I never planned on becoming a photographer for Street. If I had it my way, I would’ve stuck with sports photography and called it a day. But for some reason, HBIC Norah Rami—a complete stranger at the time—went to war for me, insisting that I become Street’s multimedia editor. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t expect it, and honestly, I didn’t even know what Street was.
Until January 2025, I was your classic finance bro: Patagonia quarter–zip; LinkedIn warrior; “Oh, you’re a PPE major?” energy. You get the picture. I was knee–deep in recruiting and genuinely believed that if a club didn’t have “Wharton” in the name, it wasn’t worth my time. Arts and culture? Cute, but not exactly what J.P. Morgan was looking for. So when I got the call that I’d been picked as the photo editor for an arts and culture magazine, my first reaction wasn’t excitement—it was concern.
Genuine concern.
My first Street assignment happened to be an Ego piece on Gloria Cheng. I showed up to the studio terrified, and armed only with NSO–esque small talk and a camera. But as my nerves faded, I learned she was really into beekeeping and was a Nursing/Wharton dual–degree student passionate about women’s health. It was the first time in a year and a half at Penn that I’d met someone who didn’t immediately bring up Goldman Sachs or quant trading. Don’t get me wrong, I love my freshman–year friends—maybe that’s on me for not branching out sooner—but talking to Gloria reminded me that not everyone dreams of spending fifteen hours a day in Excel.
Since then, Street has rewired me. I’ve met people who, even if they’re still headed for consulting, think beyond the paycheck; people who make art and do crazy things because they want to, not because it’ll “differentiate their personal brand.” Every week, I’d meet a complete stranger somewhere random on campus, camera in hand, and ask about their lives—how they survived midterms, how they navigated situationships, what actually mattered to them—all while awkwardly telling them how to pose without saying outright, “You need to stick your ass out more.”
Those conversations have quietly expanded my idea of who a Penn student can be. After each shoot, I became a little more okay with the idea that you don’t need to follow a “traditional” path for it to be worth taking. Even if you do, don’t forgo who you are.
I was reminded of this at commencement this past May, where Elizabeth Banks gave a particularly moving speech about the safety net a Penn degree provides. She told us to take risks and make crazy decisions just to see where they lead. After photographing the ceremony (and running on 48 hours of no sleep), I slowly walked back to my summer sublet on Irving Street (shoutout Print Managing Editor Jules Lingenfelter for being the best landlord), the same house Elizabeth Banks lived in 29 years earlier. Standing on those steps, I thought about how she was once probably just as stressed and tired and unsure about her future as I am now, struggling to just get the key into the hole. But she took the leap, pursued acting, and ended up giving us the cultural masterpiece that is Pitch Perfect (though I do blame her for Penn’s a cappella problem).
For all of Penn’s flaws, it’s still a privilege to be here. Few other universities offer the same kind of safety net—the kind that lets you fall, fail, and still land somewhere meaningful. Horace Mann once called education “the great equalizer,” and while Penn’s admissions and tuition make that ideal complicated, the opportunity to take risks and make something that matters is still real on Locust Walk. It is just a shame that it took me nearly two years to notice it.
I still “love” finance—I just don’t need it to be my entire personality. What comes next for me is still unclear. Perhaps, I will be a full–time photographer traveling the world, or I’ll stick to Wall Street and freelance on Sundays. But, Street gave me back the part of myself that likes to make things just because they feel worth making. Somewhere between the rushed shoots, running from Franklin Field to the Pink Palace, and late–night Slack messages, I found and photographed a small community that makes this campus feel human.
So yeah, maybe I owe Norah a thank–you for taking a chance on me, for dragging me out of my comfort zone, and for reminding me that the best things in life don’t come from a ten–page plan you made one week into Penn titled: “I don’t know what investment banking is but I need to do it.”
