Once you’ve reached the lofty heights of fame and fortune afforded by a Varsity column, it can be understandably difficult to go back to the days where not everyone knew your name.

“Don’t forget your roots”, one of my friends warned me after I announced that I would be writing a column this term and, weeks into my decadent new life, I’m finally going to take heed of his words – will it be too late?

I would argue that my pre-Cambridge experiences have had a profound effect on my university life, and that the same could be said for any student, specifically in relation to queer identity. I believe that as a queer person where you’re from, and the sorts of views you’re surrounded with, can have an irrefutable impact on how you relate to your identity and queer culture in general. Although my bare-faced denial of the possibility that I might have come from the South West suggests otherwise, growing up there has had a tangible impact on my brand of ‘queerness’.

For many students, pre-Cambridge experiences are either significantly more or less queer than Cambridge. Those arriving from queer centres like Brighton, London or Manchester will be inevitably underwhelmed by Cambridge’s meagre offering. However, for lots of other students, myself included, the existence of any queer scene at all is (initially, at least), an exciting prospect. Cambridge may not quite compete with Soho for queer nightlife, but at least we manage to oppress our right-wing fuckboys to some degree of success, and even find time for the occasional celebratory boogie in between.

"Being from an area with such low LGBT+ visibility has definitely given me a bit of a ‘only gay in the village’ mentality"

It is obvious that whether you’re from East London or the South East will have a huge impact on how you relate to your queer identity. And while this is only one of many factors, it definitely contributes to the fact that for some ‘coming out’ is a pleasant dinnertime conversation, and for others it is more akin to crashing a truck into your grandma’s house. What makes location particularly important is that in the absence of support from immediate family, some can find support in their local queer community, where others simply do not have this option.

While all queer identity is surely a kind of protest against mainstream society, and everyone experiences difficulties as a result of their queer identity, at times I feel like my conception of myself is unavoidably different from that of people who have grown up in more liberal or accepting communities. I would admit that I do have an undeniable propensity to chat shit about the South, but I would also concede that, in reality, it wasn’t too bad. There are certainly swathes of people who have it far, far worse. However, being from an area with such low LGBT+ visibility has definitely given me a bit of a ‘only gay in the village’ mentality.

Coming from a school where it was widely believed that the only other self-identifying LGBT+ girl: “just wanted the badge”, there is certainly a ‘fuck you’ element to my queer identity. Maybe I’m being a bit harsh on the boys of Bath: perhaps having noticed my lovely lesbian badge they felt left out and “just wanted the badge” of being an objectionable fuckwit. Nonetheless, their idiocy has made me the queer I am today.

I saw the light and it was queer

It is important to remember not to belittle Cambridge’s queer scene, even if you do hail from a heaving metropolis of homoeroticism. What might seem underwhelming to one student is, for another, the queerest space they have ever been in by a long shot. Our nightlife might leave plenty to be desired, but even the amount of queer discussions that go on is remarkable. The fact that we can have events like a discussion group for queer women and non-binary students, where the entry level is solely a desire to discuss queer issues, is amazing, and allows engaging and inclusive discussions.  

Queer identity as a whole is certainly linked to struggle and difficulty, and yet it is interesting that for each individual the extent of this can vary so much. I’m not being accusatory, nor am I trying to ‘one-up’ the students who have come from queerer parts of the country, or from very liberal families, but it seems important to remember these influences. Growing up in a non-queer environment doesn’t make you a less good queer, but it just makes you a different queer. Whether you were part of a wider community or shouting into the void can have a huge impact – never mind whether the void shouts back or not.

That being said, it is nice that I can now look back and recognise that some of the parts of my queer identity that I feel most proud of have come as a result of what might be called, at best, ignorance. It’s more obvious that a queer environment would help nurture someone’s queer identity, but I’m just one of the many people for whom a non-queer background has provided an equally sturdy foundation. While watching the ADC’s recent production of The House of Bernarda Alba, I’m proud to say that I rediscovered my roots in the following relatable line:

I’ll stand there like flint and dash them all to pieces

Now that is a queer aesthetic that I can get on-board with