When you find yourself in the “heart” of the St Andrews social scene – whether accidentally or on purpose – you can’t help but notice the fact that you’ve social climbed your way there. First year you had never heard of Welly Ball, and now you have a table with your name on it. Second year you scrambled for a Fight Night ticket – third year you found yourself in the ring. While these developments are fun and exciting, they also force you into closed corridors with some of the poshest, rudest, most evil people you have ever met. As you look around at your latest black-tie dinner, you find yourself wondering: Am I just like them? 

Before delving into this article that will, unfortunately, not make you feel better about yourself, let’s discuss “them”. I do not believe that everyone in Kate Kennedy or people with a house in Verbier are inherently immoral; in fact, I know people who fall into both of these categories whom I like very much. There is, however, a catch that often comes with growing up surrounded by sums of money: you are taught – whether explicitly or implicitly – to value the wealth that provides you with material things and experiences over moral values, intellectual pursuits, and genuine kindness. When you come from an affluent family, it can be difficult to detach yourself from the idea that a “good life” necessitates wealth. When faced with difficult life decisions – such as whether to become a corporate or human rights lawyer – the wealthy kid is likely to choose the former. Particularly for rich kids who grow up in unstable homes, money becomes an anchor by which their happiness is attached.  

All of that to say the ‘poshest, rudest, most evil people you have ever met’ are often, in some sense, not completely at fault for their attitude and actions that we deem immoral. This is not to excuse wrong behavior, but simply to acknowledge that the individual cannot control their upbringing. However, each of us – poor or rich – is gifted with agency and, though sometimes clouded, the ability to deduce right from wrong.  

Last semester, I spent an evening as a date at one of the many male secret society dinners, which was – I hate to say it – a great time. When I first arrived, somewhat sober, I recognized one of the men as the guy who my friend’s friend had accused of sexual abuse. Immediately feeling sick, I avoided him; I knew I would never, ever speak to someone who did something so evil, especially considering I dated someone who was sexually abusive. 

Three hours later, I – hammered but self-aware – found myself hugging him and talking to him like I knew nothing about the things he had done. I want to say I couldn’t stop myself, that I was just too drunk to remember who he was, but I can’t. The truth is, I was so caught up in this crowd of people where I was the social “other” that I purposely played along; with full intention I abandoned every value, every woman, I stood for, choosing to give myself over to the immorality the event required. The next day, I resumed chatting shit with my friends about social climbers and the “evil” people in St Andrews, fully aware that after last night, I had become one of them.  

The worst part? I didn’t even feel that bad about it. 

I want to say that when I returned to St Andrews this semester, I had a new outlook on life that rendered me a completely different, kind, care-free person who didn’t need to feel validated by the social scene of St Andrews. In reality, I came back almost hungrier than before, wanting every black-tie dinner, every table, every VIP ticket. Despite the moral compass that my family worked so hard to instill in me, I convinced myself that money and status would make me happy. It was like I had gotten a taste of English poshness and east-coast elitism and couldn’t go back to what life was like before; but this taste comes with a price.

I began to notice that not only were more and more people around me social climbers who chose affluence over morality, but that I was slowly transforming into them. And, for the first time, I understood how they – how I – became the people I once detested: there we all were together, making the same wrong decisions, fueled by a skewed sense of purpose. On nights out, I would catch myself choosing people to talk to based on which events they could get me a table at. In the library, I would purposely sit near these same people, determined to prove to myself that I wasn’t a social “other”. When talking to them, I would play up every posh, rude, conservative part of myself in an effort to show them I fit in, that I was just like them. Like at the secret society dinner, I knew deep down that it was morally wrong, embarrassing, and pathetic. Yet, I couldn’t stop.

And to be honest, as I write this today, I still can’t really stop. I’ve gotten much better: I am more intentional about my social decisions and often surround myself with people I genuinely enjoy. However, the St Andrews social scene is an addicting cycle that is, unfortunately, extremely fun and exciting. I don’t have a solution to the problem – I wish I did. All I can say is that if you find yourself constantly surrounded by social climbers who you find posh, rude, and a little evil, there’s a good chance they’re thinking the same thing about you.