The term ‘hyperindividualism’ has become somewhat of a buzzword in recent months, often deployed with snark when one’s friend dares to prioritise their problem sheet over your promised debrief. Yet, there seems to be no better place to observe the ruination of interdependence than within the walls of the University of Oxford. Despite the university’s attempts to facilitate community building through the collegiate system, the Oxford student identity hinges upon the ‘every man for himself’ mentality. Arguably, in order to keep your head above murky water, one must place one’s own life jacket on first. French philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville (1805–59) described individualism in terms of a kind of moderate selfishness that disposed humans to be concerned only with their own small circle of family and friends. Whether the prototypical Oxford student is even concerned with their small circle of family and friends is a matter of great debate. In fact, at times, it is tempting to diagnose the entire student body with a severe case of chronically eccentric egocentrism. However, the Oxford student’s practices of independence are by no means consistent. In times of great need, vulnerability, and essay crises, we lean on the trenchcoated shoulders of the collective.

In his 1992 book Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, Ulrich Beck states that: “community is dissolved in the acid bath of competition”. I hold strongly the belief that Beck would be hard pressed to find an environment quite as hydrochloric as the Upper Camera Reading Room. The Oxford student as a flawed individualist is plagued by the incessant urge to be more efficient, faster, better, best. The disease seeps deep into every limestone wall, seeking to infect each unsuspecting, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed new-comer. It is no wonder that hyperindividualism thrives in an environment that favours those so devoted to success. Close comrades become threats to survival, as the discovery that your best friend is applying to the same consultancy internship as you has the potential to burn bridges. Can we ever exist as a collective when, in 8-week bursts, our lives are dedicated to mercilessly battling for the prize of academic validation? 

The intense focus on personal success perpetuated by hyperindividualism creates immense pressure to perform. The uptight, self-important, brooding Oxford personality is only more insufferable when there is a deadline to be met. In a situation where the collective could assist one another in pursuit of similar goals, the flawed individualist retreats further and further into isolation. Even today, in the throes of neoliberalism, collaboration remains necessary to further one’s position on the societal ladder. An individual should find in another’s services the means by which they can improve their own position, and the other should in turn be able to obtain advantages from the individual’s services. This key principle acts as the backbone of society’s utility, but a recent epidemic in the local area threatens its very existence – selfishness.

It is no coincidence that the rise of hyperindividualism coincides with an increase in social isolation and loneliness. As individuals begin to prioritise personal goals over community bonds, these bonds weaken and snap. The prototypical Oxford student is no stranger to the phrase “I don’t owe anyone anything”.  The continual search for betterment often involves minimizing any obstacles along the way, regardless of whether those obstacles have a soul and beating heart. Time is precious and finite, and devoting it to another can feel as taxing as donating one’s life savings to charity. In dire need of the scoop on Oxford romance (or lack thereof), I turn to none other than the population seemingly most burdened by selfish, egotistical men – my best friends. Over coffee, I asked one of my close girlfriends: “How would the flawed individualist have sex?”, and was met with a sagacious chuckle. You see, the flawed individualist doesn’t simply have sex; they engage in a free market exchange of fleeting, empty validation for an even more fleeting exercise of the loins. In his 1924 book The Fable of the Bees,  Dutch philosopher Bernard Mandeville poses that society is only possible when men hide their ‘nakedness’, their ‘filthy appetites’ and ‘deformed desires’, from the world under the ‘specious cloke of sociableness’. But in the pursuit of effective stress-relief, the cloke of sociableness is not the only one thrown to the floor. The remaining Oxfordian singletons do not wish to sacrifice their treasured hours alone doomscrolling, and instead settle for a quicker, less demanding, and often more disappointing arrangement: casual shagging. This no-strings-attached approach also extends to those you don’t routinely see naked, but do acknowledge when you bump into them on High Street. Oxford friendships seem to thrive best when there is a mutual understanding that neither of you will put each other first. During exam season, only in matters of life and death does community top the list of priorities. As rare as these moments may be, within them it becomes blatant that no individual could survive here alone.In contrast with individualism, collectivism emphasizes the importance of social structures and harmony over individual needs. The collegiate system is perhaps the most obvious example of a social structure in the Oxford student’s life. JCR Welfare events, sports socials and DMCs in the BOP smoking area make up the snippets of community building in an otherwise sequestering institution. Frankly, when the collective do join as one, their rituals border on tribal. The consumption of unpleasant combinations of noxious substances to the point of vomiting has long been a focal point of male drinking culture, notably in initiation rituals (Workman, 2001). Not unlike in village cultures, alcohol consumption appears to be used to build solidarity and community. The consequences of such rituals are also handled in a positively collectivist fashion. When the runt of the litter has had one too many, the collective band together either in strength (by carrying them home) or in capital (by ordering an Uber to carry them home). Together, we must resist the seduction of the temptress hyperindependence and accept the hard truths; consider scratching someone else’s back before complaining that you itch.