Metro Pulse/View from a Broad/The Big Bop

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It's hard to find an American equivalent of Oxford's 'bops"

by Tamar Wilner

Supermen and Batmen belly up to the bar alongside Cruella De Vil. Wonder Woman shares a laugh with Osama Bin Laden. The curvaceous blonde in a white rubber nurse's dress doesn't exactly fit in with the theme "Superheroes and Supervillians," but never mind. She's here in the college dining hall, getting repeatedly blinded by sweeping disco lights, for the same reason as everybody else: to find love and lust gyrating to Nelly and Madonna.

So I found myself, not 48 hours after my arrival in Oxford, reliving a moment I thought I'd left far behind. I first came to England more than four years ago, as an undergraduate embarking on a year of study abroad. Within one week of my arrival, I met Will, the man who would become my fiancé. We continued our relationship when I moved back to the states, and eventually we came to share an apartment in Knoxville.

Now I was moving to the U.K. a second time, frantically arranging for a wedding less than a month away, and preparing to enter a new phase of life. But no matter how often I protest that I'm not a kid anymore, being engaged to a grad student means I can't quite leave that college lifestyle behind. And here I was, at the quintessential event of an Oxford undergrad's life: a college "bop."

The phenomenon of bops requires some explanation, if only because American universities seem to lack an equivalent. Bops are like high school dances, only with stronger drinks and weaker zippers. Oxford students make a great show of bravado, squeezing into minuscule outfits, sporting animal ears or cross-dressing to take on such costume themes as "Pink and Fluffy or Black and Bondage." Then they teeter on the edges of the dance floor, congregating in nervous clumps until the Lager Effect lets them walk over and rub bodies with the cute boys and girls across the room.

To a UT student, bops might be the stuff of fantasy. Since the drinking age in Britain is 18, these college-sanctioned events feature an abundance of cheap liquor. But there's another reason bops wouldn't be feasible at Tennessee; strangely, these nights of debauchery also demonstrate a real sense of collegiate community. If Tennessee's drinking age were lowered to 18 today, it would still be impossible to hold a campus-wide party. You couldn't host thousands of Vols in a single room, unless that room was Thompson-Boling Arena, and then you'd just have a cheap disco and probable fire hazard. It wouldn't be a "college dance," because the vast numbers would make the function impersonal. On the other hand, the University of Oxford is divided into 30 colleges of about 500 people each. Colleges provide not only room and board, but also classes, libraries, and social centers. One can study just about any subject at any college. So students interact in heterogeneous, close-knit communities with a sense of pride and devotion to the general welfare.

At least, they usually do. At my old college of St. Edmund Hall, where my fiancé still studies, this year's litter of "freshers" has taken depravity to new lows. A stern reprimand on the college notice board announces the suspension of all future bops due to the discovery of "blood, vomit and feces" in common areas. So much for English civility.

While I can't support burdening custodial staff with the removal of potentially hazardous waste, the other excesses of Oxford students make a certain amount of sense. After all, it must be tough being the country's best and brightest, having to maintain that aura of respectability and intelligence. These storied walls don't easily let you forget you're in an altogether remarkable place, and even whizzing by on a bicycle one might catch the blinking eye of a tourist's camera. In some respects, Oxonians are just acting like young people. But they do seem to practice tomfoolery with unmatched determination.

Although Oxford draws more state-school students than ever before, it's still an institution balanced on the shoulders of privilege. Every incoming class includes a couple of Lords and Ladies; one student recently confided to me that his family owns only a "few" fields, maybe two or three. So getting pissed, showing skin, and making a nuisance of oneself is for some Oxford students a release from the prescribed aristocratic life, and maybe even a form of slumming.

But in the end, whatever your social background, it's all about pulling— English parlance for sexual and romantic liaisons. Bops hold all the promise of those muggy summer camp dances, where hesitant daytime flirtation might find an uninhibited outlet. With the added encouragement of 50p cups of vodka orange, even the shyest of students could parlay his affections into a stolen kiss, a roll in the sheets, or possibly something more enduring. As I tapped my feet on a recent Saturday night, a bit bored and slightly put off by all the face-sucking going on, I had to remind myself that bops once served a real purpose for me too. Will squeezed my hand, and we retreated from the blinding lights, silently thanking Madonna for her gift of love.