Whiteboards: My Search For Connection in a Dry-Erase Wasteland

A vase of flowers, with the instruction to “add your own!” A surface divided between Edward and Jacob. A pleading message to “leave your instagram handle!” These are prompts my roommate and I optimistically wrote on our pristine whiteboard during the first few weeks of classes, in an effort to make friends with the other students on our floor.

Whiteboards are popular in the world of overconsumption and dorm decoration, nestled between sets of twin XL sheets and Ikea bags on packing lists. They’re touted as a productive way to make friends, but are they really?

In Simpson Residence Hall — my dorm — the lack of whiteboard communication is revealed harshly against the fluorescent lighting and purple wall paint. The whiteboards are scarily stark. A meager two tallies are scattered across one particular door, the surface left barren and lonely. The occasional crude doodle sullies a board, but beyond that, visual silence. 

Like many others, my roommate and I were urged by social media users to get a small dry-erase board for our door. In the weeks before move-in, we dreamed up ideas for prompts, imagining conversations with our soon-to-be suitemates facilitated by our shiny new whiteboard.

Our expectations were dashed however, when a week into classes, our whiteboard was still woefully blank. 

My disappointment for our feeble attempt at friendship led me to many questions. Do whiteboards really do much? Is my failure attributed to the closed-off nature of our suite-style hallway? Would the public really vote for Jeremiah over Conrad?

Thus began an investigation. I was curious to see if my shortcomings were influenced by the secluded nature of my residence hall, or if my peers were simply uninterested.

Information was gathered from the two other dorms, Mertz — with the highest freshman population — and Francis — the newest addition to freshman housing.

A student from Mertz said they participate in every white board prompt they see, but have yet to make a new response to a survey about favorite holidays.

Similarly, in Francis, a freshman told me he thinks the whiteboard mode of communication feels detached. He claimed the whiteboards weren’t effective for meeting new people, but did help people explore outside of their dorm “neighborhood.”

While the students from Francis and Mertz agreed the whiteboards were fun to interact with, I couldn’t help but think of my own residence hall, with its brick facade and winding hallways. What made us different? Why wouldn’t people interact with our boards?

Simpson’s most notable difference is the rooms are cloistered into smaller alcoves of two rooms and a bathroom. To interact with a whiteboard here, you have to make the deliberate choice to stray off your path and into someone’s space, which can seem intrusive or intimidating.

Once again, I found myself pinning the onus on the boards, or the halls or the architecture that sets my building apart from the others. Though my dorm’s winding layout may be to blame for the blank board, it isn’t responsible for the lack of connection among students.

My hunt for the whiteboards ended in the same place where it began — my own closed door. Tucked into a corner, the whiteboard shone tauntingly against the dark wood of the entrance. 

The real truth, it seems, is that even if people responded to our weekly prompts, it wouldn’t help my roommate and me make more friends, because what the board lacks is human interaction. 

No matter which building I’m in, a pink, felt-tipped tally mark won’t facilitate neighborly bonding and friendship. A sketched flower won’t spark conversation if there is no one there to see it be added. 

Maybe, the issue in personal connection for us wasn’t that people weren’t writing on our door, but rather that we weren’t opening it to talk to others. 

While we won’t be taking our whiteboard down any time soon, my roommate and I are learning to step outside our 12’ x 10’ room. We’re watching weekly shows with our neighbors, playing board games and learning to step outside our comfort zone.