“What’s Your Major?”

March 30, 2026

Writer: Clara Kanter 

Editor: Charlie Zien

My most dreaded question to be asked is, “What’s your major?” I fidget, try to change the subject, or answer with what should be a simple sentence, instead, with a rambling explanation veering on justification. 

`My 8-year-old self, who could always be found curled up with a book, would be baffled by this. My 14-year-old self, who was overjoyed to be accepted into her high school’s journalism program, would be too. So would my 16-year-old self, who had just written her first-ever short story. I even found myself, six months ago, re-reading what would be my very first college English course syllabus over and over again in anticipation of the first day of class.

I have always been an avid reader and writer. Book titles ranging from The Magic Treehouse to Normal People, never missing a night of journaling before bed, and constantly adding to my running list of short story ideas in my notes app that I may or may not get to. 

When it was time to apply to college and select my major from a dropdown menu, there was never a doubt: English. 

My faith in what I wanted to do or why I wanted to do it had never once wavered until a couple of months ago, upon starting college. Every small talk conversation in a lecture or coffee chat would follow some format of: 

‘What’s your major?’

‘English.’

‘What do you want to do with that?’ What can you even do with an English degree?” Do you want to be a professor?” etc. 

I developed an automated response, something along the lines of “Oh, I’m not really sure yet,” or a simple “I don’t know, I just really like books.” I started to dread these conversations, feeling embarrassed, or emphasizing my double major in Communications & Media to make me sound just the slightest bit more corporate. Somewhere along the way, a growing insecurity about my major began to form, and I could feel the hearts of my 8-year-old, 14-year-old, 16-year-old, and even 6-months-ago selves breaking.

Being embarrassed of being an English Major, I’ve come to realize, is far more than being embarrassed of a dropdown menu option. By subduing, downplaying, or downright hiding what my major was, I realized I was, in tandem, subduing, downplaying, and hiding myself. Every year of my life since I was ten is documented in a dusty, tattered journal sitting tediously on the top shelf of my closet at home. I am an amalgamation of characters I’ve had the privilege to live in the minds of for 300 or so pages. I’m often asked for book recommendations from friends and family. I never miss a mini crossword or a Wordle.

I often wish I had a four-year plan, or internships lined up, or an exact route I knew I had to follow to achieve my goals. But, I fear that my eight-year-old self, curled up reading The Magic Treehouse, chose my path for me, one filled with lots of unknowns and certainly a lot of MLA formatting. I’m beginning to sense it’s a path — whether I like it or not — that is difficult to stray from. So the next time someone asks, “What’s your major?” I hope I don’t fidget. I hope I don’t soften it with disclaimers or qualifying remarks. I hope I just say, “English.”