The first two weeks of school tend to be a mixture of awkward introductions (Oh, you’re the 67th English major from New York City I’ve said hi to today; crazy!) and a peculiar set of “thought-provoking” questions — which we refer to as icebreakers — that are meant to ease social tension and build rapport.

Well, I detest them. 

Don’t get me wrong. I fully understand and recognize the benefits of fraternizing with others. Most Kenyon classes are either seminars or largely collaborative, and many student organizations inevitably require members to stay social and engaged to an extent. Also, one of higher education’s main goals is to prepare students for adulthood and careers, which are, in myriad ways, social endeavors. However, at times I can’t help but feel like icebreakers fail to achieve what they purport to do: making students feel included and encouraged to participate.  

Here are my two reasons why. 

First, icebreakers can be exclusionary toward introverts. Many introverts I’ve talked to at Kenyon don’t enjoy icebreakers. Some suffer from social anxiety, and others just don’t see the point behind asking “random” questions that, more often than not, lead to forgettable responses — I personally can’t think of a single occasion on which I found someone’s icebreaker answer witty and novel enough that I ended up wanting to befriend them. 

The late American educational philosopher John Dewey’s theory seems to corroborate my concerns. In Experience and Education, Dewey defines a “mis-educative” experience as one that “has the effect of arresting or distorting the growth of further experience.” In other words, an experience can be considered “mis-educative” when it limits a person’s willingness or ability to take part in future experiences, rather than helping them learn, develop or grow. By that definition, forcing an introverted student to participate in a form of social interaction that causes anxiety or discomfort can yield mis-educative results. 

At a school that values diversity, equity, inclusion and accessibility such as Kenyon, everyone should be permitted to opt out of forced socialization and be allowed to find their community at their own pace and on their own terms. Inclusion should not mean that students have to join in social activities that compromise their sense of well-being in order to not feel left out. 

More importantly, icebreakers, especially in the classroom, often do not contribute to academic engagement or professional development. While one may think a few minutes spent on an icebreaker is insignificant, they add up fast. Let me do the math for you: Students pay, in effect, roughly $202 for each 50-minute class period, assuming a four-course schedule. A standard round of introductions and random icebreakers, depending on the class size, can run as long as a full class period. This means that over $800 of each student’s semesterly tuition could potentially be wasted on instructional (or class-bonding) time that should instead be devoted to more academically substantive activities. 

Sure — it could be enlightening to learn that that one aloof kid who sits across from you peed his pants in third grade in science class or that your ex-situationship went to Paris over summer break for the sixth time. But as a senior who is frankly too exhausted to care about anything but finishing the senior capstone, breaking his Subway Surfers personal record (somewhere in the millions, in case you were wondering) and tending to other looming responsibilities, I don’t particularly enjoy the pressure of having to entertain my peers at the expense of my precious time. 

I am, however, not entirely opposed to the idea of icebreakers themselves. Rather, I am opposed to bad icebreakers — those structured in ways that feel artificial and are frustrating to answer. Why should I be able to produce a fun fact about myself on command? Why should I care about what my “partner,” to whom I’ve never spoken, was up to over winter break? Why is it a problem that I am taking this class simply because I would like to graduate in four years without repeating a semester? The irony I would like to point out here is that an activity designed to make everyone feel included and engaged can end up alienating certain groups of people while simultaneously creating an environment that is not conducive to academic (or personal) development. 

Instead, I would like to see exercises that draw directly from course material and intentionally ease students into academic discussion. One of the strengths of a Kenyon education is its emphasis on critical thinking as well as effective communication. I believe that a more thoughtful approach to icebreakers could potentially be a way to kill two birds with one stone: nudging students to intellectually engage with course content and creating a natural setting for students to interact with one another without unnecessary social pressure. 

Erik Kim ’27 is an English major from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. He can be reached at kim16@kenyon.edu.