Dancing in Desire: Kink Bop Returns

One of St Andrews’ great merits is the weird and wonderful events it hosts. American tourists dismount their monster-truck tour buses, walking through to Lower College Lawn to hear about the Raisin foam fight. Later, perhaps, they’ll jaunt down to the beach, to imagine students Chariots-of-Fire-ing it into the sea amidst an epic sunrise on May Dip. 

Yet amidst our hallowed quads and castle, a saucy yet mighty contender has in recent years risen from the ashes: Kink Bop — sorry, ‘Safeword’ Bop, which arguably sounds more, rather than less, suggestive. Freshers, who just last week were cringing over watching a Netflix sex scene with their parents, suddenly find themselves parading about 601 in handcuffs and cat ears. 

It’s not exactly surprising. In the recent Sallies committee elections, one prospective female sexual health officer claimed to be the real-life Otis Milburn; her opponent, pretty audaciously, promised to tattoo the hall’s crest on her arse if she won. After the first week, many freshers will have heard of the Holy Trinity of locations to Marvin Gaye it up, even if nobody in town can agree on what they are. 

Safeword Bop is, for some, a dream: instead of being ambushed by security in the Main Bar disabled toilet with some hunky IR student, the Union explicitly encourages you to go forth and prosper (well, not quite, — one would hope you’re using protection). Apparently, “everyone is free to explore their fantasies and engage in the extraordinary,” which is probably the most scarily enabling thing I’ve ever read on the Union website.

Originally, I wanted to structure this article as a masterful parody of S&M (St Andrews style). This, unfortunately, goes against The Saint’s rigid formatting rules. Reader, you’ll have to settle for a selection of innuendos just passable enough that the seniors getting their copy at Union handout don’t spit out their Rector’s coffee.

“Don’t miss out on this one-of-a-kind experience!”’, the Union website proclaims. The great thing is, nobody did. If you allow me one Rihanna moment, sticks and stones may break my bones, but goodness, does a £3 Union ticket excite me. What’s more, if duct taping your nether regions made you lose track of time, entry rose to just £6 after midnight. 

Upon initial entry, the wonderful wackiness usually confined to the murky depths of Confessdrews rose to the surface. In the line, I, along with many others, witnessed our first furry, who had been swarmed with so many photo requests that they’d only made it halfway down the road by the time I went in and came back out. However, many clubbers opted to wear typical going-out wear, rather than something truly ‘kinky’ — jock straps and collars were more of an anomaly than the go-to, which hasn’t been the case in previous years.

601 itself was busy beyond belief, with many attendees brandishing flashing VK light sticks. The energy put out by the audience was matched fantastically by DJ Buckle, with invigorating remixes and mashups of songs from Busted’s ‘Year 3000’ to ‘Guess’ by Charli XCX and Billie Eilish. On the walls, as in past iterations of the event, the 601 screens projected such bizarre images as men in nappies. As well as these, the usual sexy teachers and the like made an appearance, all of which added to the humorous atmosphere. 

It’s surprising that Kink Bop isn’t marketed in a similar vein to Halloween, Winter Wonderland or St Patrick’s Day. Year after year, it creates palpable joy through a sense of sexual liberty, and hence it draws in huge crowds time and time again. The Union offers St Andrews, for one night only, its very own KitKat Club, which for a town with barely a club at all, is a real treat for the senses — sorry.

Photo by Alex Barnard