Have you ever made a joke that lead-ballooned? Said something that killed the atmosphere? Had a table of people suddenly lose all their conversational skills?
Cue my Wednesday night. At a nameless college, at the nameless dinner table of a man whose combined years in his career are older than me. Surrounded by peers, Romans, and countrymen. Except I was blatantly giving myself away. I had massively overdressed for dinner, the haircut I gave myself last night was too long in the back, and I had been consistently using a short ‘a’ in my speeches. These faux-pas all led to my ultimate crescendo of fallen opinion – the moment when I stated that I intended to work after my degree.
Not so controversial, I think we can all agree. However, when a powerful man asks a table of finalists what their “next steps” are after university, you may be interested to know that five out of six will inevitably say “Masters”. And maybe I would too – if I could even remotely afford it. But it was this damning quip, this misjudgement of tone, which led me to a moment so awkward I hid in their (incredibly tasteful) bog for a good five minutes. The offending joke, and I paraphrase myself, was something along the lines of:
“I couldn’t afford a Master’s in fifteen years, it’s gotta be the job market for me.”
Call me sensitive, but I swear the legs on my chair dropped a few inches. My “seat at the table” had sunk down to chin level. The remark was skirted over, garnered some polite laughter, and then the dinner carried on. Not all bad, is it? Until the topic returned to postgraduate life, and I experienced a distinct sinking feeling as the consensus of reasons for doing a Master’s was that it was “the wise choice”. With every discussion of each individual’s plan, it became increasingly clear that not only was it the “wise choice”, but my esteemed dining partners saw it to be the only choice worthwhile. A sense of pity and sore-thumb-esque embarrassment washed over me. Now I had done it, marked myself out as a typical penniless Yorkshire lass. Except – I am an angry one.
I know this is not the most shocking conversation to come out of Oxford this year, or even this week — probably even in the last hour — however, I feel it necessary that I plead with the reader not to shoot the messenger here. I feel that whilst I am the owner of my feelings, these ones may upset some, and seem incredulous to others. Disclaimer noted: I was angry. Angry that, despite only turning up to eat my bloody dinner, I had somehow gained a simultaneous audience of the superior and of the pitiful – my career was being mourned before I’d even sat my exams. Which is ridiculous, would you not say? After a cursory glance at the stats, 56% of graduates are in full-time work after their course. I wouldn’t be too eager to call that rare. However, I believe there is a burgeoning attitude at this university that if you do not seek a postgraduate qualification after graduating, you have wasted your time here. I even saw a LinkedIn post recently, where a girl I knew celebrated her graduation with the phrase “But it won’t mean anything unless I put it to good use”, before going on to provide the details of her Master’s course. I’m just going to say it – there is a stigma and there is shame directed at those who go straight out into work.
Nonetheless, I know my decision isn’t the wrong one – nor is it a decision, nor can I even call it solely mine. Working immediately is not even remotely unique, and if you think it is, I despair of you. Countless students graduate from Oxford every year and go straight into the big bad working world. Countless students do it because they get an amazing offer, and many of us do it because we have no choice. Now, I’m not saying I’m hard up – I grew up incredibly poor (Dad stealing bog roll from Tesco poor), but to use the infinite wisdom of a certain Conservative party leader who became working-class by working at a McDonald’s, I have recently “become middle-class” (even if the Northern shoulder-chip remains slightly intact). I can afford to live, is what I’m saying. I tutor, and I’m lucky enough that my dad gives me what he can, but those unreliable modes of income can only continue for so long. And so they should! Not to go a little bit Thatcher (evil that she was) (I’m really going concerningly hard on the Tory references right now), but there is absolutely no reason for any able twenty-one-year-old to qualm about having to make their own way. Nor is there any reason for an able twenty-one-year-old to have to question if they are “wasting their degree” (a REAL and ASTONISHING thing that has been said to me on multiple occasions), just because they are not prepared to put themselves £20,000 out further into the hole for slightly better job prospects in a year. Maybe the world of work will shock me into submission, but I figure if I work my backside off, I’ll have the same benefits that a Master’s would have offered me in that same year (provided I lock in).
I have very well-meaning friends and acquaintances who have tried to find me loopholes. “Take a year out and work part-time!” Can’t afford it. “Live with family and study online!” They can’t afford it. “Oh I’m so sorry, that’s awful. What a shame, to have it all wasted like that.” Hahaha… okay!! Thanks very much for those inspiring words, Old Bean.
The thing is, I don’t need a loophole. What I plan to do and what I’m sure many of you readers plan to do is not shameful. It’s not a waste. It’s not second-best. And it costs a hell of a lot less. Oxford, you crotchety, old-fashioned city – stop making career-focused women hide in your bathrooms because you ridiculed their career options. Oxford, stop pitying your friends because they don’t have an ISA. And really, the phrase “which I know is a privilege…” does not hold the weight you think it does, and it really doesn’t reassure me, and it very much so, indubitably so, does not endear you to me. Keep your privilege to yourself, use it if you have to, but please keep me and my prospects out of it.