Vic Sautter: Week 7

Walking through Sidgwick site this morning (okay, fine, a few weeks ago), I was struck by a thought:

Is it just me, or has everyone got really good looking?

I’m serious. Everywhere I turned, there was another perfectly chiselled face staring back at me. Male, female, young or old, the good looking phenomena did not discriminate. For some reason, Cambridge had become Rivendell or something, because on that day the streets were populated by freaking elves.

It’s left this Hobbit feeling rather confused.

I swear it wasn’t always like this. I don’t remember trekking back from lectures being stunned by the sheer amount of human perfection around me. Admittedly, this may be because I’ve never been too hot on attending lectures, but still, this is weird.

Where did they all come from? Did we suddenly get an influx of beautiful freshers that have been hiding away until Lent? Has Cambridge asked for a modelling background along with your A*s? Did everyone just get plastic surgery over Christmas? Or does the winter light make everyone seem that much more even-featured than usual? And if that’s so, then why haven’t I seen any of these people before? It’s set my conspiracy-hungry brain spiralling and I’ve currently come up with the theory that Cambridge is turning itself into a university-style Stepford Wife set up, where all the students are good looking, good at sports and they all get firsts. Honestly, I think this Oxford rivalry is going too far.

I’m not quite sure what to make of it. On the one hand, it does add a rather pleasant aesthetic to what can be a pretty miserable morning in February, but on the other it is bloody disconcerting. You see, rightly or wrongly, I have always felt somewhat apart from what I’ve termed as ‘the beautiful people.’ The beautiful people are more than just attractive, they’re well-dressed, co-ordinated, dedicated to their studies, look fabulous on three hours sleep, big in the ADC/ Union/ Varsity (sorry Tab)…and Sidgwick is bloody full of them! Guess that’s what I get for being an English student. And I can feel them…judging me.

Now, rational Vic knows that this isn’t the case. They are probably perfectly nice people who don’t have any particular strong opinions about me (unless they read this column) and would be really rather lovely if I ever actually met them. In fact, I have met some of them, and I’m right, absolutely charming, all…bastards.

The sad truth is that I feel the need to project the judgmental, bitchy nature onto the beautiful people because I’m an insecure, judgemental bitch myself, because I’m a self-loathing, self-righteous and overly defensive little rat who squeaks inconsequentially at any perceived threat. (That sounds like I’m being rather harsh on myself; I should explain that I’ve always felt an affinity to rodents, bearing, as I do, a striking resemblance to them.) The fact is, I was a big fish in a small pond, and now I’m a water rat cowering desperately in the banks of a very large river in which everyone seems a lot more adjusted and much more beautiful, composed and with it than I do. And knowing deep down that they actually aren’t does nothing to stop that feeling.

But that’s only on my bad days – when I’m up at a ridiculous hour (10am…fine) and it’s Lent term and it’s miserable and cold and I’ve been up until 3am watching Game of Thrones. A happier, saner Vic knows that the water rat is a noble creature. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but sneering at the fish isn’t going to help. You’ve gotta “just keep swimming, just keep swimming” and accept what you are, however discomforting that may be.

So, beautiful fish of the Cam, if I glared at you one morning this term, I apologise. It’s not you; it’s really, really me. But I’m working on it.