At my unsuccessful Oxford interview the don of doom sat me right next to a very hot fire and refused to look at me throughout the whole sorry experience. I remember a flash of spectacles and a malevolent bald skull in profile, nestled betwixt the wings of a leather armchair. I was relieved not to get in so I could go to York and be sick in Vanbrugh bar
Oxford was one of the 5 british universities I applied to. Unsuccessfully of course. At the same time a friend of mine (also austro-hungarian german) actually got admitted. I still see him frequently. If I compare what Oxford left him, to what York left me (and that includes the Metropolitan :) I am positively pleased to have been rejected. At the time I couldn't care less, and I really have no idea who of my York friends were Oxbridge rejects (well, not true, I know now that Rowan's one).
I didn't know you were one either, but then you always did seem indefinably older when it came to things like this. Maybe it helped to be not soaked in the English mythology about Oxbridge? You probably had a much more level-headed sense of there being many, many desirable unis around Europe and the Anglosphere.
I don’t really know what to say about this. I’m very proud of my daughter’s best friend for having graduated from Oxford this year but she really didn’t have a great time for the three years she was there and it was incredibly stressful for both her and her mother. My own daughter would have crumbled. I can say this without hesitation. She is the least resilient person I know and just functioning at any university is a struggle. I would rather she were safe and supported elsewhere.
I loved every moment of being at university. I never had Oxbridge aspirations but I enjoyed the act of studying and having failed to get the A that I needed was actually grateful for my spot. I think it’s always an adjustment to come from a small pond and realise just how many really smart people there are in the world. I never aspired to a First for that reason and was in no way disappointed with my results.
University is about education first and foremost but I also think it’s about getting to practise adulthood before things get really serious. There are things I wish I could change about this time, but not in relation to my studies.
Oxford is undoubtedly hard work and not for everyone. That’s why it’s so hard to get in! It’s a tremendous achievement to be able to study there and I can see why you are so proud of your children as it speaks to both character and intelligence. I think we have to resist the attitude of playing this fact down because we don’t like elitism, but that doesn’t mean that we should feel that study elsewhere is not worthwhile.
Oh absolutely. Thanks for being so generous Lou! This piece really was a bit of cathartic vomiting, trying to work through all the silly, muddle-headed shit that I saddled myself with 30 years ago. I really wish I’d been more level headed about the great privilege of going to university at all (for free!), but apparently that was totally beyond me…
I didn't apply for Oxbridge - but I got two separate places to study medicine and psychology at UCL. But I was so scared of failing I didn't do any work at all for my A levels. However it was the mid-90s and so I called up the admissions tutor at Leeds and went there with my clubs clutch of Cs and Ds. It seems you could do that back then. My A level failure was a good thing for me because I realised then that I was the only responsible for it. My daughter applied to Cambridge this year and had an interview for a highly competitive humanities course. We are waiting their verdict. I can't help but worry that my desire for her to succeed there is somewhat vicarious. She's very level headed about the prospect of rejection and says she doesn't want to go there anyway. But me - I want her to succeed so at least I can say I produced a successful daughter. Ha - this is a terrible confession that I'll only make anonymously!
Don't worry, this is a safe space for terrible confessions. And I'm sure vicarious parental competitiveness is entirely normal! I remember the wait for the Oxford decisions, I think it came close to the most pointlessly stressed I've ever been (in that there was absolutely zilch I could do about any of it). Hang on in there and GOOD LUCK, and if she ends up somewhere else I'm sure she'll do brilliantly.
Also, not knowing what you look like, is it possible that you are quite attractive?
It took me decades to understand just how perceptive and intelligent I am because I also was born with other attributes that allows one, in such a culture as ours where a snotty don feels entitled to eviscerating peons, to skate on one's looks than risk evisceration.
Toss in a traumatic, terrifying childhood, and one's looks mean the actual energy needed to build a life is more easily spent on an internal life and hypervigilism because just enough gets given to one's lovely looking self to survive.
It's a theory. 💁♀️
Also, who gives a shit? That life clearly wasn't for you, but what a mum you must be!
The dynamics of visible status versus internal chaos are so interesting. I feel like being good looking ended up being quite a malign force in my life, although it undoubtedly also gave me free passes and unearned good vibes. Thank god for doughy middle age.
Actually, I have been thinking about this. The doughy part, in particular. When I went through menopause I gained about 20 pounds and didn't deal with it well at all. Why? Because, goddammit, I was used to looking a certain way and the world's accommodations that go with that. But I went through so. much. shit. a few years later, and didn't have time not to be kind and accepting of myself. And, for whatever reason, the 20 pound plus another 10 came off when I wasn't even looking. And I couldn't have cared less when it did and still don't. So, maybe, it's that we just grow up and find ourselves more preoccupied with our sons (I have one, too) than ourselves.
I sort of have to accept myself these days because nothing physical is going to change radically for the better at this point, and I have no intention of being miserable for however long I have in front of me. But I do also find it truly liberating to be free of men's interest - or, more accurately, to be free of the impulse to *seek* men's interest, or have it be any kind of factor in the way I behave. I feel like I've finally got the ability - which some women have at a much younger age - to just interact with men as people, rather than potential sources of sexual patronage. And funnily enough it makes me much more forgiving towards them, and interested in them as people, than I was before...
At my unsuccessful Oxford interview the don of doom sat me right next to a very hot fire and refused to look at me throughout the whole sorry experience. I remember a flash of spectacles and a malevolent bald skull in profile, nestled betwixt the wings of a leather armchair. I was relieved not to get in so I could go to York and be sick in Vanbrugh bar
Genuinely laughing at ‘refused to look at me’
Oxford was one of the 5 british universities I applied to. Unsuccessfully of course. At the same time a friend of mine (also austro-hungarian german) actually got admitted. I still see him frequently. If I compare what Oxford left him, to what York left me (and that includes the Metropolitan :) I am positively pleased to have been rejected. At the time I couldn't care less, and I really have no idea who of my York friends were Oxbridge rejects (well, not true, I know now that Rowan's one).
I didn't know you were one either, but then you always did seem indefinably older when it came to things like this. Maybe it helped to be not soaked in the English mythology about Oxbridge? You probably had a much more level-headed sense of there being many, many desirable unis around Europe and the Anglosphere.
I don’t really know what to say about this. I’m very proud of my daughter’s best friend for having graduated from Oxford this year but she really didn’t have a great time for the three years she was there and it was incredibly stressful for both her and her mother. My own daughter would have crumbled. I can say this without hesitation. She is the least resilient person I know and just functioning at any university is a struggle. I would rather she were safe and supported elsewhere.
I loved every moment of being at university. I never had Oxbridge aspirations but I enjoyed the act of studying and having failed to get the A that I needed was actually grateful for my spot. I think it’s always an adjustment to come from a small pond and realise just how many really smart people there are in the world. I never aspired to a First for that reason and was in no way disappointed with my results.
University is about education first and foremost but I also think it’s about getting to practise adulthood before things get really serious. There are things I wish I could change about this time, but not in relation to my studies.
Oxford is undoubtedly hard work and not for everyone. That’s why it’s so hard to get in! It’s a tremendous achievement to be able to study there and I can see why you are so proud of your children as it speaks to both character and intelligence. I think we have to resist the attitude of playing this fact down because we don’t like elitism, but that doesn’t mean that we should feel that study elsewhere is not worthwhile.
Oh absolutely. Thanks for being so generous Lou! This piece really was a bit of cathartic vomiting, trying to work through all the silly, muddle-headed shit that I saddled myself with 30 years ago. I really wish I’d been more level headed about the great privilege of going to university at all (for free!), but apparently that was totally beyond me…
You were young. I think you need to give yourself a break!
I didn't apply for Oxbridge - but I got two separate places to study medicine and psychology at UCL. But I was so scared of failing I didn't do any work at all for my A levels. However it was the mid-90s and so I called up the admissions tutor at Leeds and went there with my clubs clutch of Cs and Ds. It seems you could do that back then. My A level failure was a good thing for me because I realised then that I was the only responsible for it. My daughter applied to Cambridge this year and had an interview for a highly competitive humanities course. We are waiting their verdict. I can't help but worry that my desire for her to succeed there is somewhat vicarious. She's very level headed about the prospect of rejection and says she doesn't want to go there anyway. But me - I want her to succeed so at least I can say I produced a successful daughter. Ha - this is a terrible confession that I'll only make anonymously!
Don't worry, this is a safe space for terrible confessions. And I'm sure vicarious parental competitiveness is entirely normal! I remember the wait for the Oxford decisions, I think it came close to the most pointlessly stressed I've ever been (in that there was absolutely zilch I could do about any of it). Hang on in there and GOOD LUCK, and if she ends up somewhere else I'm sure she'll do brilliantly.
Sing it, Sister.
Also, not knowing what you look like, is it possible that you are quite attractive?
It took me decades to understand just how perceptive and intelligent I am because I also was born with other attributes that allows one, in such a culture as ours where a snotty don feels entitled to eviscerating peons, to skate on one's looks than risk evisceration.
Toss in a traumatic, terrifying childhood, and one's looks mean the actual energy needed to build a life is more easily spent on an internal life and hypervigilism because just enough gets given to one's lovely looking self to survive.
It's a theory. 💁♀️
Also, who gives a shit? That life clearly wasn't for you, but what a mum you must be!
The dynamics of visible status versus internal chaos are so interesting. I feel like being good looking ended up being quite a malign force in my life, although it undoubtedly also gave me free passes and unearned good vibes. Thank god for doughy middle age.
Exactly 💯
Actually, I have been thinking about this. The doughy part, in particular. When I went through menopause I gained about 20 pounds and didn't deal with it well at all. Why? Because, goddammit, I was used to looking a certain way and the world's accommodations that go with that. But I went through so. much. shit. a few years later, and didn't have time not to be kind and accepting of myself. And, for whatever reason, the 20 pound plus another 10 came off when I wasn't even looking. And I couldn't have cared less when it did and still don't. So, maybe, it's that we just grow up and find ourselves more preoccupied with our sons (I have one, too) than ourselves.
I sort of have to accept myself these days because nothing physical is going to change radically for the better at this point, and I have no intention of being miserable for however long I have in front of me. But I do also find it truly liberating to be free of men's interest - or, more accurately, to be free of the impulse to *seek* men's interest, or have it be any kind of factor in the way I behave. I feel like I've finally got the ability - which some women have at a much younger age - to just interact with men as people, rather than potential sources of sexual patronage. And funnily enough it makes me much more forgiving towards them, and interested in them as people, than I was before...