Debauched? But I'm a second year!

What has Mademoiselle evolved on the dance floor?

This time last year, I was an innocent little fresher with nothing to worry about except what to wear that night. The classic dilemma of whether to display boobs, legs, or both was a constant problem, as was finding the perfect shoes for Ziggy’s (thick soled to avoid cutting my feet on broken class, solid enough to jump around in, yet gorgeous). Times were hard.

As first year progressed I experienced new things and shared my anecdotes with you all. I increasingly saw my role as a Yorker columnist as an excuse to do outrageous things: it was all in the name of journalism after all. I would blame messy nights on my persona, arguing that it was a part of my job to do ‘research’. Friends would comment how funny my articles were, people confessed they were avid readers, and I was happy. My night time adventures were essential to my success as Mademoiselle, therefore I had to continue.

As people started discovering my real identity, life became even easier. Guys tried to get with me because I was Mademoiselle. It seemed I had become some sort of trophy among men, not because I was hard to get with, rather because it meant their performance would go into my next article. Guys started pulling outrageous stunts so that I’d write them a good ‘review’. Casanova even had a go.

After a year inhabiting a controversial persona, however, I’ve had to deal with some harsh realities. Firstly, I’ve realised how difficult it is to separate a fantasy from reality. No matter how hard I tried to keep Mademoiselle in the clubs and away from my campus reputation, she has inevitably followed me. Doing something in the name of journalism for so long inevitably has repercussions. Not only do people who are aware of my persona expect certain things, a certain level of performance, I also have high expectations of myself. Everything I do has to be more daring than what came before. There is a constant sense of raising the bar to ensure my readers are satisfied.

Secondly, I have experienced the joy of criticism. People have abused my column repeatedly for being shallow and worthless. Ironically, the anonymous critics represent my most devoted readership. No matter how anti-Mademoiselle they are, they read my column every week. An offshoot of this was that I found myself enhancing my emphasis on my bad traits to encourage their criticism. It certainly secured my article a place in the ‘latest comment’ section on the homepage.

So is there still a role for Mademoiselle on the Yorker? Perhaps, but this role has evolved. As a busy second year student, I no longer have time to do ample ‘research’ to fuel my column. In fact, I no longer enjoy trolling the dance floor for candidates to influence my next story. What I can provide, however, is a more mature perspective on sex and the University of York. Just because Carrie Bradshaw grew up didn’t mean she had to stop sharing tips with millions of women across the world. While Mademoiselle is a tadpole compared to Carrie’s killer whale of an influence in the great big sea of life, the comparison is not redundant.

So Mademoiselle will continue. Are YOU ready?

Add Comment

You must log in to submit a comment.