Looking back, this shows how phones have become more than just tools, they’re part of our identity and social life. For people my age, having a phone means you belong. If you don’t have one, you miss out on conversations, group chats, and even homework. Buying my phone wasn’t just about getting a device, it was about being part of a culture where being connected is expected.

To apply this to something from my own culture, I thought about white rice, which is a major part of my Chinese background. From a Durkheimian view, eating rice together represents tradition and unity. It’s something families share at every meal, and it creates a sense of belonging and connection.

But from a Marxist view, white rice can also show inequality. In some areas, only wealthier families can afford better quality rice or side dishes to go with it, while poorer families may only eat plain rice. Even the idea of needing rice at every meal could be seen as a cultural expectation that keeps people from questioning deeper problems about food access, poverty, or class.

Both perspectives help me see how something as simple as food is tied to bigger ideas like power, tradition, and class. Marx shows us how culture can be used to control, while Durkheim helps explain why people follow shared norms in the first place.

This style of writing made me realize how weird our habits can seem when you look at them from an outsider’s view. It helps us understand how all cultures, even ours, have rituals we take for granted.

What stood out to me was how easily we accept these rituals as normal just because they’re familiar. For example, going to the dentist or the hospital sounds routine, but when you look at it from the outside, it can seem kind of extreme. This article shows how culture shapes the way we see the world, something that feels completely ordinary in one culture can seem shocking when explained in different terms.

It made me think about how we judge other cultures too quickly without realizing that our own culture might seem just as strange to them. Miner’s point wasn’t to mock the Nacirema, but to help us reflect on ourselves and how powerful culture is in shaping what we think is “normal.”

Watching The Bear through a sociological lens made me think about how work is more than just a job, it’s tied to identity, status, and mental health. The kitchen becomes a place where you see power dynamics, conflict, and cooperation all play out. There’s also a big contrast between high-end fine dining (which represents elite culture) and the small family shop (which feels more working-class). It’s a great example of how media can reflect the deeper structures of our society.

Fast food work is often the first job people get, but it's not just a "starter job" anymore. Many adults work in these jobs long term, and yet they’re paid barely enough to survive. This reflects a broader economic issue, where people are working full-time, sometimes at multiple jobs, and still can’t afford rent, food, or healthcare. This system benefits large corporations but leaves workers struggling.

It also ties into how consumers think. When people demand food to be fast, cheap, and convenient, it pushes companies to cut costs in ways that hurt workers. It's a cycle that feeds itself, literally and economically.

What stood out the most was how little control workers have. Schedules change last minute, breaks are short or nonexistent, and workers are treated like they're lazy or disposable. She also points out the physical toll. These jobs wear down people’s bodies, yet the pay doesn’t come close to matching the effort.

Ehrenreich’s experience reminds us that many people doing essential, backbreaking labor are invisible. Society relies on them, but we don’t treat them with respect. Her writing makes it clear that working hard doesn’t always mean you can make ends meet, and that’s a problem with the system, not with the workers.

What’s unsettling is that even the way employees talk to customers is designed for efficiency, not connection. Leidner shows how corporate control reaches into behavior, emotions, and language. There’s little room to be yourself when every part of your job is regulated.

It also shows how much emotional labor is involved. Workers have to act happy even when they’re tired, sick, or mistreated. This performance becomes part of the job, yet it's unpaid and often unrecognized. This reading made me think about how much we take for granted when we expect service workers to always be cheerful, no matter what.

Wishard highlights how the economy has changed. Jobs with benefits, pensions, and long-term security are disappearing. Instead, we have “flexible” jobs with unstable hours and low wages. Older workers struggle to adjust because they never expected to be working these kinds of jobs in their 50s or 60s.

What struck me most is the emotional side. These workers feel embarrassed, frustrated, and sometimes ashamed. They worry about their future, but they also feel left behind. This piece made me realize how age and class intersect in unfair ways, and how little safety exists in today’s economy.

By spreading ideas like “hard work leads to success,” corporations can shift the blame onto workers instead of taking responsibility for unfair pay or toxic environments. It’s clever because it makes inequality look normal or even deserved.

These ideologies are also visible in advertising. Fast food ads often sell happiness, community, and comfort. But behind the scenes, workers are being underpaid and overworked. So the image the company sells often hides the reality of what it’s like to work there. Understanding corporate ideologies helps reveal the gap between what companies say and what they do.

This movement challenges the idea that fast food jobs don’t deserve good pay. Many of these workers are adults with families, and they provide essential services. The movement also fights back against the narrative that low pay is just how it has to be. It shows that things could be different if we changed laws and held corporations accountable.

What I find powerful about this movement is how it centers the voices of workers themselves. They're not waiting for someone else to speak for them, they're standing up for dignity and justice. It reminds us that change doesn’t start at the top. It starts when people who are being mistreated refuse to stay silent.

Working class people also drink coffee, but it’s different. It’s made fast, often at home or in gas stations. It comes in large cups, meant to get through a long day of labor. They don’t pay for foam art. They need the energy, not the look. Coffee for them is fuel, not a luxury.

This chapter shows how even small habits, like drinking coffee, reflect class. It’s not just what you drink, but how and where you drink it. Your class shapes your taste, your time, and your surroundings. It shows how class isn’t just about income. It’s about culture, comfort, and daily life.

Middle class and rich people benefit from poverty. Poor people make cheap goods and services possible. Dollar stores, fast food, and used goods stores stay open because poor people need them. Wealthy people also get to feel good about giving charity. It makes them feel moral without changing the system.

Poverty also keeps people in line. Gans says people fear being poor, so they work harder to stay out of it. That fear helps control people. Some groups also blame the poor to feel better about themselves.

This article is powerful. It shows that poverty is not an accident. It has a purpose in our society. It keeps the system going. That’s why it doesn’t go away. It helps the powerful stay powerful.

They also feel guilt. They left their families behind. They sometimes feel like traitors. Their families don’t always understand college life. So these students feel stuck between two worlds. One is home, full of love but less money. The other is college, full of chances but also loneliness.

Professors and schools often don’t help enough. They expect students to just figure it out. But social class makes that hard. These students don’t just need money. They need support, respect, and a place to feel seen.

This article reminds us that success is not just about hard work. Social class affects how success feels. Moving up means losing something too. That pain should not be ignored.

The upper class also controls politics and business. Many top leaders went to the same schools and know each other. This makes it easier for them to stay on top. They help each other get jobs, deals, and influence. They pass down power to their children, keeping others out.

The article shows that the upper class hides its power. They act normal, even humble. But behind the scenes, they control big parts of the country. They avoid attention, but they hold the ropes.

This piece shows how class is not only money. It is a network. It is hidden rules. It is history. And it is hard to break into from the outside.

What hit me most was how off people’s perceptions are. Most Americans think the system is unfair. But they still have no idea just how unfair it really is. That’s part of how inequality stays hidden. We don’t see it. We just feel the effects, like high rent, debt, and stress, without understanding the cause.

This connects directly to what we’ve learned in this section of class. Gans said poverty serves a purpose in society. Watching this, I saw how that purpose plays out. The rich stay rich because others stay poor. The system works for those at the top. Not by accident, but by design.

Higley also explained how the upper class protects itself. This video showed that. The top 1% isn’t just rich. They are off the chart, in money, in power, and in control and alot more. They shape how we see the world, even how we see fairness. That’s ideology at work, just like our lecture said.

The video also reminded me of the myth of meritocracy. It asked if a CEO works 380 times harder than his workers. Of course not. But the system acts like he deserves it. That’s the problem. People accept inequality as normal or even earned. That belief is part of what keeps it going.

This video made the numbers real. It showed how far we are from the ideal, and how blind we’ve become to it.

The chapter also points out how Black athletes are expected to “stick to sports.” If they speak about racism, people say they’re being political. But white athletes don’t get the same pushback. This is unfair. Everyone should have the right to speak out, especially about issues that affect them.

In real life, I’ve seen this happen too. When a famous player takes a knee or talks about injustice, the comments online blow up with hate. But when a white athlete shares a military tribute or talks about faith, it’s seen as patriotic. This double standard is real, and it shows that racism isn’t gone from sports.

The idea of “cultural appropriation”. It’s when a dominant group takes parts of another culture and uses them like a costume. It’s not about respect, it’s mostly about profit. The chapter gives examples like Elvis, who got famous with Black music while Black artists were shut out.

I’ve seen this happen with fashion too. People wear traditional hairstyles or clothes without knowing where they come from. Then the same styles are seen as “ghetto” on Black people, but “trendy” on white influencers. This double standard shows how racism still shapes what we value and reward.

What stood out to me is how he talks about being both proud and tired. He’s proud of his roots, his success, and his voice. But he’s tired of always having to explain himself. Tired of being judged before he speaks.

This made me think about how racism isn’t always loud. It can be quiet, like being followed in a store, being pulled over for no reason, or being passed over at work. Page puts those moments into words we can all understand. He reminds us that racism isn’t just hate, it’s also fear, silence, and unfair rules.

What’s scary is that these beliefs don’t come out of nowhere. They’re built over time, through family, media, and peer groups. Some people feel lost or left behind, and racism gives them a sense of control.

This reminds me of online spaces today. People get sucked into hateful content by watching one video, then another. The internet can feed fear and make it look like truth. It shows how racism isn’t just about bad people. It’s about bad systems that allow hate to grow.

The first messages I got about race were both simple and confusing. I remember being in elementary school and noticing that most kids in books or on TV were white. I didn’t think much of it at first, but sometimes classmates would say things like “your lunch smells weird” or “why are your eyes like that?” That made me feel different in a way I couldn’t fully explain as a kid. It felt like being Chinese was something others saw as unusual.

When I look at other people, I mostly guess their race based on appearance, skin color, hair, and facial features. But I’ve been wrong before. One time I thought someone was Hispanic, but they were actually Filipino. That taught me that race isn't always obvious or simple. People judge me the same way. Most assume I’m Chinese or at least Asian. But sometimes people ask “where are you from?” even though I was born here. It shows how race is something people tie to culture and background, not just looks.

To better understand how others experience race, I talked to five people from different backgrounds:

• A Black friend told me that race was something she became aware of early on, especially at school where she felt like teachers expected less from her or were surprised when she did well.

• One of my white classmates said race was something he didn’t have to think about much until high school, when he started noticing how his non-white friends were treated differently.

• Another white classmate said he only recently started thinking about privilege. He said, “I never get followed in stores. I never get asked where I’m really from.”

• My Vietnamese neighbor said that growing up, people would assume she was Chinese or ask if she knew martial arts. She laughed it off, but admitted it made her feel stereotyped.

• My older cousin shared how being Asian in America can feel like being invisible, not always mistreated, but often left out or forgotten.

After talking to others, I saw that most people “know” their race because someone told them. Some learned through school forms or by comparing themselves to others. A few shared stories of being treated differently because of how they looked or talked. These early experiences shape how we understand race.

Race is not just about biology. It’s a way society puts people into categories. When we say race is socially constructed, we mean that people made up these categories and gave them meaning. They don’t come from science, they come from history, power, and culture. Race affects how we’re seen, treated, and how we see ourselves. Even though it’s not based on biology, it’s very real in how it affects people’s lives.

My parents taught me to be careful with money. We don’t go on big trips or buy expensive things unless they’re really needed. Sometimes I feel left out when other kids talk about vacations or the newest phones. But it also made me more thankful for what I have. I learned how to save, budget, and work hard for what I want.

Social class also affects my choices. I picked electives and extracurriculars based on what was free or what could help me get scholarships later. I chose to take college classes in high school to save time and money. When people say, “just do what makes you happy,” that’s not always possible. I have to think about what will give me a stable job.

This connects to what we’ve learned in class. Social class isn't just about money. It shapes our values, time, and even our confidence. People from wealthier backgrounds might feel more free to explore and take risks. For me, I have to play it safe. I have to think practically. That’s how class affects not just where you are in society, but how you live your life.

From my experience, not always. I have had classes where I got an A but didn’t really understand the material deeply. I just knew how to do the homework or memorize the answers for the test. Other times, I worked very hard to understand something but got a lower grade because I made small mistakes. That grade did not show how much effort I gave or what I actually learned.

Good teaching, to me, is when the teacher explains things clearly, listens to questions, and treats students with respect. Some teachers make class feel safe and interesting. Others only focus on tests and grades. I do better in classes where the teacher makes me feel comfortable and wants me to really understand, not just pass. When a teacher cares about your success and checks in with you, that’s what helps me grow.

Good learning is not about memorizing facts or doing well on a test for one day. It is about thinking more deeply and being able to use what you learn in real life. I like when I can connect something from class to something I see around me or in the news. That is when I know I really learned it.

This topic connects to sociology because it shows how school is a social system. It teaches more than just facts. It also teaches values, expectations, and ways of thinking. But sometimes that system puts too much focus on numbers and not enough on real understanding. The system makes students feel like their whole worth is based on grades. That can cause stress and burnout.

I think we need to think about other ways to measure teaching and learning. Listening to students, watching how they grow over time, and seeing how they apply what they learn might be better than just numbers. Learning is more than grades, and good teaching is more than test scores.

My three ascribed statuses are:

1. Chinese

2. Son

3. Male

My three achieved statuses are:

1. Student

2. Friend

3. Band member

I want to talk about my role as a student. As a student, I have a clear set of expectations. I am expected to do my homework, study for tests, and listen to teachers. People expect me to do well and stay out of trouble. Sometimes, being a student also means having less free time. I often feel pressure to get good grades, even when I’m tired or stressed.

But this role is also important to me. It gives me purpose. I know I’m building something for my future, and I feel proud when I meet those expectations. Still, it’s a role that brings both respect and pressure. Teachers treat me like someone who can learn, but if I mess up or fall behind, it feels like I failed at my role.

Thinking about all these roles helps me understand how much of our life is shaped by others. We don’t just decide who we are, society gives us those roles and expects us to play them. Some of them are fair. Some are not. But they’re all real.

Last school year, I was sitting with a group of classmates during lunch. One of them saw a student walking by in older clothes and worn-out shoes. He nudged the guy next to him and started whispering jokes. Then others joined in. They didn’t yell, but they laughed and kept pointing. I looked over at the student. He looked down at the floor and walked faster.

I didn’t laugh out loud. But I smiled. I nodded. When one of my friends looked at me and said, “Right?” I didn’t say no. I didn’t speak up. I just followed their lead.

The truth is, I didn’t agree with them. I didn’t think it was funny. But in that moment, I felt like I had to go along with them. If I said something, they might turn on me. I didn’t want to stand out or be the one who ruined the moment.

Later that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept seeing the look on that student’s face. That’s when I realized what I had done. I had conformed. I had chosen to go with the group instead of doing what I believed was right.

In class, we learned about Asch’s conformity experiment. People gave the wrong answers, even when they knew they were wrong, just to fit in. That’s exactly how I felt. I had a choice, but I didn’t want to break from the group.

This experience helped me understand that conformity isn’t always about big rules. It’s about small moments, quiet choices, and who we decide to be when others are watching. I still regret not saying anything that day. But now, I think I would speak up. That moment taught me that going with the crowd can feel safe, but it doesn’t always feel right.

Now, I try to notice those moments when they happen. I ask myself if I’m following others because I agree — or just because I’m scared to stand alone.

1. T-shirt – made in Honduras

2. Hoodie – made in China

3. Jeans – made in Bangladesh

4. Underwear – made in Vietnam

5. Socks – made in Pakistan

6. Sneakers – made in Indonesia

7. Pajamas – made in Cambodia

8. Baseball cap – made in China

9. Jacket – made in Mexico

10. School polo shirt – made in El Salvador

Only one or two items were made in the U.S., and they were old. Everything else came from places far away. That made me think about globalization. Clothes aren’t just about style or comfort anymore. They show how companies search for the cheapest labor to keep prices low.

In class, we talked about how social class affects what people wear. That hit me while I was doing this. I’ve seen kids at school who wear brand names every day. Others wear plain shirts or the same few outfits. Clothes send signals. They can show how much money your family has, even when you don’t mean to show it.

I don’t pick clothes to show off, but I’ve felt left out before when others talk about expensive brands I can’t afford. Sometimes people judge you before you even speak, just by what you wear. That’s one way norms and expectations are taught. You learn what’s “cool” or “normal,” and what isn’t.

This list also made me think about the workers in those other countries. I don’t know how much they get paid, but I doubt it’s a lot. I wear these clothes every day and don’t think twice. But now I realize there’s a bigger story behind each item. There’s labor, cost-cutting, long hours, and sometimes even unfair conditions.

I used to think of clothes as personal, something I picked out. But now I see they also tell a social story. They reflect where I fit in society, how the world economy works, and how companies shape our choices without us even noticing.

The first time I remember feeling different because I was a boy was in first grade. I was crying because I got a bad grade on a math test. I had worked hard, and I felt like I failed. A classmate walked by and said, “Are you crying? You’re a boy! Boys don’t cry.” He laughed and walked away. I wiped my face and didn’t cry in public again for years. That’s how it started.

At home, the rules were unspoken. My mom did the laundry, cleaned the house, and cooked dinner. My dad fixed the car, mowed the lawn, and paid the bills. They never explained this to me, but I watched it every day. When I offered to help my mom clean, she said, “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to. Go outside and play.” She meant well, but it taught me something. Cleaning wasn’t a boy’s job. Helping in the kitchen wasn’t expected from me.

There were more rules at school. Boys played basketball or ran around during recess. Girls sat and talked or played quiet games. One time I sat with the girls and helped make paper bracelets. A teacher saw and said, “Go join the boys. This isn’t craft time.” She wasn’t trying to be mean, but that moment stayed with me. I felt embarrassed. I didn’t sit with the girls again.

Even the clothes were different. Boys were supposed to wear dark colors. No pink. No sparkles. If a boy wore a bracelet or tried lip balm “just to see,” he would get laughed at. Girls could wear jeans or skirts. Boys had less choice. If we didn’t follow the script, we were punished socially.

TV shows and books added more. The boys in shows were strong, funny, brave, and sometimes careless. The girls were smart, kind, organized, and emotional. If a boy showed emotion, he got teased. If he was sensitive, people called him weak. I started hiding feelings like sadness and fear. I started believing that being a man meant being quiet and tough.

Now I see how deep it all went. Gender wasn’t just something on my birth certificate. It was everywhere. It was in my chores, my toys, my emotions, and my role in the family. I was taught that my value came from being strong, logical, and independent. I was taught not to ask for help. I was taught to lead, not follow. I never asked why.

This class has helped me see that gender is learned. It’s not natural. We’re trained into it by our families, our friends, and our culture. It affects what we do, how we talk, and even how we feel about ourselves. I never thought I was being “trained,” but I was.

Looking back, I wish I had been allowed to explore more. I wish someone had told me it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be gentle. It’s okay to help in the kitchen or like pink or enjoy quiet things. I still carry some of those lessons inside me, but now I’m trying to rewrite them.

I don’t want to be trapped in a box that was built for me before I could speak. I want to be free to be who I am, even if that means doing things that some people think aren’t “manly.” I want to be kind, helpful, strong, and sensitive all at once. I want to treat others the same way, no matter what gender they are.

Gender is learned, but we can unlearn it too.

I remember going to toy stores and seeing the two different sections. The boys’ side was loud, full of action figures, weapons, superheroes, and things that made noise. The girls’ side was filled with dolls, kitchen sets, and glitter. I didn’t question it back then. It felt normal, even though looking back, it wasn’t just about fun, it was training. It taught boys to be tough and aggressive and girls to be soft and caring. It’s easy to see how those early lessons connect to gender roles later in life. Boys are expected to lead, protect, and control. Girls are expected to support, care, and listen.

The chapter also points out how this division affects not just how kids play, but how they view themselves. If a boy plays with a doll, he might get told he’s being “weird” or “girly.” If a girl plays with a Nerf gun, people might say she’s acting like a boy. These reactions teach kids that stepping outside of their assigned gender role is wrong. That pressure shapes kids’ personalities and confidence.

Another important point in the chapter is how this connects to sexuality. Kids aren’t just learning “boy vs. girl”—they’re learning who’s supposed to be dominant and who’s not. Gender and sexuality get linked early on, even before most kids fully understand what those words mean. That’s what makes toys so powerful. They carry messages about how to be a man or a woman, and those messages often go unchallenged.

This reading helped me see that toys aren’t neutral. They’re political. They reflect and support the larger system of gender expectations. It made me think about how I’d want to raise my future kids. I wouldn’t want them to be limited by the pink and blue aisle. I’d want them to play with what they love—not what society says they should love.

One thing that stood out was how the media promotes white, thin, youthful, able-bodied beauty as the ideal. This puts pressure on people who don’t fit that mold, especially women of color. It also reminded me how much money and time people spend trying to look “better,” but better just means closer to what society has told us is acceptable.

The chapter also made me think about intersectionality. A Black woman, for example, experiences beauty standards differently than a white woman. She might deal with racism and sexism at the same time, and that affects how she is judged or treated based on her appearance. Even within the same gender, people experience the world differently based on race, income, and more. The idea that beauty is political became very clear to me here.

I also thought about how people internalize these messages. Girls learn early what’s considered pretty and what’s not. This can affect their self-esteem for years. I’ve seen this among my own friend some of them think they’re not good-looking just because they don’t have a certain skin tone or body shape. That’s not a personal insecurity—it’s a social one.

This chapter helped me understand that beauty standards don’t just reflect society, they help shape it. They teach people their place in the world. Intersectionality helps us see the layers involved in how beauty is judged and who gets rewarded or punished for how they look.

What stood out most to me was how boys are taught to reject anything considered “feminine.” That includes emotions, softness, and even certain colors or interests. Boys learn early on to hide fear and pain. Crying is seen as weak, and weakness is seen as unmanly. This doesn’t just hurt boys, it limits their emotional growth. I’ve seen boys at school get teased for things like liking art or being sensitive. It’s like there’s a strict rulebook for what you can and can’t do if you want to be a “real man.”

Another important part of the reading is how aggression is rewarded. Boys are told to be tough, to fight back, to dominate. This shows up in sports, in media, and even in classrooms. But it creates a cycle where violence or control becomes part of how boys prove their manhood. This can lead to toxic masculinity, where being a man means being cold, cruel, or controlling just to feel respected.

The reading also made me think about peer pressure. So much of how boys learn masculinity comes from other boys. Friends, brothers, classmates, all of them help reinforce what’s acceptable and what’s not. A boy who doesn’t follow those unwritten rules risks being bullied or excluded. So a lot of boys learn to act a certain way not because it feels right, but because they want to fit in.

This reading helped me see how gender is taught through constant signals and reactions.

One of the strongest ideas is that middle school girls are taught to care about popularity, appearance, and attention from boys. These lessons don’t come from formal instuction; they come from everyday experiences—comments in the hallway, teasing, who's getting asked out, who is called “pretty,” and who isn’t. This isn’t just about looking good—it’s about learning that your worth depends on how others, especially boys, perceive you. Eder shows how girls begin to internalize this and start evaluating themselves constantly, adjusting their behavior and looks to be seen as desirable or accepted. They monitor their clothes, weight, skin, voice, and even facial expressions.

Girls also learn to be “appropriately feminine,” which includes being modest, soft-spoken, emotionally supportive, and never too assertive or confident. If they show leadership, they risk being labeled as bossy. If they speak up too much, they’re “annoying.” If they show sexual interest, they might be called names. But if they don’t, they’re “prudes.” This double bind traps girls into a narrow version of femininity, one that demands constant performance but never promises full acceptance.

What’s especially powerful is how peers reinforce these lessons. Girls are not just shaped by adults, they shape each other. Through gossip, praise, teasing, and comparisons, girls learn what’s expected. Eder shows how this peer culture becomes its own form of regulation. You can’t escape it, because it’s everywhere, at school, in sleepovers, on social media. This constant pressure teaches girls that femininity is something fragile that has to be performed correctly at all times.

Reading this made me reflect on how gender roles aren’t natural, they are taught, repeated, and enforced. And they’re not harmless. These expectations can shape a girl’s confidence, ambition, mental health, and relationships. I also thought about how early this starts, and how hard it can be to unlearn. Even now, many women still struggle with the same feelings they first learned in middle school: fear of judgment, shame around their bodies, and the feeling that they always have to prove themselves.

What stood out to me most was the way kids create strong boundaries between boys and girls. Boys and girls often separate themselves in line, in games, in group work. And even when they interact, they enforce the idea that there’s something weird or suspicious about crossing those lines. For example, a boy who talks to girls too much might be teased as having a “crush” or called names like “girl chaser.” Girls who play too rough or hang with boys might be labeled as “tomboys.” These aren’t just harmless jokes, this is how children learn that gender has rules, and breaking them has consequences.

The idea of “borderwork” was especially important. It means that boys and girls are constantly drawing a line between each other, sometimes playfully (like boys vs. girls competitions) and sometimes with teasing or exclusion. But either way, it reinforces that they are supposed to be different. This borderwork helps build the belief that there are two opposite genders and that they should stay separate. That belief becomes the foundation for later stereotypes about gender, sexuality, and relationships.

I also noticed how early heterosexual meanings are layered onto innocent interactions. When a boy and a girl sit together or pass notes, classmates might say they “like each other,” even when it’s just friendship. This pressure pushes kids into thinking that any closeness between genders must be romantic or sexual. It teaches kids that boys and girls are supposed to be attracted to each other and that any friendship across gender lines must mean something. These small moments are how heteronormativity begins.

This reading reminded me that gender and sexuality are not just “adult” issues they’re shaped from the very beginning, even before puberty. It made me reflect on my own childhood, on how I was praised or teased, and how much of that had to do with gender expectations I didn’t fully understand at the time. Thorne and Luria show that children are already being trained into a system of gender roles and norms that will follow them for the rest of their lives and they don’t even realize it.

One of the main points that stood out to me was how men and women are often trained to use language in opposite ways, men use it to establish status or independence, and women use it to build connection or show support. These aren’t just habits; they’re part of how society has gendered our entire way of talking. For example, a man might see directness as respectful, while a woman might use indirectness to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. But that indirectness could be misread as weakness or lack of confidence, especially in the workplace.

Tannen also breaks down several common situations where this gender comunication gap causes problems. Like when giving criticism: men might go straight to the point, but women often soften it to preserve the relationship. Or in giving compliments: women are more likely to do it to build bonds, while men might avoid it to protect status. Even things like saying “thank you” or apologizing can mean totally different things depending on gender. A woman might say “I’m sorry” to express empathy, while a man might hear it as admitting fault. So people talk past each other without even realizing it.

What really hit me was how these miscommunications often happen at work or in professional life, where gendered communication styles can unfairly shape how competent or “strong” someone is perceived. A woman might be seen as too soft or passive, even if she’s being polite and thoughtful. A man might be seen as too harsh or arrogant when he’s just being direct. It’s not that either side is doing something wrong, it’s that they’ve been socialized differently.

This reading made me realize how much misunderstanding can happen, especially when people assume that their way of speaking is the normal or right way. It also reminded me that language isn’t neutral. It’s a tool shaped by culture and gender and if we’re not aware of that, we can unintentionally shut people out or misjudge them.

It made me wonder how many times I’ve misunderstood someone or been misunderstood, just because of these hidden gender rules. Tannen doesn’t say one style is better than the other, but she shows how important it is to understand the differences if we want to truly hear each other.

Katz explains that we often think beauty is something personal or harmless, but it actually has real social consequences. People seen as “beautiful” are more likely to get hired, promoted, or trusted. They’re assumed to be smarter, kinder, and more competent, even when there’s no evidence for that. This shows how much we let appearances control our judgment, even in areas where looks shouldn’t matter at all, like job performance or moral character.

What struck me most is how beauty becomes a kind of unearned privilege, almost like wealth or race. The reading points out that attractive people can get away with more, while those who are considered “unattractive” often face discrimination. This isn’t just about vanity, it’s a form of social inequality. And like other forms of inequality, it gets hidden behind the idea that beauty is “natural” or just a matter of preference, when in reality, it’s shaped by culture, media, and power structures.

Katz also connects beauty to gender in powerful ways. Women, especially, are judged much more harshly on their appearance. Their value is often linked to how they look, and failing to meet beauty standards can affect everything from relationships to career options. It’s a double standard, men can succeed without being handsome, but women are often expected to be both competent and beautiful. That’s a lot of pressure, and it’s one reason why so many women struggle with self-image or feel like they’re never “enough.”

The reading made me think about how much time and money people spend trying to meet these impossible standards, cosmetic procedures, weight loss, makeup, skincare, clothes. These industries profit off our insecurities, and it keeps the cycle going. It made me angry, honestly, to realize how much our society profits from making people feel like they aren’t beautiful enough.

Katz helped me see beauty as a kind of social currency. Some people are just born with more of it, and others are left out. That’s not fair, but most people pretend it is. This reading challenged me to rethink what I consider “normal” or “attractive” and made me want to be more critical of how I judge people based on looks.

One major takeaway from this reading is how women in the military are stuck in a double bind. If they act “too feminine,” they’re seen as weak and not fit for the job. If they act “too masculine,” they get labeled as unfeminine, aggressive, or even lesbian. Either way, they’re judged and scrutinized in ways their male peers aren’t. This shows how narrow our cultural ideas of gender are, especially when it comes to work that’s considered traditionally “male.”

Miller shows how women are pressured to manage their appearance and behavior carefully. They can’t look “too pretty” or “too tough.” This constant monitoring is exhausting and unfair. Men in the military can focus on the job, but women have to navigate the job and gender stereotypes at the same time. It’s like carrying an extra load no one talks about.

There’s also the issue of sexual harassment and assault, which the reading addresses with honesty and urgency. The fact that so many women experience these things and then don’t feel safe reporting them is heartbreaking. It shows how even in an institution that claims to value honor and discipline, power and masculinity still dominate. Victims are often silenced, blamed, or ignored. That’s not just a military problem, it reflects our wider society.

I also found it powerful how Miller showed that some women still find ways to form community and support one another. Despite all the challenges, they build solidarity and try to change the system from within. That gave me some hope. But it also made me realize how hard it is to survive in a world built by and for men, especially when that world is the military.

This reading reminded me that gender isn’t just about identity, it’s about power, rules, and survival. It made me respect the women who choose to serve even more, and it made me want to keep questioning the systems that make them fight twice as hard just to be seen as equal.

The “girl” section, on the other hand, was like stepping into another planet. Everything was coated in pink, pastels, glitter, or soft purple. The toys were quiet and delicate: Barbies, princess dresses, baby dolls, toy kitchens, jewelry-making kits. Everything seemed to center around beauty, motherhood, or passivity. Phrases like “shine bright,” “dream big,” “style your hair,” or “be a good mommy” were printed on the boxes. The dolls mostly looked the same, skinny, long hair, light skin, and wide eyes. It didn’t just suggest what girls should play with. It suggested what kind of person they should try to become.

What bothered me wasn’t just the toy types, but the hidden lessons being taught. Boys are encouraged to explore, conquer, and compete. Girls are encouraged to nurture, beautify, and follow. The message is: boys should do while girls should appear. Boys are active agents in the world. Girls are decorative and caring.

This observation made me realize how early and how deeply gender socialization begins. It doesn’t start in high school or even kindergarten, it starts in infancy, with color-coded baby blankets, and by the time kids can walk, they’re being separated into aisles of masculinity and femininity. What’s worse is that most adults don’t question it. Many people think “boys just like trucks” and “girls just like dolls.” But those preferences are shaped by years of subtle pressure from parents, peers, media.

It also made me reflect on how this can limit both boys and girls. A girl who might love Legos or science kits may never get exposed to them. A boy who enjoys pretend play or art may feel ashamed. And if we tell boys that their value comes from strength and girls that theirs comes from looks, then how will they treat each other when they grow up?

Toys aren’t just fun , they’re tools of social training. They teach kids what they’re supposed to want, and ultimately, who they’re supposed to become.

To see how this plays out in media, I looked at 25 Instagram posts from popular accounts like @sephora, @fentybeauty, and @voguemagazine. Out of the 25 posts:

• 21 featured women with light or fair skin

• 22 showed models wearing visible makeup or beauty products

• 18 included some kind of photo editing or obvious filter

• Only 4 featured people with features or body types that don’t fit mainstream beauty ideals

These numbers confirmed what the reading already made clear: beauty is carefully controlled and filtered. The people we see in media are not just randomly attractive — they’ve been selected to fit a narrow ideal.

This reading showed how the beauty standard is not neutral. It’s racialized, gendered, and shaped by power. Western beauty ideals usually mean light skin, slim bodies, clear skin, long hair, and symmetrical features. If you’re white, thin, and cisgender, you’re more likely to be considered beautiful. If you’re not, then you’re more likely to be overlooked, judged, or pressured to change yourself. That includes people of color, fat people, disabled people, and trans or gender non-conforming individuals.

The most painful part is how early this starts. Girls are taught almost from birth that their appearance is their value. Compliments often focus on how “cute” or “pretty” they are. Magazines, shows, and even cartoons reinforce that being attractive means being happy, successful, and loved. Meanwhile, boys are usually valued more for what they do, their strength, intelligence, or humor, not for how they look. This creates a double standard where women must always think about how they appear to others, while men don’t have to.

The result is a society where many people spend time, money, and mental energy trying to meet impossible beauty standards. From makeup and skincare to filters and surgery, people are reshaping themselves to “count” more. But who made the rules? Who decides what counts?

This reading helped me realize that beauty is not just a personal preference, it’s a system. And like any system, it benefits some people and hurts others. If we want to build a more equal world, we have to question how much we value beauty, who defines it, and why we’ve allowed it to control so many parts of our lives.

What stood out to me most was the way the chapter showed how weddings are tied to class, gender roles, and even race. The “white wedding” is not just about the color of the dress. It’s also been centered on whiteness itself, in advertisements, in media, and in traditions. It’s very exclusionary. When other cultures or people of color are shown getting married, it’s often framed as “exotic” or “different,” rather than just another valid way to celebrate love. This reminds me how much white, upper-middle-class values get presented as “normal” in American society.

The role of gender also runs deep in the wedding tradition. Women are expected to be the center of attention, but not in an empowered way. They’re supposed to be beautiful, emotional, delicate, and ready to leave their single life behind. Meanwhile, men are shown as the providers or background characters. Even the way people talk about weddings, “her big day”, says a lot about how the burden of planning, spending, and performing often falls mostly on women. This reminds me of Goffman’s idea of performance. The wedding becomes a public display of the ideal self and ideal life, whether or not the actual relationship is that perfect.

What really gets me is the pressure. So many people feel like they have to have a white wedding, even if they can’t afford it. There’s this invisible checklist that tells people they need a certain number of guests, a specific type of dress, professional photography, and even a perfect proposal story. But why? Who is all this really for? Most of it isn’t for the couple. It’s for their family, their friends, and even social media. The wedding becomes a performance of status and stability, even when the couple might be struggling with money or unsure about their future.

The chapter made me think about my own life. I’m still young, but I’ve already absorbed a lot of these ideas. The dream wedding is everywhere, in movies, TV shows, social media. Even if I think I’m being realistic, part of me still holds onto the idea that one day I’ll have a “perfect” wedding. That says a lot about how powerful these social norms are. They shape what we value, what we expect, and even what we think love should look like.

In the end, the white wedding isn’t just a celebration of love. It’s a symbol of conformity. It shows how marriage in the U.S. is wrapped up in cultural expectations that go far beyond two people wanting to spend their lives together. And unless we stop and question it, we’re likely to keep performing roles that were never really meant to serve us, just to keep the illusion going.

What stuck with me is how that model was only possible for certain people, mainly white, middle-class families who had stable jobs, affordable housing, and social privileges. It wasn’t the norm for everyone. Black families, imigrant families, and working-class families often had very different structures out of necessity. For example, women in those communities often had to work outside the home to support the family. So while the media was selling this image of the “ideal family,” a lot of families were living very different realities.

Coontz also points out how unstable that 1950s family model actually was. Women were isolated, men were under pressure to be sole providers, and divorce rates started climbing soon after. The reading helped me understand that when people today say we need to “go back to family values,” they’re usually talking about a version of the family that wasn’t actually very functional for most people. And they’re ignoring all the economic and social support systems, like affordable housing, strong unions, and good public education, that made that version of the family even possible.

I also thought about how the “ideal family” still shows up in schools, politics, and advertising. It’s used to judge who is worthy, who is successful, and who is doing life “the right way.” But families today are more diverse than ever, single parents, same-sex parents, multigenerational households, chosen families. There’s no one-size-fits-all, and pretending there is just makes people feel like they’re failing when they’re really just doing what works for them.

This reading helped me realize that the family isn’t some fixed institution, it changes with society. And instead of clinging to a version of the past that never really worked for most people, maybe we should support all types of families in the present. What really matters is not whether a family fits a certain mold, but whether it provides love, stability, and mutual care.

Growing up, it’s impossible not to be exposed to weddings everywhere. They show up in Disney movies, romantic comedies, magazines, Instagram, and reality shows. From a young age, girls are taught to dream about their wedding. Not just love, not just finding someone they care about, but the actual day itself. The white dress, the first dance, the cake, the perfect photos. And all of that is treated like the peak moment in a woman’s life. Like everything leads up to that one event. And once it happens, the dream is fulfilled.

This reading made me realize how strange and unfair that is. It turns a personal relationship into a performance. Something public, something that’s judged. People don’t just ask “Are you happy?” They ask “How big was the wedding?” “Where was it?” “How much did it cost?” It becomes more about showing off than about the actual relationship. In fact, couples who have been living together for years, raising children, and deeply supporting each other still feel like their relationship is not fully valid until they have a wedding. That pressure is real, and it’s especially strong for women. You are told your whole life to plan this one day, and then you’re told it should be the best day of your life. But what about all the days that come after?

The most eye-opening part was how the authors connect weddings to consumerism. The wedding industry makes billions of dollars every year selling people this idealized version of love. The dress, the rings, the flowers, the photography, the decorations, the venue, the honeymoon. All of it is sold to us as necessary. Not just nice, but required. Like you’re not doing it right unless you check every single box. And people go into debt trying to live up to it. Couples spend tens of thousands of dollars on weddings, sometimes more, even if they can’t really afford it. And for what? For a party that lasts one day and a bunch of pictures to post online?

It also reminded me of the earlier lecture on romantic love. We’ve tied weddings to the idea of finding your one true love, your soul mate. So the wedding becomes not just a celebration, but the “proof” that your love is real. If you don’t have a wedding, or if it’s not Instagram-worthy, it’s almost like people treat your relationship as less meaningful. But that’s not true at all. A wedding is a show. A marriage is a life. And many people get so caught up in the dream of the wedding that they don’t spend enough time thinking about the marriage itself. They spend months planning decorations and choosing napkin colors, but they don’t talk seriously about finances, parenting, conflict, or communication. Then after the wedding, the real work starts, and they’re not ready for it.

This reading also made me think about who gets left out of the wedding dream. For people who are poor, or who don’t fit traditional gender roles, or who are queer, the mainstream wedding fantasy can feel very distant. It’s not made for them. The dream is usually centered on straight, white, middle-class couples. The fact that people still feel pressure to live up to that dream, even when it doesn’t reflect who they are or what they want, shows how deep that cultural message goes.

In the end, what I took from this reading is that the “wedding dream” is not really about love or commitment. It’s about performance, fantasy, and fitting into a mold. It’s about putting on a show that society approves of. The authors are not saying people shouldn’t have weddings or that celebrating love is wrong. But they are asking us to question what we’re really dreaming of, and whether that dream actually reflects what we want. Because weddings can be beautiful, but they can also be traps. And love is much more than a white dress and a perfect picture.

This made me reflect on what norms really are. In everyday life, we are taught that eating human flesh is disgusting and wrong. But this norm assumes we will always have food. It assumes we will never be put in a place where every single rule we've learned no longer works. In the mountains, isolated from the world, those norms lost their power. I realized that norms are not universal truths. They are socially constructed rules that guide behavior in normal settings. In abnormal settings, even the strongest rules can fall apart.

Reading this also helped me understand how society labels deviance. These survivors could have easily been called “monsters.” But most people, after hearing the whole story, reacted with compassion. That shows that deviance isn’t about what people do but how others interpret what they do. The same act, eating another person, can be labeled as evil or understandable, depending on the context.

This reading made me question how I would react. Could I do the same? I honestly don’t know. I hope I never have to find out. But I admire their honesty and the way they handled the emotional weight of their choices. They taught me that morality isn't always black and white, especially when life is on the line.

What stood out to me most was how little it took to create such a drastic transformation. Just a basement. A uniform. A role. That’s it. No real crime. No real prison. Just belief in the structure. It makes me think about how many of the rules we follow in society aren’t really enforced by force but by the roles we’ve learned to play. If you’re treated like a prisoner, you start to feel like one. If you're treated like someone with power, you might start to believe you deserve to use it.

This reading also made me reflect on real-life prisons and the power dynamics inside them. If a fake prison created cruelty and trauma in just a few days, what must be happening every day in real ones? Especially in systems that are already unequal, where race, class, and background often decide who ends up behind bars. Zimbardo’s work made me think about how we’re all shaped by our environment and how easy it is to become someone you don’t even recognize if you’re in the wrong system.

It made me more aware of how power works, how roles shape behavior, and how important it is to question the systems around us. I also thought a lot about how deviance is defined, not by what’s right or wrong, but often by who’s in charge. That’s a dangerous thing, especially when people stop questioning it.

Rosenhan’s experiment helped me understand that mental illness isn’t just about how a person behaves. It’s also about how others interpret that behavior, and once someone is labeled “crazy,” everything they do starts to look like a symptom. A normal comment like “the food here isn’t great” was seen as a sign of pathological discontent. That’s terrifying. It shows how fragile our sense of reality is and how easily institutions can trap people in identities that don’t fit them.

The article made me think about how we treat people with mental illness today. Even now, I’ve noticed how quick we are to assume someone is unstable just because they act a little differently. I’ve heard people call others “weird” or “off” just because they dress differently or talk to themselves quietly. This makes me wonder, how many people are actually ill, and how many are just different?

It also reminded me of how dehumanizing some systems can be. Rosenhan described staff walking by patients without even acknowledging them. That kind of invisibility must be unbearable. It made me reflect on times I’ve looked away from people on the street who seemed mentally ill. I thought I was being polite by not staring, but maybe I was just ignoring them.

Rosenhan’s study was a wake-up call. It taught me that mental illness is not just a medical issue, but a deeply social one. It made me realize that institutions built to help people can also harm them when labels are treated as absolute truth. The line between sane and insane isn’t as clear as we’d like to think, and that scares me. But it also makes me want to be more compasionate, more curious, and less quick to judge.

I started thinking about how powerful socialization is inside the police force. Officers are trained not just in procedures, but also in attitudes. They learn from other officers how to see certain people, especially young Black and Brown men, as threats. They also learn how to justify their own use of violence, not necessarily to the public, but to themselves and each other. That really scares me, because it means violence becomes not only accepted but expected in certain situations.

From a structural conflict perspective, this article shows how deviance is labeled depending on who has power. When the police commit violence, it’s labeled as force, not brutality. But when someone from a marginalized group resists or acts out, it’s seen as criminal. The power to define deviance lies with those who control the narrative. In this case, it’s the police, the media, and the legal system.

I kept thinking about how deviance and violence are social constructs. Hunt shows that what gets called “normal force” is not based on a fixed standard, but rather shaped by group dynamics, racial perceptions, and the pressure to stay loyal to your team. It made me reflect on how many institutions work like this behind closed doors, and how sociology helps us name and challenge those hidden dynamics.

Afterward, I kept thinking about both situations. Why did I react that way? Neither person was doing anything dangerous or rude, but something about their behavior felt wrong to me. I realized it was because they were breaking invisible rules we’re all expected to follow in public. Most people wear shoes in stores. Most people speak softly or only talk when they’re with someone else. These rules aren’t written down, but they’re real. We don’t really notice them until someone breaks them. That’s where the “there” is, inside these quiet, shared understandings of how to behave.

Once I started thinking more, I also realized that social status shaped my reaction. The man in the store looked older, maybe homeless. His clothes were dirty and his hair was messy. The person on the bus also looked like they might be struggling mentally or financially. I started wondering if I would have reacted the same way if either of them had looked different. Probably not. If a young person in workout gear had been barefoot on the beach or talking loudly into wireless earbuds, I might have just assumed they were being quirky or distracted. That made me stop and really sit with the fact that class, appearance, and even race probably play into how we read people’s actions. It’s not just what they do. It’s who we think they are.

And honestly, when I thought even deeper, I saw myself in those people. I’ve talked to myself when I’m stressed. I’ve laughed out loud in public after remembering something funny. I’ve even walked around my house barefoot humming nonsense when no one’s home. What makes me different? Is it just that I do those things in private or when I look more “put together”? That thought humbled me. It made me realize that behavior on its own doesn’t make someone “crazy” or “weird.” It’s the setting, the way others see it, and the assumptions we bring into the moment.

These reflections made me uncomfortable. Labeling someone as “weird” or “crazy” may seem harmless, but it changes how we see the person. It shuts down empathy. I didn’t think about what their day might have been like or what pain they could be carrying. I just saw someone outside the norm and put a label on them. That label acted like a wall, separating me from them, making it easier not to care or even to look away. Sociology opened my eyes to how these labels are not just personal opinions. They are shaped by cultural expectations, social roles, and the way power works in society. And once we realize that, we have a choice. We can keep seeing people through those lenses, or we can pause, let go of the label, and see the full human being behind it.

This experience reminded me that understanding starts with noticing. I can’t change everything, but I can question my thoughts, slow down my judgments, and maybe, little by little, shift how I respond. I think that’s how empathy begins.

This idea reminded me of how much of school is really about structure and obedience. Before a child even learns the alphabet, they learn that they have to wait their turn, follow the clock, and ask for permission to go to the bathroom. Gracey uses the term “academic boot camp” to describe this intense focus on discipline, order, and conformity. Just like a boot camp trains soldiers for military life, kindergarten trains kids to function in the school system, which mirrors the workplace. This socialization prepares children to become productive members of society, but it also limits their individuality.

One of the most interesting parts of this reading was how Gracey highlighted the hidden curriculum. Most of us think of school in terms of lessons and grades, but there's a lot more being taught behind the scenes. Kids are learning values like punctuality, competition, submission to authority, and even silence. These aren’t just personal habits, they’re reflections of what society expects from workers and citizens. It makes me think about how early we begin shaping people to fit into roles that support the larger system, without even realizing it.

This connects to our lecture on education as a social insitution. The manifest function might be education, learning how to read, write, and count, but the latent function is socialization. Gracey’s work helps us see that these latent functions begin at the very start of formal education. From kindergarten, students are sorted, ranked, and trained to obey and perform. It’s unsettling to realize that even small acts, like learning to stand in line, are part of this larger process of shaping behavior.

Overall, Gracey’s article deepened my understanding of how powerful school is as an institution. It’s not just a place of learning, it’s where we are taught how to live in a structured, rule-bound world. It reminded me that when we talk about inequality or obedience or capitalism, we have to start from the very beginning. And that beginning is often kindergarten.

From a sociological perspective, the pledge is a tool of political socialization. It teaches young people not only to honor the country, but to associate loyalty and patriotism with obedience. By saying the pledge every day in school, we’re being trained to internalize nationalism, to feel a strong, emotional connection to the state. The repetition makes the message stick, often without question. That’s what makes it so powerful.

Take the phrase “with liberty and justice for all.” Those are beautiful words, but are they true for everyone? That line sounds like a promise, but for so many communities, especially people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ+ , and others on the margins, the reality of life in America doesn’t always reflect that ideal. Saying those words daily can create a kind of cognitive dissonance. You're told one thing, but you live another. That gap between the ideal and the real is where sociology steps in.

Another important phrase is “under God.” It was added in 1954, during the Cold War, to contrast America with the “godless” Soviet Union. That wasn’t just about religion, it was about politics, about defining who belonged and who didn’t. Saying “under God” every day tells children that belief in a specific kind of God is part of being a good American. For non-religious kids or kids from other faiths, that creates tension, you feel like you're outside the norm. That’s not just a small detail. It’s a way of reinforcing a dominant cultural narrative, of drawing boundaries around what it means to be an acceptable citizen.

So when we’re told to say the pledge, we’re not just stating facts. We’re performing a ritual that reinforces ideas about authority, unity, and what kind of people belong in this country. It's a ritual that prioritizes loyalty over critical thinking. And because it's taught to children, it becomes something you don't question. That’s the sociological point, it’s not neutral. It’s symbolic power being exercised on the daily.

If we’re going to say the pledge, we should talk about it too. What does it really promise? Who gets included in “all”? What does “liberty” mean when people are still struggling for basic rights? And what are we pledging to, the flag, the government, the people, or something else?

This isn't about disrespecting the country. It's about thinking critically, asking better questions, and pushing for a country that actually lives up to the words we’re all made to recite.

Education began as a luxury. In Western civilization, schools and colleges were meant for people who already had money. It wasn’t about working your way up or preparing for a career. It was about studying music, art, science, and philosophy to have deeper conversations and a richer understanding of the world. In fact, the Latin word for “school” shares the same root as the word for “leisure.” School wasn’t for workers, it was for the leisured class.

Most of us don’t see it that way anymore. Today, education feels like a means to an end: get the degree, earn the paycheck, climb the ladder. But that shift only happened with the Industrial Revolution. Factories and corporations needed literate workers, people who could read manuals, follow instructions, and do math. So businesses and governments pushed for public education, not because they wanted people to become well-rounded thinkers, but because they needed trained employees. In other words, we made school mandatory not out of some noble vision of equality, but because the economy demanded it.

That’s a hard truth. It makes you think differently about the system we’re all part of. Even the way schools are structured, strict schedules, bells, obedience to authority, mirrors the design of factory life. It trains us to follow routines, meet deadlines, and not question the rules. From a sociological perspective, school doesn’t just teach knowledge, it teaches behavior. It prepares us to be good workers more than free thinkers.

Still, there’s another side to all this. Education can open doors. It gives people the chance to rise, to experience new ideas, to challenge their limits. It gives immigrants and working-class families a chance to build a better future. For many, college is the first step toward upward mobility. That’s why most of us are here, to move up, to do better than our parents. But even that has limits. Education is not an equal playing field. Some schools have more resources, more connections, and more opportunities. So where you go to school still reflects your social class, and often, it determines how far you’ll get.

The lecture makes a powerful point near the end: life is more than how you earn your money. If we only treat education like a transaction, “I go to class, you give me a job”, we miss out on the deeper purpose. To really learn something beautiful, to wonder about how rainbows work or why the sky is blue or how music affects us, that’s the kind of learning that stays with you. That’s the part of school that can feed your soul, not just your wallet.

So maybe education still has the potential to be more than a career tool. It can be a place where curiosity lives. A place where you grow as a whole person. But only if we allow it to be.

Most of us have grown up with a certain idea drilled into our heads, that success equals money. A good job, a nice house, stable income, retirement fund, maybe some vacations here and there. That’s the goal. And school, especially college, is treated as the tool to get there. You don’t go to college to explore your mind. You go so that you can afford to live. That’s what almost everyone believes. That’s what almost everyone does.

But that’s not how education started, and it’s not what it has to be. The lecture reminds us that college was originally a space for the wealthy to enjoy their lives more deeply, to be curious, to have complex thoughts, to enjoy art, literature, science, philosophy, and music not because it earned them money, but because it made their lives more full. Education was tied to meaning and beauty, not paychecks.

When I hear that, I feel conflicted. On one hand, I want stability. I want to support myself and maybe one day my family. I want to feel like I’ve “made it.” But on the other hand, I know that some of the most important parts of life have nothing to do with money. I want to see more of the world. I want to understand why people are the way they are. I want to read things that shake me. I want to ask questions that don’t have easy answers. I want to understand why music makes me cry or how rainbows even form. And if I’m lucky enough to live to old age, I think those are the things I’ll care about the most.

The professor painted that picture so clearly: when we’re on our deathbeds, we won’t wish we worked more hours. We’ll wish we listened to more music, or spent more time with people we love, or took a moment to understand the world around us. That’s why this class, and college in general, could be something more if we let it. It’s not about turning your brain into a machine for income. It’s about letting yourself become a fuller, more curious human being.

And the hard part is that both realities exist. We live in a world where money does matter, where your education does affect your future. But that doesn't mean we can’t try to reclaim some of what school used to be. We can choose, sometimes, to learn just because it feeds us. To explore just because it lights something up inside us. And maybe if we remember that life is more than how we earn a buck, we can hold onto some joy, even in the middle of all this pressure.

This isn’t something most of us talk about openly, because we like to pretend that education is only about learning, but the reality is that school is deeply tied to the structure of the American economy. Without public schools, millions of parents couldn’t work full-time jobs. They would either have to quit or pay for private childcare, which is expensive and sometimes even more than rent. In a way, schools are part of the system that allows capitalism to run efficiently. They make it possible for parents to keep participating in the workforce while the government takes care of their children, or more accurately, while teachers and public education workers take care of their children, often while being underpaid themselves.

The professor also mentioned that this function of school became obvious during the COVID pandemic, when schools shut down and a lot of people suddenly realized how dependent they were on them. It wasn’t just about “education loss”, it was about who would watch the kids so that parents could work. The pressure to reopen schools came not just from concerns about learning, but from the need to reopen the economy.

I think this has serious implications. It shows that school is not just about learning facts or preparing for the future. It’s also part of a bigger system that keeps everything moving, work, money, childcare, daily life. And when we understand that, we can start asking better questions. Like: Are schools being funded and supported fairly, especially since they carry so much of this burden? Are we recognizing the real work that teachers do, not just as educators, but as caretakers and social workers too? And if schools are expected to do all this, are we giving them enough to do it well?

This part of the lecture helped me see that public education is holding up more than just our knowledge, it’s holding up our economy, our families, and in a way, our entire social structure.

That completely flips the way I’ve always thought about school. For me, and for pretty much everyone I know, college is about opportunity. It’s about moving up in life, getting a degree, getting a better job than your parents, and finally making enough to feel secure. Especially for working-class students, children of immigrants, or people who grew up without much money, school is a ladder. It’s survival. But the professor pointed out that the original idea of education was more about curiosity and conversation, about learning for the joy of it.

He even said that most professors still think about school that way. They’re here because they’re excited about ideas, not just because of a paycheck. That’s why there’s sometimes tension between students and professors, students want to know “What do I have to do to pass?” while professors are thinking, “Isn’t this stuff fascinating? Don’t you want to read more about it?” I’ve felt that tension before but never knew where it came from.

What really hit me was when he said that at the end of our lives, we probably won’t wish we had worked more or made more money, we’ll wish we had listened to more music, gone to more plays, learned how rainbows work, or understood Shakespeare. That made me stop and think. I’ve been so focused on getting through school to make money that I forgot to enjoy learning. I don’t want to live just chasing the next job. I want to be curious too.

This Padlet helped me realize that education can be more than a means to an end. It can be a way to make life more meaningful, not just successful, but interesting, thoughtful, even beautiful.

The first function, transmitting knowledge, seems obvious, learning to read, write, and do math. But he also talked about how education tells us what kind of knowledge matters. Some things get prioritized, while others (like creativity or critical thinking) might be left behind.

The second function hit harder. He said education decides where we end up in the social class system. That made me uncomfortable, because it suggests that school is not just about learning, but about labeling people. If you go to Stanford, people treat you differently than if you went to a local community college. That’s a quiet way that inequality gets passed down, even when it looks like everyone has the same chance.

The third function is social mobility. This one matters a lot to me. I’m in school because I want a better life than the one my parents had. The professor acknowledged that. But it’s hard not to wonder if the system is set up to help everyone move up, or just a few.

The fourth function, social integration, was new to me. He said school brings people from different races, classes, and cultures together and teaches them to live in the same society. That’s especially true in public schools. But it’s also where people first learn about inequality. Even in kindergarten, kids notice who gets extra help, who has name brand clothes, who brings lunch from home. So maybe school teaches us how to live together, but it also teaches us who’s “ahead” and who’s “behind.”

This Padlet helped me realize school is more than just classes and tests. It’s a system that keeps society running, and shapes who we think we are, and where we believe we belong. That’s powerful, and maybe even a little scary. But it’s something I’ll keep thinking about as I keep moving through my own education.

These beauty filters don’t just change how we look, they change how we see ourselves. I’ve noticed people posting with filters so often that they start to feel more comfortable with the filtered version than their real face. It’s like their “Me,” the social self, becomes the filter, the version that gets likes, compliments, and attention. Over time, that becomes their reference point. Even I’ve caught myself feeling weird when I see my unfiltered face in the camera after using a filter for too long.

Symbolic interactionism helps explain this. Our sense of self forms through interaction, and when the feedback we get is tied to an edited version of ourselves, it shapes how we feel about the real one. These filters also reinforce beauty norms, clear skin, sharp jawline, big eyes, light features, and the more they get used, the more normal they seem. This connects back to labeling too. Once we start being praised for a certain look, that label sticks. It becomes who we think we have to be to be liked or accepted.

This makes me think about how people, especially teens, might be developing their self-concept based on something that isn’t even real. It’s like living through a mirror that lies, but still reflects how others see us. That can be damaging, and it’s a good example of how technology and social interaction come together to shape identity in the digital age.

Structural functionalism helps explain why band exists the way it does. It reinforces discipline, teamwork, and respect for authority. These are values that society sees as important, especially for young people. Band teaches us to show up on time, wear a uniform, and accept critique without arguing. In a way, it prepares us for future roles in workplaces or the military. It’s about more than music, it’s about social order.

There’s also a symbolic side. Every uniform, formation, and movement has meaning. The way we march, hold our instruments, and respond to commands says something about who we are as a group. It creates a shared identity. We don’t just play music, we represent the school, and we’re seen as disciplined and hardworking. That identity becomes part of our self-image.

There are moments where labeling plays a role too. People in band often get labeled as “band kids”, sometimes with respect, sometimes as a joke. But that label sticks. It shapes how we interact with others and even how we see ourselves. After a while, I noticed I started saying things like “we band kids always…” like the identity became part of my personality.

Looking back, marching band isn’t just a hobby. It’s a social institution with rules, expectations, rituals, and roles, just like everything else we’ve studied in sociology.