Saturday 5th July 2025
Blog Page 1162

Style or substance: Djokovic’s 2015 Wimbledon victory

Taylor Yu
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Style or substance: Djokovic’s 2015 Wimbledon victory

Before anything, I want to go on record and say that the second-set tie-breaker of the 2015 Wimbledon men’s final between Djokovic and Federer was perhaps the best sixteen minutes of tennis I’ve ever watched. If you don’t believe me, drop everything you’re doing right now and watch the YouTube highlights kindly provided by Wimbledon itself.

Here are a few conclusions that I’ve personally drawn after watching that clip about fifty-seven times:

  1. Anyone who shouted out ‘go Roger’ or ‘come on Novak’ before their serves needs to think about what they were really doing. You’re not contributing anything to their game. In fact, ten pounds says that Novak and Roger are actually thinking, ‘please, can I just serve without you reminding me what my name is’.
  2. Why do players still have to wear white? Why isn’t there more discussion about this? I admit that the white and green aesthetic is refreshing, but surely requiring players to wear all white for every game should draw at least some debate on what tradition means and which traditions are worth keeping.
  3. Roger Federer’s Nike headband has to be the second most iconic sport accessories in human history, right before Allen Iverson’s shooting sleeve, and close behind Wayne Rooney’s unfortunate scalp.
  4. I’m 99.9% sure that Roger Federer is as close to a tennis artist as we’ll ever see. The man doesn’t just hit winning shots – he hits them with such breath-taking elegance that it made me think that this must be what it was like to watch Mozart play the piano or to observe Gordon Ramsay cook a Beef Wellington. At almost 34, Federer still plays with a degree of grace that is unmatched and more importantly is still as competitive as anyone out there on tour right now. Djokovic sprinted out to a 6-3 lead, before Federer fought back to tie it; then each time that he was down, Federer struck back with a ferocious forehand or an unfairly accurate volley. And this was against the number-one ranked player in the world at the peak of his powers.
  5. Speaking of said number-one ranked player, Djokovic is no chump either. The man is clearly very, very good at tennis. Whilst Federer was dazzling folks with his gracious swings and delightful runs to the net, Djokovic remained as composed as ever, hitting each shot with an unparalleled level of control. If Federer’s approach is artistic, then Djokovic’s approach is scientific – every angle is calculated, and nothing is left unexploited. Oh, you’re standing ten centimetres too far to the right? Here, try to return this forehand, I dare you. Yes, he did lose the tie-breaker and consequently the set, but Djokovic nonetheless demonstrated why many consider him to be the best player in the world today.

Ultimately, the final was decided by the contrast in styles – Djokovic’s consistency proved to be too much for Federer’s flare. After shouting at himself and angrily chewing some gluten-free protein bars, Djokovic proceeded to casually win 94% of his first-serve points and committed only two unforced errors in the third set. It wasn’t just impressive, it was downright outrageous. How in the world do you play against that kind of consistent quality?

Djokovic may never be as loved as Federer from a fan’s perspective. As it stands right now, Federer has an edge on Djokovic in terms of titles, pizzazz and fan favour – if you watched the clip, then you can’t help but notice that a lot more people were cheering for Federer than for Djokovic. And in all honesty, this is somewhat understandable – tennis, like many other sports, isn’t all about winning, and often its main appeal is the style and grace by which the player conducts himself on the court. In this regard, Federer exists to be admired, whereas Djokovic normally plays a more villainous role. This is depicted not only through his controlled but vicious playing style, but also through his rather aggressive antics during the game, which typically included ripping a few Uniqlo shirts and hurling abuse in five different languages at himself and everyone within the five-mile radius.

However, despite the fact that there are currently two active players (Federer and Nadal) with greater lifetime achievements than he is ever likely to achieve, Djokovic is nonetheless the best player in the world right now, and Wimbledon 2015 only added to his growing legacy. He may not be as appealing an athlete as Federer nor as overwhelmingly passionate as Nadal. He may lose control of his emotions from time to time that may draw more disdain than love from the fans. But if Djokovic continues to win with his ruthless precision and unwavering competitiveness, then does any of this really matter?

The machine can catch fire, but the machine will keep running, and at this point nothing seems to be able to prevent Djokovic’s domination.  

Lily-Rose Depp and childhood fame

Emmanuelle Soffe
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Lily-Rose Depp and childhood fame

There is something highly fascinating about Lily Rose Depp. Her mother is the beautiful French singer and model Venessa Paradis, whilst her father Johnny Depp is one of the biggest names in contemporary cinema. At the mere age of sixteen, Lily Rose is set to co-star in Kevin Smith’s Yoga Hosers later this year. And as if that isn’t enough, she is both an ambassador for, and the new face of Chanel. Chosen by designer Karl Lagerfield to be the face of the brand’s new pearl eyewear (due September 2015), Chanel has described her as a “baby doll in a world imbued with sweetness and femininity”. Yet surprisingly, Lily Rose’s parents have received a backlash of anger at their eldest child’s ‘controversial’ debut into the world of fashion, with many pointing out that Depp is too young to be exposed to the industry at such a young age.

The debut Chanel clip shows Depp peering under her lashes at the camera in a pink pair of Lagerfield’s glasses. Despite it being a mere ten seconds long, concerns have been expressed about the ‘seductive’ looks and Depp’s ‘pouting’. Child psychologist Dr Michelle Elliott says, “Sixteen-year-olds are not mentally, emotionally or intellectually able to cope with the pressures that these modelling situations place them in.” Whereas it is true that Lily Rose Depp is still very young, the upset over the campaign and over her ‘tender’ age seems largely excessive.

Both of Depp’s parents achieved world fame at a very young age. Johnny Depp became a teen icon after collaborating with the band Rock City Angels and Venessa hit international stardom at the age of fourteen with her debut single Joe le Taxi. By eighteen, Venessa was herself the face of Chanel. Her wonderful Coco L’esprit de Chanel campaign in 1991 shows Paradis enticingly swinging from a bird cage in a Parisian apartment. It is no surprise that Chanel want a younger version of Venessa Paradis to represent them once more, and if they deem her daughter fitting enough at the age of sixteen, why should they have to wait another two years?

There is no denying that the modelling industry is harsh, and high-end modelling is undoubtedly an even tougher environment, but it is a difficult business regardless of whether the model is sixteen or twenty-six. Nonetheless it is necessary to point out that Depp will always have it a little easier than other models. Her parent’s combined fame has rocketed her popularity, and it is unlikely that she will be used or severely mistreated by the industry; as is often the risk with young models who don’t have her claim-to-fame or who cannot afford a good enough agent.

The expressed anger at Depp’s parents also serves to highlight modern day perceptions that often discharge a child’s capability to succeed. It was not very long ago that children were generally expected to behave as adults from much younger than the age of sixteen. Thankfully our culture has evolved since such pressures were placed on youngsters. This does not mean however, that a sixteen year-old is incapable of starting a successful career, nor of coping with ‘adult’ pressures. The word ‘child’ is often used in a dismissive sense by adults; for someone who is weak, incapable of managing themselves, and unqualified to deal with ‘adult’ situations.

Yet Lily Rose Depp’s parents are both fully aware of the pressures that come with child-fame. If they have been able to recognise that she is capable of starting her career at the age of sixteen, and willing to assist her with it, criticism is the very last thing they should be receiving. 

 

 

Cafe Coco in "racist" poster controversy with students

David Lawton
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Cafe Coco in "racist" poster controversy with students

A series of complaints have been directed at Cafe Coco on Cowley Road by students this week, concerning a poster which they hold to be racist displayed inside the café which is clearly visible from the street.

Yussef Robinson, BME officer-elect at St. Hilda’s College, the closest college to Cafe Coco, told Cherwell, “The poster is a clear example of old racist advertising. Comparing black people to monkeys and caricaturing our features. It is the familiar trope of black people being portrayed as happy apes. If you look at the poster yourself, the racism is clear.”

Complaints about the poster had been made “in a lengthy email, sent about a month ago to Cafe Coco, [and] which gave a full explanation of issues with the poster’’. Robinson added, “On top of this another student at St. Hilda’s complained over a term ago about the poster in a suggestion slip; this was also ignored.”

On Thursday, a further student, Rowan Davis of Wadham College, who had gone into Cafe Coco to raise concerns, told Cherwell, “I made a complaint to the manager, emphasising the racist nature of the picture and instead of taking constructive criticism about his establishment he ignored the concerns and burst out laughing as I walked away, showing complete disregard for the very real issues that people of colour have brought up to me.”

Zuleyka Shahin of Balliol College, who went into the café to complain yesterday, said, “They basically heard me out and refuted what I stated. It was a long, but calm discussion of sorts. They do not see an issue.’’

A spokesperson for Cafe Coco commented, “No complaints have been laughed off by the management. We take all complaints very seriously.’’ He added, “The complaints are being addressed, and looked into.’’

Yussef Robinson, however, has yet to receive a response from the establishment, saying, “Coco’s management have repeatedly ignored concerns and belittled complaints surrounding this deeply racist poster. Perhaps they think the ‘vintage’ decor theme should be accompanied with 1930s racism too.”

Update 09/09/15: Cafe Coco has told Cherwell that it will be painting over the poster.

 

It’s our BBC, not theirs

Daniel Minister
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It’s our BBC, not theirs

As preparation for a paper I’m doing next year I bought one of the greatest documentary series ever made, The World at War. Comprehensive, accurate and haunting, the programme gripped the whole nation with its gaze into the near past when it first broadcast in 1973. With the BBC under mounting criticism, something came to mind. I once got talking about the series with a friend, as historians do. He was shocked when I told him that the BBC didn’t make The World at War. It was made by Thames Television, a long-gone constituent of the ITV network. This brilliant example of British television was immediately and psychologically paired with the BBC. It was practically an involuntary reaction. ITV surely couldn’t have made a programme like this; it must have been the BBC, by default.

John Whittingdale, a man whose big priority is to deregulate gambling machines in motorway services, is going to war with the BBC over charter renewal. As with anything cultural, subjectivity has waded into the debate on the very existence and principles of our national broadcaster. The Tories are determined to limit the corporation’s influence on the nation and hand over increasing power to its commercial, and largely right-wing, Conservative-aligned rivals. To do so, it will be our uncultured secretary of state and his cohort of what Lord Patten described as “grave diggers” defining what is “to inform, educate, and entertain.”

We’ve already heard stirrings of discontent over the BBC’s supposed ‘ratings chasing’, effectively translated from Tory doublespeak as ‘populist entertaining.’ Programmes like EastEnders, The Voice, Strictly Come Dancing, and god-forbid, the whole of BBC Three, are the bastions of everything popular, and consequently vulgar. The Conservatives will admit that they believe that the BBC needs to exist, but it will need to provide programming that is none of these, programming that is, effectively, unpopular.

The case of the BBC demonstrates how blind to irony and hypocrisy the Conservative Party has become. The Licence Fee has been compared to a poll tax, or should that be a Community Charge? In a 2001 speech to the party conference, Whittingdale remarked, “to liberalise markets, to cut taxes and to deregulate. That is the Conservative approach.” Yet, quite frankly, it is only where it suits them.

Arts funding stretches to the highbrow ballet and the royal opera while cuts are made to local drama groups for working-class children. The taxpayer will be forced to prop up the highbrow, not the niche shows that the BBC has long delivered brilliantly, never mind the popular. Imagine Songs of Praise reformatted on ITV and sponsored by Toyota, starring Simon Cowell judging battling church choirs. Of course Radio 3 will continue as normal – whatever will your traditionalist MP listen to on the way to Parliament? Surely not that pop played on Classic FM.

Just like our railways, and our energy companies, our BBC will be asset-stripped. The popular bits sold off and commercialised, and the unprofitable rump subsidised by the taxpayer. BBC Worldwide will be privatised. The organisation, which brings a massive amount of revenue into BBC coffers, reducing the Licence Fee and providing Britain with a global media presence comparable to Fox which we so lack, will be sold off to the BBC’s rivals. The American media machine can crowd out their global rivals thanks to their economy of scale. Networks like ITV cannot dream of taking on global conglomerates like Walt Disney or NBC Universal, quite often as they’re already part owned by them. Like BBC Books, which was swallowed up by the German-owned Bertelsmann, the BBC’s global presence will be carved up, probably to foreign owners.

The BBC has been criticised for being too good at what it’s doing and pushing its competitors out of the market, and being simultaneously outmoded and making the wrong programmes – which argument is the Culture Secretary trying to make? His excuses are shown for what they are, a smokescreen for Conservative ideology, and god-forbid anyone gets in their way. Like boundary reform, fox hunting and the European Union, they’ll just kick their reformist can down the road until they finally get what they want. 

Teenage flicks right through the night

Mark Barclay
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In the mid nineteen fifties, Hollywood studios were brought to their knees by a clunky and expensive box. With every household colonized by television, another chunk of studio profits vanished. Yet one part of the suburban demographic stayed faithful: teenagers. In the early days, TV had nothing to offer the rock and roll generation but news and family values. The fidelity of this cinema going congregation was rewarded by a series of now classic films: The Wild One, Rebel Without a Cause, Blackboard Jungle just to name a few. Thus out of financial necessity a genre for and about the adolescence of the day was born – a now long tradition of films like Quadrophenia, Grease, Dirty Dancing and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off have followed.

As with the advent of television, studios are once again threatened by new and competing technologies: online piracy, Netflix, and the digitized era of TV. As with before, Hollywood is milking the adolescent demographic. But, this is not quite a rerun of yesteryear. Comparing the tween films of today with the teen films of yesterday, it is clear that things aren’t quite the same. Two things stand out, first is the scale of the money. Franchises like Harry Potter, Twilight and The Hunger Games are making money in ways and in scales unimaginable twenty years ago. Second, these teen films have with unprecedented uniformity taken the form of epic fantasy. In short, what distinguishes our generation’s relationship to cinema is the correlation of fantastical stories with equivalently fantastical profits.

Yet in spite of this break from tradition, neither is it true that today’s teen cinema is discontinuous with that of the past. We see continuity in the fact that the same issues persist across the years: intergenerational clash, pubescent sexuality, identity, relationships etc. How these themes are presented for each successive generation is a telling indicator of the time. It is in the issue of presentation that today’s tween cinema distinguishes itself from the tradition.

When films of the last sixty or so years depicted these themes, they presented them in the context corresponding to the youth of the day. Countless films have had oppressive high schools and lonely bedrooms as the mise en scenes of the drama. Although the clothes, the music and the attitudes mercifully evolved, the films were still grounded in what we might call the real world. But today the settings are decidedly supernatural: a magic school, a suburban battleground for vampires and werewolves, a dystopian world governed by totalitarian regimes. The depiction of the adolescent experience has ceased to depict the experience of the ticket-paying adolescent. So how is it a genre that traditionally thrived on representing its public, today thrives more than ever having ceased to represent it?

I’m sorry to say we do not live in a world populated by beautiful but bellicose vampires and werewolves.

One short answer is that the leap into fantasy means that these films don’t represent anyone. But if so, how is it these films are so successful? Like in the past, kids spend their cash to see themselves. The allure of the silver screen is that it is seductively reflective. So in what sense are these wild departures from reality somehow representative of our generation? 

If we look back to the nineteen fifties it must be admitted that the audience was mostly nothing like Marlon Brando and his chain gang. But it wasn’t their literal selves that the young Americans were seeing. In Brando’s performance perhaps they saw an incarnation of the burgeoning rebellion of their time. Who knows what it was, but it was something that meant that, while he may not have been them, they still identified with him.

Today the break with reality makes it almost impossible to understand how our generation identifies with its idols. And yet the money says they do. If it is no coincidence that the escalation of profits is correlative with the unprecedented predominance of fantasy, it seems that fantasy can express an ideal for our generation in the same Brando did for his. But unlike Brando and nearly every teen idol subsequent to him, it seems our idols cannot share the same reality we do.

Why is it that representing our generation’s ideal, means creating a world totally detached from that which it inhabits? I’m not sure if this tells us something about the world we live in or the improbability of the ideal to which we so ardently subscribe.

Review: Years and Years – Communion

Sam Joyce
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Review: Years and Years – Communion

★★★☆☆
Three stars

Following through on their BBC Sound of 2015 win earlier this year, and following up on their massive smash single ‘King,’ Years and Years have finally released their much anticipated debut album, Communion. It’s an album engineered for cross-over success, pulling on current trends and musical touchstones to craft a house-based, R’n’B inflected, just left of mainstream synth pop album, that is surprising only really because of the unity it somehow achieves. Yet Communion hangs together thanks to its ominous tone and intriguingly dark lyrics, which explore sexuality as a religious experience.

This darkness is most of what makes Years and Years so fascinating, and what helps make this full length album of chart pop such a surprisingly engaging listen. Much has been made in the press of the male pronouns used on several of the tracks as an indicator of a watershed moment for sexuality in popular music. But what really feels fresh about the album is the fluidity and vulnerability inherent in the lyrics’ dark eroticism.

At some points submissive and needy, others cruel and commanding, frontman Olly Alexander’s multifaceted sexuality stands out as the band’s most unique asset. Opening with a warning – “All the things I want I really shouldn’t get” – we’re launched into a fascinating, complex exploration of fluid male sexual identity. “Am I enough to keep your other lovers hidden?” he asks on ‘Desire.’ “If I’d been enough for you, would I be better, would I be good?” he pleads on ‘Real.’

And then this insecurity is flipped. “Are you scared? Cos I don’t think you’re worth it…” he mocks on ‘Ties.’ “I’m holy and I want you to know it” he brags on ‘Worship.’ It’s alternately seductive, commanding, heartbreaking, and drenched in the awareness of an impending implosion. It’s completely compelling.

Unsurprisingly, the all-conquering ‘King’ is the album’s best offering. Nothing on Communion can come close to topping that song’s myriad genius hooks, which is understandable given that it’s inarguably the best pop song of 2015. Thankfully, however, its compelling oddness permeates much of the rest of the album, which benefits from eclectic production that only occasionally produces disappointingly uninspired results. The primordial ooze of album opener ‘Foundation’ promises a contemplative, introspective album that never quite materialises, despite the huge and enjoyably varied influences laced through album standouts like ‘Take Shelter,’ ‘Gold’ and new single ‘Shine.’

But it’s when the album reaches for slower tempos that the strain starts to show. Songs like ‘Eyes Shut’ and ‘Without’ bring calm to the album, but Alexander’s voice works far better conveying his trademark agony and ecstasy on uptempo, anthemic bangers, and the ballads are the area in which Years and Years have least to offer, and most room to grow.

Ultimately Communion is a fun, intriguing album that’s shown up by its own sporadic flashes of brilliance. It’s these moments that suggest that we’re hearing musicians with lots to say, and the skills to express it, that just need more confidence in their vision to make truly innovative music. It’s an album that is very of the moment, which is both a blessing and a curse. There’s too much talent in Years and Years for them to be consigned to 2015 forever.

Chilli and Coriander Cauliflower

Jonny Lawrence
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Chilli and Coriander Cauliflower

This is a very popular use of cauliflower around the world. Frying cauliflower gives it a more interesting and much tastier crunch and bite which the boiled and cheesed varieties seemingly lack. Specifically this is very popular in Israeli and diaspora Jewish cuisine, and is a good meal to do when you’re both on a budget and or interested in a more vegetarian diet. Serves 4.

Ingredients

1 cauliflower (1/4 per person)

1-2 chilli (or more, depends on how spicy you want it, of course!)

Coriander (spice)

Cumin

Turmeric

Water and vegetable stock

Olive oil, salt and pepper

Mix up a small cup’s worth of vegetable stock. Chop the cauliflower into its florets, which break apart naturally as you handle the vegetable. Drain the florets, removing as much stem as possible, since it is hard and difficult to cook. Chop the garlic and chilli and add to oil; fry the chilli and garlic along with the spices, salt and pepper until the pan is very hot. Put in the cauliflower, coat it in the spices and add the stock. Once all the water had evaporated, there are two possibilities. Either the cauliflower will not be soft enough to eat nicely and you must add a drop more water, or the cauliflower will begin crisping by itself and will begin to smell of light burning, like chesnuts roasting on an open fire. Do not worry, this is what you want. After a few minutes of alternately leaving the cauliflower to crisp and preventing it from burning, the cauliflower should take on a texture like chips. Once it is crisped all the way around, it’s ready. Enjoy! 

Glastonbury 2015. The Verdict

James Lowe
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Glastonbury 2015. The Verdict

It’s hard to describe the scale of Glastonbury. Hundreds of live bands, hippy healing fields (where dance lessons, massages and shisha are amongst the most normal things you will be offered) and of course, the constantly evolving, sensory overloading Shangri-la. Off the beaten track, away from the main stages, you encounter fire jugglers, traditional Mexican pole dancers, and up-and-coming artists.  But you just have to accept you can’t do it all. I could write an entire book about the mere tip of my Glastonbury Iceberg; for now, I’ll stick to my music highlights.

The first thing I did upon arriving was to sprint to the Strummerville stage to catch Frank Turner’s secret set for his 1696th show. The intimate stage is the perfect way to experience his lyrically-genius songs, “designed for pubs and bedrooms.” Equipped with just an acoustic guitar and fervent voice, he had the entire crowd dancing and screaming his words back at him. As the sun broke through during ‘Love Ire & Song,’ chasing the last of the weekend’s rain away, I realised it was the best start to a festival I’ve ever had.

My heart broke as surely as Dave Grohl’s leg when Foo Fighters stepped down as Friday’s headliners, but the replacement, Florence and the Machine, put on an incredible show. Florence’s energy was contagious, and you couldn’t help but marvel at her transformation over the last few years. The heart-break did hit me all over again during her cover of ‘Times Like These’- another twist to the emotional rollercoaster. I feel that, because of the controversy surrounding his set, Kanye has to be mentioned. I wanted to enjoy it. I tried. I failed. With the only thing to impress me being the size of his ego, it didn’t take me long to join the flood of people leaving.

My moshing itch was satisfied by two bands on the Saturday; Slaves and Death From Above 1979. I was surprised to enjoy Slaves as much as I did. Their simplistic formula of drums, guitar and shouting feels primitive, and the short, fast songs are perfect for riling up fight or flight instincts, getting adrenaline pumping and people jumping. The two-man format also lends success to the recently reformed DFA 1979; however, the Canadian duo definitely have more structured songs than Slaves, songs that have agonising, tense build-ups before head-splitting drops (compared to the Slaves’ approach of: smash drums, make noise, shout… shout some more). DFA 1979’s lack of stage presence was more than compensated for by the swirling mosh pits, conjured by their pulsating bass rifts and pounding drumming.   

I had a real dilemma on the Sunday: choosing between Sunset Sons and Jamie T.  But I was left with no doubt that I’d made the right decision after picking the up-and-coming surf rockers; they smashed out song after song (including a cover of ‘Sticks ‘n’ Stones’ since they couldn’t believe anyone had chosen them over Jamie T), in what was probably the most fun gig of the weekend.

The Who were the final headline act of the weekend, showing Glastonbury they were deserving of the rock legend status. I’m sure it was tough choosing a set list from their 220 songs, but they selected well, playing classic after classic. My only criticism was the anti-climactic ending. A mind-blowing guitar solo by Pete Townshend to end ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’ signalled the perfect time for the band to depart, but Roger Daltrey addressed the crowd again. We all expected another song, but the band just left, leaving a slightly confused feeling to an otherwise extraordinary set.

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The emphasis on the 3 headline acts always amazes me; the 5 hours of headliner acts is a fraction of your festival and stumbling upon small bands on tiny stages can be much more fun. In fact, my favourite band from the entire festival fits into this category. I first encountered Land of The Giants on the Bandstand stage and I was so blown away, I sought them out twice more over the course of the festival (small bands tend to play lots of gigs over the weekend). Their funky music is blasted out with such a raw energy; it’s clear to see why they often close on their incredible cover of ‘Jump Around’. Wherever they played, the powerful trombone, pumping drums and seductive bass pulled crowds faster than Kanye lost them.

As the BBC’s coverage nears its cut off point and I finish this review, I realise Glastonbury is truly over for another year. And it’s not just the music leaving me with nostalgic festival blues – it’s the atmosphere and people. Glastonbury has that village community feel on a city size scale. Everyone looks out for each other – everything and anyone is accepted. There aren’t many places on Earth you’ll find such a diverse collection of people being united by their love of music. This is the reason why Glastonbury is the biggest, and in my opinion, the best music festival in the world, and why I will be sat at my computer October 4th later this year, ready to start it all again.  

University misleads on Facebook over student accommodation

Hannah Foxton
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University misleads on Facebook over student accommodation

A photo of “sample” student accommodation posted on Sunday by the University of Oxford Facebook page has caused controversy among Oxford students, who claim that the photo gave a misleading impression of college rooms to prospective applicants. The photo of what is, in fact, not a student room, but a guest room, at Magdalen College was one of several posted by the administrators of the page, but was singled out by students who suggested it looked like “Downton Abbey” or a “Victorian boudoir” with its size and original furnishings.

The photo was taken down yesterday. When contacted, the Magdalen Home Bursar, Mark Blandford-Baker, told Cherwell that the administrators of the university facebook page took the picture down because he complained that it was not a student room, unrepresentative of student accommodation in Magdalen, and the photograph had been reproduced without the college’s consent. “I agreed with the students’ points of view concerning perceptions as well as simple factual accuracy. The room is part of a guest study set.”

The Facebook post, which is still online, albeit without the first photo, says to the 2.3 million people who have ‘liked’ the page, that “Living as a student at Oxford, you may “live in halls” or “live out.” Living in halls means living in college accommodation (often in or very close to the college building). Living out means renting accommodation locally with a group of friends – typically around east Oxford’s lively Cowley Road area.” The other photos show students working in rooms, and houses on or near Cowley Road.

Some students complained in the since-deleted photo’s comments that the photo was misrepresentative of an Oxford experience by not taking the differences between colleges into account, whilst others claimed that this was not a typical room in Magdalen.

Ruth McDuff, entering her third year at Magdalen, commented to Cherwell, “I follow Oxford University on Facebook, and I think that all but this post are great representations of Oxford…potential students may feel they’re not getting the same Oxford experience or may be let down massively by their own accommodation.” Others had a different emphasis, with Anna Simpson, a third year student at Pembroke College, suggesting that the somewhat grandiose room perpetuated stereotypes of Oxford.

Emma Winder, a third year undergraduate at Magdalen and secretary of the JCR, stated, “I don’t think the University intended to mislead anyone (particularly potential applicants) when posting that particular photograph of Magdalen. I commented on Facebook because the photo stood out amongst the others on the post (which I would say are more representative of student accommodation), and because I’d never actually seen that room in Magdalen before, although I immediately guessed that it was one of the guest rooms in cloisters.

“I can understand that the photograph could be misleading, and several other people who commented on the photograph on Facebook said how beautiful it was and seemingly accepted that it was student accommodation as the post seemed to suggest. Nonetheless, it is a shame that the University didn’t use a different photograph of Magdalen student accommodation, as it is one of the few colleges to offer undergraduates college accommodation for the entire duration of their degree, and many of the student rooms in college are very beautiful.”

A University spokesperson told Cherwell, “The picture was posted in good faith and taken down once we were notified by Magdalen. As some of the posters pointed out, the University’s Facebook page engages people with Oxford very successfully, making us the world’s most talked-about University on Facebook last month.”

Hello, Myanmar!

Millie Mcluskie
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Hello, Myanmar!

We have only been in Yangon three hours, yet it is already apparent that despite the briefness of the flight, we are a world away from Chiang Mai and the comparatively cosmopolitan city experience Thailand has to offer.

Wandering down the streets in search of something to eat, I am reminded so much of India – a reminiscence (and nostalgia) I had not expected. As in India, most of the men are in ‘longyi’ – large pieces of fabric wrapped around to form a long skirt, fastened by folding over the top, rather than by tying a knot. My friend is unfamiliar with this and finds it odd, but I am comforted by the recollection of them.  You can see that they are comfortable in their traditional dress – and cool, something you can’t take for granted here, especially in the humidity of the summer when the monsoon rains drench the city on a daily basis.

The women too are not dressed anything like those in Thailand, where western fashion has pervaded the cities. They are not even dressed like the people of the hill tribes in Northern Thailand, so close to the Myanmar border. Gone are the woven tunics and brightly coloured hats. The Burmese women are wearing long silk skirts and beautiful matching tops, more on a par with the saris and lehengas of India.

Although sweet and seemingly kind, the Burmese people do stare. A lot. But this is unsurprising considering that unlike in Bangkok and Chiang Mai where western travellers are almost more prevalent on the streets than Thai people, here you come across only a handful of other travellers. They are not as elusive as say in Bangalore – when I stayed there for two months I must have seen no more than five or ten westerners in all that time.

But once you get past the invasive staring and strike up a conversation, or buy some food from a street vendor, they are not aggressive but humble. Kindly in their manner, asking where we are from and wishing us well.

We did however upset one lady. She was selling some kind of meal and a local saw us looking on, somewhat bewildered (and tired and hungry), and said ‘very good’, nodding her head firmly. So we sat down and asked for ‘two’. Two of whatever she was cooking, it was difficult to tell. She produced some grubby plastic plates and began cutting up a clump of slightly crispy noodles with a large whole prawn on top. Everything went in, then she began mixing and mushing it together with her hands. I am wary about street food, and while we avoided any stomach dramas in Thailand, the similarity of the streets and stalls with India reminded me I had not been so lucky there. So we stood up, shook our heads apologetically and left. She looked crestfallen, insulted and perhaps a little angry, too. I felt horribly guilty, but I’m fairly certain I saved myself from a bout of Yangon-belly, or worse.

But alas, there was food to be found. And much more appetising, although unidentifiable.  We bought some fried rings of some kind of flour or potato mixture – whatever it was, it was beautifully herbed and spiced. The mangoes too are small and sweet, boasting a darker and far more fragrant flesh than any mango you will find in an English shop.

As for our plans for the next three weeks in Myanmar, we are as yet undecided. There are the temples of Bagan, which will certainly grace our eyes, and a hike from Kalaw to Inle Lake during which we stay with local families in their villages. Mandalay also seems to have more to offer than just our flight out of there.

But whatever we do, we can certainly say adieu to the cocktail buckets of Chiang Mai and the ping pong shows in Bangkok.

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