The facts of Oxford are far ahead of its fictions, creating a peculiar disjunct in the identities of its undergraduates. Each student must battle with either “I’m not your stereotypical Oxford student!” or “I am your stereotypical Oxford student!” So, students. What do you see around you? A load of people, some similar (too many, or too few, for better, or worse), some different from you. But still always that one person in a V-neck jumper, shirt, slacks, and brogues… some things never die. Here are the people I’ve seen – the modern Oxford stereotypes. Watch out! You may become one.
The Part-Time Art Historian. They might not care about art history, but I think you can catch the vibe. If you want to hide silently in Hall, reserving a table for your friends, think again – Mr. Art Historian will slide up next to you and ask how you really feel about the representations of Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald (real story). One cannot successfully imagine him having sex. If one tries hard enough, one can imagine him (always male – call him Francis) whispering into his beloved’s ear from above: “Isn’t this compelling?”
The Moocher. One of my favourite types of Oxford student. The Moocher retires from a two-hour slog in the library (if they’ve gone to the library at all) to their cosy room, which is littered with duvets and jumpers and crisps. They care more about having first-class friends than first-class thoughts. If a Scholar tries to tell them how rubbish their first-class essay was, the Moocher tells them to “touch grass”. You hope that they’ll get a stellar job as soon as they leave university – they deserve it.
Militant Northerner. Even as a Yorkshirewoman, I live in fear of the Militant Northerner. They joke about making Yorkshire independent and say “ey up” when you pass them in the street. There are two types. First, the country bumpkin with their satchel and penchant for a hat, who finds being at Oxford difficult because it takes them away from the lambing. Thinks they’re James Herriot or similar. Second, there’s the “I love Greggs” Northerner who, on being asked where they’re from, will remark that the locals “know how to have a good time”. Both types are united by complaining about the price of Oxford pints.
The Pampered Swot. They relish the work’s intensity which, supported by their ever-loving parents, provides an ample excuse to never cook, even pasta. Wasabi and Pret are their tea-time friends, so they plump for a deliciously expensive college room with no hob; who needs to cook anyway? The scholar’s gown makes it all worth it. Probably will become a spy.
Confused Northerner. (Me.) A class nomad; different at core from the Militant Northerner. Called “posh” at school due to a rootless accent and seeded rye sandwiches, the Confused Northerner arrived at Oxford as the only successful applicant from their Sixth Form. Scunthorpe behind them and Crankstart in front of them, they spend the first year unconsciously speaking right broad about selected topics such as redundancy, the mills, and their single mother, before admitting in first-year Trinity that they can ski.
The London Girl. Sambas or boots, heavy silver jewellery, sunglasses always on hand, tight top, low-rise jeans. Not wearing a bra is part of the outfit. Possibly even ventures into wearing a hat. Instagram is full of salads and Hampstead.
Not Your Usual Oxford Student. “State-school educated”, they claim, ignoring their private sixth form and secondary schooling at the best grammar school in the country. They love to talk about how their mum is a self-made woman. Their College year group now have an image of their mother Jessica as some freak North London woman who self-spawned one day, equipped with a flapjack and leggings.
Oxford Edgy. Trying to be Effie from Skins, she’s actually Efferelda Mary Hamilton, third-gen Oxford – and the only smoker in the world, obviously. Carries cigarettes (sorry, a “blem”) around “just in case” someone might be secretly watching. Edgy in Oxford but as edgy as a smartie anywhere else, where it is not cool to openly love Twilight and complete all your Donne reading on the train. Beloved by all.
People are a bit odd, and Oxford is a marvellous place for it – in fact, uniqueness is encouraged. Be a bit peculiar. Why not? There are so many types of people to be. Not everyone is “classic Oxford” (a changing standard) but hopefully we all soon will be – a bunch of unique, quite weird, students, who all know that they belong.
