The Social 200

St Andrews has an events scene. St Andrews also has about 200 people who attend it.

Having worked for the Events Section for a year now, I’ve had the privilege, and burden, of attending pretty much everything this town has to offer. I’ve had Father Patrick shout at me in the middle of Bible Study, bought wellies two sizes too big; frozen to death at a poorly attended ceilidh, scrapped with the fashion show cabal, and caught one too many taxis home because I couldn’t be bothered to wait for the coaches.

Having experienced everything to the moon and back, I can lean back behind my desk and tell you one thing: the surface of the headline events change — different names, different themes, different dress codes — yet the attendees stay the same.

I exaggerate, slightly. The edges shift; I’ve been pleasantly surprised to see wholly-unexpected characters at the VS Fashion Show or Welly Ball, but every time I find myself at Falside Mill or Lower College Lawn again, I find I’m always swimming in a sea of familiar faces. Pattern recognition, you understand? So I lean back even further behind my desk, run a hand through my hair, and wonder to myself: Why? Why do I see all the same people every time?

As a man who once considered taking Social Anthro, let me pose three explanations:

1.      Our beautiful social butterflies.

Of the two thousand-odd freshers who arrive every September, a healthy chunk are hypersocial extroverts. The 601 bouncers have gone from worrying about seeing you out at 3am six times a week to offering you a warm smile and a hug when you hop into the Union queue. Yet, your FOMO now demands you be present at every single event out there: Starfields, Opening Ball, Welly, Szentek, Barn Bash, Cocktail Week, Fight Night, FS, Catwalk, Silo, Oktoberfest, and, of course, JBH ball. Whether or not the events themselves change is irrelevant. Your attendance, however, is what matters.

2.      Connections.

Show up to everything and, eventually, everything shows up for you. In first year, you may simply be a silly fresher who got lucky refreshing FIXR every twenty seconds on ticket release day. But your fellow silly fresher attendees will spend the next few years climbing the committee ranks. The acquaintances you accumulated purely through your shared hypersociality — the people you kept running into at everything — are now the ones who can secure your table at Oktoberfest and Welly and simultaneously, the ones who insist on your attendance. Knowing everyone, it turns out, is a double-edged sword. The more you attend, the better your access; the better your access, the more you must attend.

3.      How much for a ticket?!

Membership for this hypersocial group comes at a cost, I’m afraid. Often, your mandatory membership fees come to more than your rent for the month. The committee has paid the coach drivers to slow down to ensure your sobriety — those £6 shots won’t buy themselves. The blunt truth of events in this town is that they are expensive and require a well-paid part-time job, or more commonly, a large donation from the Bank of Mum and Dad to afford. The Circuit™ has a membership fee. It’s just never written on the ticket.

Which brings me to the reality that took me an embarrassingly long time to notice.

Each of these events supposedly sells a different identity. Barn Bash markets itself on Americana, Welly the romance of clay pigeoners and chaos, DONT WALKthe serious fashion show, FS the heaving party. Each implies a different reason to be there. Yet you arrive and find, give or take a few strays from visiting universities, essentially the same room.

The red-blooded American exchanger is there, and they are wonderful, but they are outnumbered by the St Andrews regulars who have put on cowboy boots for the afternoon. The Clay tourist is there, bemoaning the death of the food fight, but they are outnumbered by The Circuit in Hunter wellies who couldn't tell a clay pigeon from a digestive biscuit. The set rotates, but the cast does not.

Where does that leave us?

Seeing the same faces again and again is exciting and joyous the first few times, but over the years it produces fatigue. I rejoice now when I see someone new — a stranger who quite obviously feels out of their depth and is desperately trying to keep their head above water in a frankly incestuous and far-too-interconnected town. But they are always outnumbered by the St Andrews regulars.

None of this kills the fun. I always have a good time, more or less, because you know people, and knowing people is 90% of having a good time anywhere. That's rather the point.

The Circuit delivers what it promises. It just doesn't always deliver what the event promises.

So that being said, see you again, same time, next year?

Illustration by Elizabeth Lang