Being edgy isn’t edgy anymore
Your drug habit is just boring
I know it makes me sound like an 80-year-old man, but I like wearing slippers and listening to proper music.
Edginess (or ed3iness of e6giness or whatever) in Cambridge is a bit like the society of polyhedral shapes in the 1884 novel Flatland by Edwin Abbott Abbott (nerd) where status is determined by the number of sides you have. Only here you are judged by how many ‘edges’ you have and how many metric tonnes of glitter you have on your face at any one time.
And it’s exhausting. Just go to ARCSOC (don’t lie, you’ve never been) or Haze (I don’t even know what that one is) and you’ll see a room full of people in either far too many clothes or far too few clothes pretending to have fun whilst trying to dance to Dubstep remixes of Enya songs or whatever is in right now. It has to stop.
The accompanying dietary changes associated with being edgy are the worst part; not only is veganism close to mandatory, you also have to use cauliflower or some kind of lentil paste to replace any rice or bread or excess joy in your life. All ‘food’ (it can’t be all clasified as actual food – kale chips have a passing relationship with edibility at best) has to be bought in shops on Mill Road – Sainsbury’s and the massive Tesco out on the edge of town are for basic bitches and people who are concerned about anemia.
Drugs is the main focal point of edginess. Of course, it’s not impressive unless everyone knows you do drugs so you have to bring it up at every opportunity; it can be tricky to manoeuvre a conversation on supervision work to your penchant for mephodrone but practice makes perfect just like pseudoephedrine and red phosphorus makes meth (that I learned from a couple Phys Nat Scis who happen to enjoy the effects of MDMA and won’t shut the fuck up about it).
Unfortunately for mathmos, engineers and law students, a person can only be as edgy as their course. It’s hard to be edgy as a science student because you actually have to do work and don’t have time to waste window shopping at all the charity shops in the Grafton Centre. Arts students, with their optional lectures and boundless free time (if I sound bitter, it’s because I am), have better luck.
It’s also heavily reliant on what college you go to – a person from Downing would be laughed out of an Edginess Club meeting (I’m assuming they have those) whereas a Fitz or Robinson student would be welcomed with open arms, and a King’s student would be let in to barely concealed giggling and heckles of ‘Well met, Comrade!’.
But this previously extreme trend is starting to become the norm, and once you’ve seen one girl with rainbow-striped dreadlocks, you’ve seen them all. Weirdly, leather tank tops that would once have caused outrage are now run-of-the-mill.
What is far more enjoyable than being edgy is being comfortable. When I see people struggling to walk to Fez in skin-tight lycra or a second-hand boiler suit and neon hair, all I can think is that, at some point, you’re going to have to use the toilet and it’s not going to end well. Meanwhile, in jeans and a jacket, everyone else walks happily past and has a crisis and dyes their hair and dresses inappropriately at 50, like a normal person.
Not being edgy doesn’t make you a square. I think. That analogy got away from me.