I'm Dropping the Ball and You Should Too

Romeo and Juliet taught us many things: to see beyond social divisions; to communicate our feelings, and—let’s face it—that Leonardo di Caprio looks rather dashing in a suit of armour. Hidden as it is among these pithy insights, you may have missed a phrase that (innocuous though it may seem) makes a point we could all do well to remember: “what”, Juliet questions, “is in a name?”

It is a question to which we St Andrews students have responded with a resounding: Everything.

After all, by applying the interchangeable epithets of ‘Bash’, ‘Ball’ or, ‘Fashion Show’, to just about any social occasion, one witnesses a phenomenon of anthropological proportions: we become—forgive me—transFixred. Students who, a mere few minutes previously, were complaining of the ‘destitute’ student lifestyle, are suddenly willing to splash out upwards of £65 in the name of a few hours’ entertainment.

The optics of this arrangement aren’t great. Wasn’t it just last week that you appealed to your parents to cover your train fare home? Or that you informed your brother he was—most regrettably—going to have to forgo his birthday present another year? Say what you will about the benefits of socialising, but I can’t help but feel we need to reconsider our priorities here.

After all, it is not mere frivolity that leads us to splash our hard-earned cash so willingly. When it comes to the weekly groceries, I’ve never seen people run to the ‘Clearance’ section so quickly, nor complain so fervently when Meal Deals reached the extortionate new heights of £3.40. Hordes of beady eyes eke out every last benefit of the sacred Clubcard, while travel-weary pilgrims make their way to Aldi for the very best prices.

Nor do I consider these measures unfounded. As the dulcet tones of countless reporters have no doubt informed you, we are experiencing a cost-of-living crisis. Our generation may have been the first to pilot Fortnite, TikTok and Segways, but we’re also—according to current forecasts—the first to be worse off than our parents.

Given these circumstances, we have been left with two options. One, we follow the Aldi route: forget ‘Welly Ball’; Gumboot Party could be what Malt Wheaties are to Shreddies—a thrifty, but no less tasty, alternative. After all, who needs a venue when we’re already kitted out for the elements. A brief—not to mention free—walk to the beachfront would provide us with all the space we need, while the resident seagulls would offer a trailblazing soundtrack.

Our second option is rather less exciting, but is—I believe—the way forward: it’s time to drop the Ball.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think these well-marketed events are objectively bad. I’d argue the opposite, in fact; why do you think we can’t get enough of them? Nonetheless, with rent prices on the rise, and amidst (well-founded) calls to increase the university’s accessibility, our current patterns of behaviour are unsustainable.

It’s not as though we’d be missing out. Students at other universities seem to be having a perfectly good time, well-stocked as they are with pubs and clubs—which, incidentally, max out at an entrance fee of around £15. Our choices might be more limited, but there’s no denying that the options remain there. I’d even wager that—given anything goes in this eccentric town— you could don your black tie for an evening should you be that way inclined.

We wouldn’t even need to cast these events aside completely. Following the example of, say, Oxbridge (don’t get too excited, Sally), we could prioritise a smaller number of larger-scale events. That way, we could at least rest assured that ‘everyone’ would be attending when the event came round; no more last-minute flogging of tickets on Facebook when it transpires your crush won’t make it.

More to the point, wasn’t it Shakespeare (probably) who argued that less is more? I enjoy a black-tie affair as much as the next person, but it’s not exactly an itch that needs scratching twice a week. There’s a limit to how many sit-down meals I can enjoy before I start noticing a distinct lack of seasoning—and a certain watered-down quality—to my provisions. Event photos have become such a ubiquitous feature of my news feed that I frankly don’t bother to read the punny captions any more; whether you had a ‘reel-y good’ or ‘unbelieva-ball’ time, you’re unlikely to produce anything of Bard-like originality.

So, in the spirit of ‘new year, new me’, I am resolving to drop the Ball. My grades, finances, and sanity will surely be saved as a result—not to mention my familial relations: birthday presents might, for once, make it all-round.

Illustration: Marios Diakourtis