Americans take competition to a spiritual level. If there is a noun, there is a contest for it. And if there is a contest, there is a trophy.
Since arriving at Trinity, I have encountered an endless parade of accolades. Art contests. Debate tournaments. Latin competitions. Journalism conventions. There’s an Artist of the Week, and Athlete of the Week and even just an all-around Saint of the Week. If you’ve done anything impressive or even mildly competent, someone is ready to print your name on a plaque.
In Austria, we’re a little more restrained. There are not a lot of niche competitions in the first place, but even if you win, you might get a modest certificate and a “Well done” from your parents at the dinner table. But here, you achieve anything and suddenly your name is being announced in front of the school during assembly while your peers politely clap and you finally have something new to add to your resume. There’s even a club for competitions. I think it’s called … school?
At this point, I’m convinced the most profitable industry in the U.S. isn’t tech or finance — it’s the trophy business. Forget about becoming an engineer, doctor or lawyer. If you can churn out trophies for any and all high school competitions, you’ll have a steady stream of customers for life.
And yet I admire it. Truly. Americans celebrate every kind of excellence. You gave a passionate speech about whales? Trophy. You painted something that vaguely resembles emotional turmoil? Trophy. You know which modern-day European city used to be called Vindobona? You guessed it: trophy.
It’s refreshing. In Austria, we lean more toward quiet suffering and humble bragging. Here, you all just brag. Loudly. With bedazzled plaques.
But there’s something beautiful in that. This culture tells students, “Hey, what you love doing matters. And we’re going to put your name on a plate and glue it to a block of marble to prove it.” And somehow, in the chaotic flood of ribbons and medals and contests I didn’t even know existed, I found myself cheering people on. Because here, people actually support each other’s weird passions. Even if that passion is conjugating Latin verbs competitively.
Now, as this is my last column, I want to end in the most American way possible: by giving out one last trophy. Not to a soccer team or a debater or a painter.
No, this one goes to you. Yes, you, dear reader.
For your patience, your attention and your unwavering commitment to reading the ramblings of a confused Austrian trying to make sense of football fangirls and pledge rituals — I hereby award you:
Best Readership Ever
Put it on your shelf. Right next to your participation ribbon for life.
And with that, auf Wiedersehen,
Your Favorite Austrian Export, Yizhao
