I live in the West End, but I’m not a West End Wanker.

A quintessential part of living life at the University of Glasgow is adapting to the culture of the “West End Wanker”. How you adapt can vary, depending on your friends, your location or even where you choose to grab a coffee. The only certain thing is, it cannot be avoided.

I can very surely say I do not come under the bracket of “West End Wanker”. In many ways, it would be easier to give in and become a try-hard, but I don’t have the energy. I like normal clothes and normal food and normal hair-dos. I like going to the gym (aside from the £100 daylight robbery fees) and not being deep within the depths of GUSA hierarchy.

Okay, so I just sound really fucking boring, but think about it. Being a West End Wanker looks really hard.

The Look

Man-buns. Socks and sandals. Big bushy beards galore. No, I’m not talking about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ, I’m talking about the exterior of a standard West End Wanker. You can’t take a gander down Great Western Road without stumbling upon mom jeans and cut off harem pants left right and centre. I have attempted this look more times than I’d like to admit, but I come out the other end looking like I’ve just failed to complete a 12 week rehabilitation programme.

The key is to look like you haven’t tried at all. At all. Like, you rolled out of bed looking this fucking cool. But the bitter truth is filled with hours of charity shop hunting to get the perfect over-sized denim jacket and weeks of getting your top-bun just scraggly enough that it looks effortless. And God knows you can’t leave your flat with your ankles covered.

Location, Location, Location.

As everyone loves to remind us multiple times a week, Finnieston has recently been crowned the hippest area to live in the UK. From vegan restaurants to burger joints that aren’t Ketchup to cosy bars with fit waiters, it’s easy to understand why.

I lived there last year and I honestly didn’t feel any more hip than I would have if I had lived in Maryhill. I’d pop into my local Sainsburys, grab my frozen pizza and make my way back to my cold, uncomfortable basement flat. If I was getting hungry between episodes of It’s Always Sunny, I would hop along to the 24 hour shop, grab four instant noodles and skidaddle home. I never set foot in any of the hip haunts, not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t afford it. If hip now means middle class, then I’m starting to understand why I can’t possibly fit the mold.

GUSA GUSA GUSA 

Do you own a piece of sport-wear with your name on it? Yes? You are probably a West End Wanker. Sorry. Sports are an amazing part of our university, and the Stevenson Building has a lot to offer us lowly folk who merely jump on a treadmill twice a week then grab a foot-long at GUU. However, there is a low-key pedestal which those who are a part of GUSA are on.

I imagine them to be the type of folk who would accidentally murder someone and all agree to cover it up (that would make a cracking episode of Midsomer Murders). Troy Bolton would wally on and on about how being part of a team made you great (or something like that, it could have been Finn Hudson now I’m thinking about it) and that shines through for GUSA. Their on-campus dominance qualifies them as West End Wankers. Also, loads of them are fit so that helps too.

You shall go to the ball…

Balls at uni are the perfect chance to let your West End Wanker-ism shine bright like a diamond. Everyone who knows everyone shows up for one night of faux glamour while simultaneously getting wasted on semi-expensive booze. It’s the night that people wait hours to get tickets for and spend weeks finding the perfect dress for. I have never been to a ball (this whole article is a set up for someone to ask me) so I don’t really understand the hype, but for this element of being a West End Wanker, I can perhaps comprehend the fuss. Getting a night to go all out glam, throwing on a tux or getting your hair done at a hairdressers rather than with your flatmates curling iron is special. It’s celebratory, and who better to celebrate with than fellow wankers. It’s love, it’s community, and it’s a ruddy good time.

Pretentious food is unavoidable. 

A well known fact about the West End and hipster-ism in general, is that whats on your plate matters. And when I say plate, I mean chopping board. If it’s covered in avocado or served in a jar, it’s eligible to enter the mouth of a West End Wanker. Crockery is apparently out, and random household objects are in. If you’re fond of a bit of quinoa on your salad of unidentifiable leaves, then you’re probably falling into the same category.

Now these tend to be the traits of your standard hipster, it’s true, but hipsters and West End Wankers come hand in hand. What’s wrong with just heading to McDonalds and grabbing a free cheeseburger with your student card? Where has the simplicity gone? And once again, I can’t afford to eat like that every day. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.

While living as the coolest kid on the block does have its aesthetic perks, I think I’ll survive being a regular suburban chick. The beauty of the West End is that you can be anything you want to be, so maybe we’re all West End Wankers after all.