Exploring how tradition shapes belonging—and for whom—at Trinity College
By Alysa Leigh, Staff Writer
Photo of the Trinity College Matriculation Register with page opened to 1852, the first class at Trinity College
Photo Source: F1005, Office of the Registrar fonds. Trinity College Archives
As soon as we arrive at Trinity, we partake in one of the college’s oldest traditions—Matriculation. We step into Convocation Hall, witnessing its grandeur for the first time perhaps, lining up one by one, waiting our turn to trace our names in ink, and of course, make it look nice with a little cursive twirl at the end as we know it will be archived and stored forever for future Trinity students to one day look back on.
Not long after, we step into another ritual together. The room settles as the chairs scrape softly against the floor. Black gowns fall into place. Candlelight flickers against long wooden tables. The portraits of past provosts and leaders suddenly become much more noticeable, and the anticipation of conversation and speeches begins to build. At that moment, the noise of deadlines and unfinished assignments seems to recede. At High Table, it is easy to feel as though you are part of something larger than yourself—something ancient, ritualistic, and enduring—as you are pulled into a moment suspended in time.
Photo of 100th Anniversary High Table Dinner at Strachan Hall
Photo Source: Author’s photo
When we participate in these traditions at Trinity, whether it be Matriculation, High Table, black gowns, or Conversat, what exactly gives them their sense of legitimacy? Is it simply their attachment to the institution, or the way the institution itself is experienced? And perhaps the more pressing question is: for whom does this legitimacy hold?
For many students, this sense of legitimacy is closely tied to the role that traditions play in shaping the college experience. Anneke Lee, the Trinity College Meeting (TCM) Chair, describes these traditions as more than moments of formality or leisure. Rather, they act as a bridge between past and present, connecting students to a broader intellectual and institutional lineage. “Traditions are such a vital part of college culture because they connect us with something greater than ourselves,” she explains. Through events like High Table and Conversat, students are not only stepping away from academic pressures but also stepping into a shared history that spans across generations of scholars.
At the same time, Anneke emphasizes that these traditions are not simply inherited; they are actively shaped by students. As a student governing body, the TCM plays a central role in organizing and adapting these events, from setting ticket prices to determining their level of formality. This autonomy allows traditions to evolve alongside the student body, reinforcing a sense of ownership and participation that contributes to their continued relevance. This role positions student leadership not only as organizers, but as stewards of how tradition evolves.
Yet even as traditions continue to evolve through student involvement, they are not experienced uniformly across the Trinity community. For some, Trinity’s traditions carry a more complicated weight, shaped by the college’s history and the ways in which it has evolved. One third-year Trinity student noted that while traditions today are not intended to replicate the past, they can still evoke earlier forms of exclusivity. Trinity, once a much smaller and predominantly white, male institution, has changed significantly, and traditions such as High Table are now open to everyone and widely attended. Yet the historical context is not always fully acknowledged in how these traditions are presented today, creating a tension between inclusion in practice and exclusion in origin.
Trinity archival records suggest that this tension is not new. A 1960s Converzione Committee document described the event as “a small exclusive dance,” indicating that exclusivity was once an intentional feature of certain traditions. These records also emphasize that “no attempt should be made to turn it into a large money-making proposition,” revealing a deliberate effort to preserve its scale and character. At the same time, concerns about ticket sales and participation suggest that even then, traditions were being actively negotiated, attempting to balance between maintaining identity and adapting to student behaviour. These records complicate the idea of tradition as something fixed, instead revealing it as continuously constructed and adapted over time.
Building on this historical context, conversation with Rolph-Bell Archivist Lindsay Grant reveals that Trinity’s traditions are not formally prescribed, but sustained through participation and collective memory. There is no written rule that practices such as High Table or Matriculation must continue; rather, they persist because students choose to engage with them. In this sense, tradition operates less as an institutional mandate and more as a social phenomenon, shaped by those who take part in it. As Grant notes, “if it’s manufactured and it feels inauthentic, it might not stick around,” suggesting that the longevity of traditions depends not on its history alone, but on whether it resonates with the present student community. At the same time, Grant emphasizes that these traditions have never been static. Practices that now feel emblematic of Trinity were once contested or resisted. Students, for instance, were historically required to wear gowns not only at formal events but in daily academic life, a rule many sought to escape at the first opportunity.
According to a 2025 Varsity article, the return of the gowns was brought back after COVID-19 as a result of persistent effort from the TCM—demonstrating that even long-standing symbols can disappear, be reinterpreted, and ultimately be revived through student action. The return of gowns was not an administrative initiative, but the result of sustained student advocacy beginning in 2023. Members of the Trinity College Meeting (TCM) and the Trinity College Board of Stewards (TCBS) pushed for their reinstatement, framing gowns as a unifying symbol of college identity. At a widely attended town hall in Seeley Hall, every student who spoke supported their return, often linking their absence to a broader decline in Trinity’s social and cultural life.
The process also revealed tensions between students and administration. While administrators cited concerns about cost, maintenance, and the gowns’ historical associations, students challenged these claims, particularly after discovering hundreds of usable gowns in storage. As Dean Kevin O’Neill described, gowns function as an “empty signifier,” meaning their significance depends on how they are interpreted. For many students, this opened the possibility of reclaiming gowns not as symbols of hierarchy, but of belonging and shared experience.
While the return of gowns demonstrates how traditions can be reclaimed and redefined, it also raises further questions about who is able to participate in these traditions. While traditions such as the High Table and formal events contribute to Trinity’s distinct identity within the larger U of T community, they are also not always accessible to everyone. Zari Freeze, a first-year Trinity student, expressed that while she values these traditions and believes they play an important role in fostering community, they must remain accessible. “Traditions should only be done if they can be accessible to anyone,” she said, emphasizing that financial barriers can shape how students experience these events.
One way of addressing this tension is to reconsider what tradition is meant to do in the present. Patrick Chiao, a first-year student from St. Michael’s College, offers an external perspective, suggesting that traditions should not be understood as something fixed or untouchable, but rather as something that evolves alongside the community. “Tradition does not have to mean something that’s dead,” he said. “It should be something that is living.” In this view, traditions at Trinity are not static inheritances, but practices that must be continually reinterpreted, shaped by those who participate in them, rather than simply preserved by those who oversee them.
This capacity for change is reflected in the role of Trinity College Meeting. Anneke notes that “the TCM’s role is to channel the student voice into meaningful events and activities that enhance the student experience.” Through this structure, students are not merely participants in tradition, but active contributors to how it is shaped and experienced. The TCM’s autonomy enables decisions around accessibility, formality, and inclusion, demonstrating that tradition at Trinity is not only inherited, but continuously refined through student engagement.
For instance, ticket prices for major events such as Conversat have been adjusted in recent years—from around $80 last year to approximately $70 this year—reflecting an effort to make participation more attainable. While such changes may not fully resolve concerns around cost or inclusion, they demonstrate that tradition at Trinity is not fixed, but instead continually negotiated by the students who choose to challenge and engage with it.
In the end, the legitimacy of Trinity’s traditions does not rest solely in their history, administration or formality, but in how they are experienced in the present by students. There is no singular way these traditions are experienced. For some, they offer a powerful sense of belonging, and intellectual identity. At the same time, it also raises important questions about access, history, and inclusion. The most important thing is not to pretend that its history and present issues do not exist, but rather to hold these perspectives simultaneously, using them to help shape a better future.
Change emerges from those who choose to shape their community’s narrative, refusing to let others define the boundaries of their belonging. When one path closes, another can be built by those willing to turn over the stones others left untouched.
And perhaps that is what makes these moments at Matriculation, High Table, and Conversat feel so compelling. Not just the ritualistic process of signing our names, wearing our gowns, heels and ties, or the candlelight, but the sense that tradition is still unfolding—shaped by those who participate in it, question it, and redefine what it becomes.
