“I want to see people doing something bloody stupid – the world becomes a better place when people lose their inhibitions to look good.”
… resident loudmouth, busybody and socialite queen, Lexi Abrams brings you the latest from Cambridge’s elites.
BACK TO SCHOOL
The tentative lyrics of Swedish House Mafia are blaring into my sober room as I write this. ‘I wanna know your name’, the now all familiar voice sings, a fitting encapsulation of the rather strange week we are experiencing at the moment.
We have all been there: the awkward introductions, the bar crawls, the costumes. Being new, especially in a place like Cambridge, surrounded by buildings so familiar to the worlds of postcards and literature – well. It isn’t easy.
This week is the epitome of all things wrong with the world. Fresh faces, eager to impress, embarrass themselves without a second thought – or perhaps too much thought – to get themselves known, in any way possible. The older years will be sitting around scrutinizing, emailing pictures of fit freshers to each other and making bets on how many they can get with in a week.
But you know what? We can sit here musing on the morality of the concepts society draws in, so paramount in the intense Cambridge culture, or we can sit back, say ‘fuck that’, and smile.
For whilst everything is wrong about this week, it is also so bloody right. Yes, there is the odd fresher walking around my college in thigh high leather boots, a cigarette in one hand and the word ‘cock’ casually slipping out of her mouth. Yes, there might be the odd second year slightly too eager to show a girl the layout of the wonderful second year room. Yes, people might be trying just a little bit too hard. But it shows me one thing. People spend their entire lives in a vain attempt to not embarrass themselves. But it’s in this one week, when everyone wants to make the best impression, that they do just that – deliberately make fools of themselves.
I want to see people doing something bloody stupid – the world becomes a better place when people lose their inhibitions to look good.
I was talking to a friend today, for example, telling her that the best way to get over the boy that has, well, been a typical Cambridge lad to her for the past year, is to just go out there and embarrass herself in front of him. It may be stupid advice, but do you know what? She went out and she did it. And whilst the feeling of liberation she received may not have won her back her prize idiot, it certainly freed her to go on the hunt for more. Which she will, obviously.
To be honest, the only real thing wrong with this week was Sunday night. When the vom-queue to Fez reaches Market Square, and the line for Life – a room as wet as that famous pool in Jesus Green – is bursting to the seams, melding indiscriminately with the dustbins in LIFE LANE, there is something wrong.
Although this week is bloody good, I cannot wait to be able to walk back into that Sunday night duo with ease, see my friends, and not be the picture of sweat before I’ve even bought my first drink and embarrassed myself some other way, and just plain laughed.