Editor’s note: Rachel Chen is a member of Princeton University’s Class of 2028, studying civil and environmental engineering. From May through July 2026, she interned with The Hope Center, where she researched the benefits of pre-orientation programs for first-generation students and students from low-income backgrounds and conducted a literature review on medical students’ basic needs.
My first lesson in college began before I entered a classroom. It began in the parking lot, or more precisely, in the small uncertainty of routing my GPS on the first day. Where was I supposed to go first? How would I get into the building? Who could I ask for help? Was there even someone to ask? These were the questions buzzing in my head way before I stepped foot on Princeton’s campus.
Those questions carried a quiet realization: getting into college and knowing how to navigate college are not the same thing.
FGLI students are four times more likely to leave higher education institutions by the end of their first year compared to their wealthier counterparts.
Rachel Chen
Civil and Environmental Engineering Student, Princeton University
Move-in day fills many students with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Often, they arrive with someone or something to lean on: knowledge. They bring a parent or guardian who has been through college before—someone who understands how institutions work and who can help make an unfamiliar campus feel more manageable.
But for many first-generation, low-income (FGLI) students like me, however, we arrive on campus without that initial guidance. Students are left to make sense of systems they’ve never encountered before: admissions, financial aid, medical insurance, campus resources, dining halls, office hours, advising, etc. In other words, they lack what researchers call “cultural capital.” The term refers to the hidden knowledge, skills, and confidence needed to navigate institutions, advocate for yourself, and understand what kinds of support are available. When colleges assume that incoming students know how to navigate these challenges, they end up losing many students like me. FGLI students are four times more likely to leave higher education institutions by the end of their first year compared to their wealthier counterparts.
Fortunately for me, despite arriving on campus without that cultural capital, I realized I did have someone to reach out to for help: my Virtual Advisor.
Before the start of my first year, Princeton invited me to participate in a seven-week virtual pre-orientation program: Freshmen Scholars Institute (FSI). The program had three main components: an academic experience, a co-curricular and social experience, and an early arrival plan. Each one prepared me in ways I did not fully recognize until years later.
The program first enrolls students in a remote humanities course, Ways of Knowing (WOK), designed to introduce scholarly reading and writing. The course immersed me in texts and discussions unlike anything I encountered in high school, where humanities offerings were limited. WOK later helped prepare me for Princeton’s mandatory first-year writing seminar, a course that would have felt far more intimidating without that early foundation. It also allowed me to earn an additional credit toward my degree, easing some of the academic pressure I would face later. Ultimately, it ensured students from all backgrounds could participate meaningfully in later classes.
The course also taught me how to ask for help. I learned what office hours were, how to reach out to a professor, and how to admit when I did not understand something. When I struggled with an assignment prompt, my professor patiently helped me break it down in a way that made sense. That experience helped me realize that asking for help was not a sign that I did not belong. It was part of learning how to succeed.
The co-curricular and social experience gave me something equally important: community. Through the program, I met a smaller group of students from similar backgrounds before the rush of meeting hundreds of strangers during move-in and orientation. Some of those students became my closest friends. My experience reflects a broader pattern: 51% of students who participated in specialized summer bridge or pre-orientation programs reported that the experience helped them make friends, compared with just 21% of first-generation students who did not participate.
The Virtual Advisors also hosted community-building activities and introduced us to campus resources through informational sessions and meet-and-greets with campus partners. These sessions made the university feel less like a maze. By the time I arrived on campus, I had already heard the names of offices, programs, and people who could help me. I did not know everything, but I had a starting point and most of the battle— according to the last Hope Center Student Basic Needs Survey, 65% of students lack awareness of available resources and how to access them.
What mattered most to me, as a FGLI student moving in alone, was the early arrival plan. Virtual Advisors arrived a day before the students so that, on move-in day, someone would be there to guide us through each step. These advisors were undergraduate students who had already lived on campus and understood the small but important details of moving in.
My experience reflects a broader pattern: 51% of students who participated in specialized summer bridge or pre-orientation programs reported that the experience helped them make friends, compared with just 21% of first-generation students who did not participate.
Rachel Chen
Civil and Environmental Engineering Student, Princeton University
My Virtual Advisor helped me navigate the building, carry every item into my room, and understand the basic mechanics of living there: how to use my prox, how to prop the door open, how the thermostat worked, and what I should and should not do during move-in. I spent the next few days being oriented on campus without a large crowd, exploring cafes around town, and resources on campus I’ve heard about in the last seven weeks.
To some, it all may seem small, but it meant everything. At that moment, support was not an abstract resource listed on a website. It was a person standing next to me, helping me arrive. My university is not the only institution that has implemented this kind of program. Many colleges have created similar initiatives, such as Yale’s First-Year Scholars Program and CSU’s Summer Bridge Program. Many of these programs are invitation-based, with institutions using student demographic information and financial aid data to identify students who may benefit most from additional transition support. This matters because many first-generation, low-income students may not even know that these opportunities exist, let alone feel confident seeking them out on their own.
Not every institution has the resources to offer a seven-week pre-orientation program—and they do not need to replicate Princeton’s model to make a meaningful difference. Peer mentors, early move-in assistance, summer workshops, virtual advising, and clear introductions to campus resources can all help make college’s hidden curriculum more visible. Just as importantly, institutions can normalize asking for help—not as evidence that a student is unprepared or does not belong, but as a necessary part of navigating college and accessing the food, housing, healthcare, financial assistance, and other resources students need to thrive. An acceptance letter may open the door, but intentional transition support helps students walk through it with direction, connection, and the confidence that someone will be there when they ask for help.