubt. But realistically, if you go to a prestigious Russell Group university, like me, you are this student, just markedly less arrogant, I hope. After all, you want your brain to be worth more than the high price you paid for it, literally and figuratively. Admittedly, I should try harder to not be “unoriginal” — raiding JSTOR for opinions more than forming my own always seemed like the safest route to success — it took me to LSE after all.
But how far can being “unoriginal” take you beyond school?
See, I had initially thought my hardest tests this year would be the ones between me and my graduation. However, you don’t reach places like LSE without the stamina to chase academic excellence for years on end. Honestly, playing this memory game has been the story of my life — well, it will be until July. You can understand then why leaving the safety of the classroom feels like a leap of faith.
This arguably melodramatic talk might sound like some kind of early onset “post-grad depression” which prayer, magnums, or a five-figure grad-scheme could fix. Maybe six-figures if you’re in LSE.
In reality, watching Good Will Hunting has weirdly caused two things to be stuck on replay in my mind lately — that 1994 song by rapper Nas that is my article title and the old Hamilton quote underneath it. Go on, scroll up.
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Sure, they’re almost underwhelmingly obvious statements at first glance, even cliché at a push. Hell, I’ve even seen that Hamilton quote as often as that “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere” MLK quote, plastered on my campus’ walls and Instagram profiles…
But how could I ever say the world is “mine”, that I can be who I want to be, if I can’t be “original” and stand for something?
Being “original” can convince your potential employers in Canary Wharf to choose you out of 1000 applicants who copied books as well as you did. Alternatively, it can give you the confidence to take a risk and follow your passions, write your own narrative. I saw this recently with someone I know that went from my university to starring on the Netflix show “You” and BBC Three.
In the age of “influencers”, being original protects you from conscription into an army fighting for or against some “power”, “inequality”, “privilege”, or “bias” in our societies. What does “woke” actually mean now? Without “original” critical thinking, what else can you do but sheepishly fall in line and accept every single narrative like its common sense? Perfect recipe for confusion and fear.
So, being “original” has its benefits. However, it’s far easier said than done after years of practice being “unoriginal”. That’s why learning to write my own legacy instead of copying someone else’s is my hardest test this year. It’s about making a greater effort to develop a worldview so that you can more clearly see the world as you see fit. Every household name likely understood that being “original” and staying true to themselves is what secured their places in history.
After all, “what is this brief, mortal life, if not the pursuit of legacy?” (Lord Corlys Velaryon) — this is my good friend’s favourite quote, he’s a shameless House of the Dragon fan as you can see.
Personally, that’s partly why I wrote this spiel, to remind myself that even after years of doing the opposite, I can still be original. That the world can still be mine.
