Life Divided: Oxlove

Maxim Parr-Reid and James Lamming debate the vices and virtues of Oxford’s most amatory Facebook page

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Rose on a book

Maxim Parr-Reid: For

Sandwiched between a cornucopia of confession (Oxfess) and a fissure of ferocity (Oxfeud), Oxlove comes as both a welcome break from the stupor of revision, and a wickedly effective means of procrastination. It is an antidote to the banality of Oxfeud and the neurotic nature of Oxfess, and the perfect excuse to liberally dust my Facebook news feed with the warm hue of ‘love reacts’.

There is not a library in the University where you won’t see undergrads ferociously scrolling, essay forgotten, in search of a personal post. All I can say is—long live the chirpse. I’ve never received one myself (nor am I fishing for one here, I hasten to add). Maybe you’ve been lucky on that front. Yet I have made use of the page. Obviously I don’t want to embarrass the subject of my submissions, but Oxlove allows us to pour forth a welter of words expressing the way we feel in the comfort of complete anonymity (most of the time).

What a joy it is to use anonymous epistles to be open about chirpses and crushes without the slightest chance of being unmasked. Oxlove allows us to pen dreamy missives to our love interests and explain how we really feel. In this sense, it is a truly liberating platform.

Who needs Tinder for time wasting? You could scroll through Oxlove forever and never cease to be bemused, bedazzled even, by the effervescent waves of emotion zooming through this university. No visit to the RadCam (something itself supposedly done in a vain attempt to elicit an Oxlove post—who’d have thought it?) would be complete without perusing the poetry of that page—and of course hunting for something written about you no doubt.

The vexed question of what women want has finally been answered, it seems. Keep your drunken advances in “el Brigo” or your attempts to pull in Park End—all that she wants is an Oxlove.

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James Lamming: Against

To the terrible page,
With some dubious chat,
Your poetry’s bad,
And your rhyme scheme is clapped.

Oxlove’s your name
But you’re no Casanova-
Your time in the spotlight
Is soon to be over.

You no longer rhyme
And your quality’s worse,
Is it really poetry
If it’s just in blank verse?

I’m bitter, I know,
I didn’t find love,
Though I posted so often
In the form of above.

Anonymity was heaven,
I wrote odes to a few
of my favourite part-time flings,
And my girlfried never knew.

But please, Oxlove, please,
Let’s rekindle our flame,
The recent content
Has been exceedingly tame.

Please, Oxlove, please,
Take me back in your arms,
Display once again
Your amorous charms.

I’ll be good to you, Oxlove,
In my heart and the sack,
O please, dear Oxlove,
I just want you back,

Yours most sincerely,
one heart-broken hack