Secret Diary of a Cambridge BNOC
“I can’t help it that I’m popular”
As The Tab is compiling the BNOC lists again, it gets an insight from one of Cambridge's notorious BNOCs, as to what life is actually like, being so famous.
I wake up not from the sunlight filtering through the windows but from the blinding light of the notifications barraging my iPhone. Obviously checking social media is a must first thing in the morning.
First I check instagram and look at how many likes the photo of the #squad got that I put up last night. Then I go through and like all the photos I'm tagged in, unless my face isn't clearly visible and people are just using my name to get more likes. Finally, I like photos of some other influential students but not from everybody I follow. One has to aspire to get a like from me.
I quickly check Facebook but ignore all the messages from the desperate, little people. If it's important, they'll message again when I am actually awake. And I certainly don't respond to guys messaging about getting a drink sometime. If someone wants a date they should write at least a week in advance.
Gosh this is so tiring and I really need a PA. I wonder what it's like for those who can just roll out of bed in the morning. Must be infinitely easier not being me.
I decide finally to go to my lecture today since my DoS has been keeping a close watch as apparently I might fail my degree. How do they not understand that being a BNOC is a full time occupation? Let's be honest, I need a sabbatical far more than the CUSU Pres does.
This means I need to choose my outfit carefully as they'll definitely be photos taken either for best dressed at Sidge or by all the other lesser BNOCs to copy my style. There is a fine balance between making an impact and going full out HSPS-wavy. I remember how the last dress I wore was sold out in Zara immediately.
For lunch today I begin my first round of meetings. You don't get to the BNOC level I am without being the person who knows what's going on.
First I meet with all the Union hacks desperately trying to get at my contacts list to find people for the events next year. I give them a few to whet their appetite but keep all the big names. Once again some of them intimate the roles they want to run for and beg me to front their campaign. Out of the abundance of generosity in my heart, I allow them to feature me on their Snapchat story.
On my way to meet the journalism hacks I spot the tourists taking photos of me in King's Parade out of the corner of me eye. Obviously I don't look directly at them, I'm channeling poise and effortless elegance. I'm sure I spotted a professional photographer there. Maybe I'll be featured in Tatler again.
I meet the various editors in Cambridge and lowkey tell them what's been going on in the various circles, CUSU, CUCA, CULC. And when investigating, of course they know that they didn't hear it from me. The Tab asks me, again, if they could run a story about my life. Since they have been so annoyingly persistent I finally agreed. Halfway through a screaming fan approaches and begs me for a selfie. I acquiesce and they faint from being so overjoyed, I presume. How embarrassing.
I gather my devoted followers who have all done a piece of reading for me to have tea in my room. After they each give me a brief summary I assign them a paragraph each to write for my essay. I might have to think up a new tactic after my supervisor said the last essay was "fairly disappointing, not even a 2.i".
Disaster strikes! I get an insatiable craving for Dairy Milk chocolate, but after praising the revitalising and energising benefits of kale juice to all my friends, I cannot be recognised going to Sainsbury's to buy some. So I throw on some old tracksuit bottoms, pull a hoodie over my head and grab a massive rucksack, looking like some Natsci going to their 9ams. Thankfully I get away with it.
For dinner I take a few select friends to dinner at Sticks n Sushi, after they offered me a free meal in return for post on Instagram. These are the people who I believe have BNOC potential in my college so I'm taking the time to teach them my ways. And afterwards they will be loyal to me, of course, since I am the one who gave them a name.
Then I take them to a bar where I'm frequently recognised, so they can stare in awe at my fame, and I can show them how it's done. People may call me egotistical, but as someone who knows about BNOCdom once said – "I can't help it that I'm popular."
I head off to pres at my friend's, who's lucky enough to have a massive room and a view overlooking the college grounds. As it's a semi-classy affair I bring port, and as ever my juiciest stories. Not classy enough, it turns out, to stop us from getting rip-roaring drunk. Everyone else staggers out to go to Cindies, but tonight I decline. Maybe since I can go whenever I want for free, it has lost its appeal. Most likely the reason is I get emotional and contemplative when I'm drunk.
Walking back to my room, I think about our beautiful planet and its 7 billion inhabitants, and how the hand of fate or fortune had destined me to have this BNOC status. And in doing so I trip over the mound of presents and fan mail accumulated outside my door and fall over. So symbolic of the pleasure and the pain that accompanies fame.
Time for bed, methinks. Because when you have a face that is as stared at as mine is, you need your beauty sleep.
And there you go, the complete day in a BNOC's life. If you know anyone like this, vote for them here.