According to the University of Oxford’s admissions data, in 2024, 14.5% of students admitted were from the most socio-economically deprived areas in the UK. Many students at the University come from comfortable, more middle-class backgrounds, but sprinkled in are members of the elite: the children of aristocracy and the ultra-wealthy. For many working-class, state-educated students, coming to Oxford allows them to interact with people from this world for the very first time.
It can be very disorienting to enter this new social sphere. At first, you can feel overwhelmed by its strange traditions and the people you are suddenly interacting with. It is bizarre to have a Scout who automatically cleans up after you. To be wined and dined in black tie, and to have a bursary that allows you to spend without worry, can feel uncomfortable for those who grew up with less. It’s very easy to feel out of place, both academically and socially.
As time goes on, immersion in this fantasy land can make you out of touch. There is an illusion of student solidarity, that we are somehow all the same. We all know the trauma of essay deadlines, we use the same Oxford lingo, we study in the same libraries, we eat hall meals together, and we attend the same events. But then the vacation rolls around. As people return home, you realise that this Oxford bubble is not real life. The reality of class differences smacks you abruptly in the face.
For working-class students, the truth is that many university acquaintances do not live the same lifestyle as you do. Most students at Oxford never need to worry about whether their household will make ends meet this month. They do not have the burden of a maxed-out student loan, a crippling overdraft, and a laborious part-time job awaiting them in the vac. The vacation period is one where the vibrant world of Oxford feels very far away. What can connect you is the friends that you have made there, and social media is the easiest way to catch up on their lives.
A dopamine-boosting doomscroll is particularly tempting for those of us who have few entertainment options during the vacation. Instagram shows you the lives of your new acquaintances and the alien world they reside in – a montage of huge houses, constant travel, and smiling friends in chalets and pools. It could not be more different from how you and most people live. It is difficult to escape the realisation that not only does this lifestyle exist, but it also exists near to you, and yet remains unattainable. It opens your eyes to the true class difference that exists between you and many of your peers, which amplifies the feeling of not quite belonging to the environment of Oxford. The unequal nature of the lottery of life is made more apparent when social media allows you to take a glimpse into the lifestyles of fellow students.
In term time, there are always subtle reality checks that remind you of the class differences that exist at university, and they tend to be cliché – what school did you go to? Blank stares at your reply. Where do you typically holiday in the summer? Awkwardly state that you will probably be at home working. These reality checks are far harder to dodge when your scrolling takes place in an uncomfortable home, shattered, after a long shift at work.
The whiplash that comes with oscillating between a comfortable, social, and cosy time at university and a harsher time at home is an exhausting experience. It can feel like you don’t really belong anywhere. A sense of isolation is inevitable when you are one of the few people in your circle who live in real financial struggle. It can seep into your confidence academically and socially. The thoughts of “I don’t really fit in here” get louder in those moments where class difference is made apparent, which only exacerbates imposter syndrome.
As petty as it may seem to whine about social media, which is entirely curated anyway, it doesn’t undermine the fact that this is a symptom of the core experience of working-class students at Oxford. The solution seems simple – just delete social media during the vacation and try accepting that your lifestyle is different from your peers. Whilst that is certainly a way to escape the toxic comparisons, it is not that easy, nor is it the main problem. Social media enables you to witness the unaffordable lifestyles of people around you. Even without that tool to help you sneak a peek, the cutting realities of being working class in Oxford will always find a way to follow you around.
Like stones in your shoes, it can add pressure to change yourself to fit into this new world, as your own feed transforms in response to this different social circle. Working-class students can attempt to glamorise what little they have by changing their social media habits. Perhaps post some snapshots of the budget holiday you worked the whole summer for? The story behind that picture of a nice meal with friends, or snaps of the Varsityski trip, is that it has plunged you into the (not so) warm embrace of your overdraft. These attempts to blend in are made in vain and can feel depressingly shallow.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. There is extraordinary pride in knowing that making it to Oxford from a socio-economically deprived background is a sign of true strength and resourcefulness. The pains of adapting to a world where most people will not understand the life experiences that come with this pay off. The ability to live two contrasting lives certainly makes you a well-rounded person. Despite having the burden of financial worries, fewer networks, and feelings of social isolation, working-class students at Oxford still manage to adapt and thrive.
