For some UPrep students, club meetings are a break from the stress of school. For others, they’re just another item on a college resume.
This year, students pitched 33 clubs and 10 affinity groups. Nine clubs are new and two were revived by new leaders after varying hiatus lengths. Additionally, only one of the affinity groups pitched is new, according to data supplied by Assistant Director of Upper School Meg Anderson-Johnston.
Meetings are scattered throughout the semester, with some clubs meeting four times and others eight, each one carving out a small corner of time in an already packed student schedule.
With that amount of clubs, I want to believe that every single club is a club formed out of the desire to pursue that interest with people who share that passion. But the more I listen to conversations overhead in the lunch line or in my English class, the more I hear something different. People talk about how their mom forced them to start a club or how good it will look on college applications.
That’s what frustrates me. When someone starts a club out of obligation, not inspiration, it cheapens what clubs are meant to be.
I’ve started thinking about clubs in two categories: “passion” and “pressure.” Passion clubs are built on genuine interest, the joy of learning something new, creating something together, or simply spending time doing what you love. Pressure, on the other hand, often feels like extensions of the school day: founded to fill a resume line, maintained because parents expect it, and run by people who don’t seem to care beyond the next college admission cycle.
But why do students do this? It’s not always simple selfishness; in fact, when it comes to UPrep students, it almost never is. There is an unspoken pressure to achieve, to be well-rounded, to stand out. They fight to prove their worth in a system that often values credentials over curiosity. In that environment, starting a club becomes less about passion and more about survival. That pressure can be overwhelming. Still, when the motivation is external, the club loses something vital: sincerity.
That’s why it feels disrespectful when someone starts a club and then barely runs it. Creating a club takes effort and courage: convincing members to join, showing up consistently and keeping people engaged. When someone treats that as a box to check, it devalues the hard work of those who pour real heart into their clubs.
At their best, clubs embody authenticity. They’re spaces where people can be themselves, not who they think colleges want them to be. That’s what makes a club special: not the topic, but the energy behind it.
