So, neck deep in Hilary Term the onslaught has truly gotten underway. We have reregistered for the semester that will unapologetically force our hand to search deep and hopefully into our pockets, rifle through our wallets, purses, and handbags manically, and scour between couch cushions desperately. Following this, with grimaced features we may drain what remains from bank accounts almost sucked dry and on life support, and with angelic faces extract all that we can from our similarly drained parents.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, but these tactics simply have to be executed with military precision in order to survive the social highlights of the year. Sacrifices must be made; food rationed, only average weeknight jaunts curtailed, clothes unlaundered, Luas tickets forgone, and the wares of nearby Grafton Street admired only from afar. One by one the warnings shots are fired, the sirens begin to ring, and hushed gossip slowly spreads across the land. The posters slowly begin to wallpaper every noticeboard and door just as the mass text messages and emails are unleashed filling every inbox of the socially active student population. This is no Students’ Union election, no new club promotion, and no doomsday. No, this has much more significance. This is Ball season.
Tis indeed the season of extravagance, a season epitomised by the climax of students’ discretionary expenditure. Slowly but with mounting momentum the costs flood in, but worse, add up. The ticket, the tux, the dress, the hair, the nails, the taxi, the drinks, the drinks, the drinks, the room, the munchies, the queueing, the stresses. All conquerable, but let’s not forgot to factor in the probable if not inevitable ‘dramaaa’ á la Lauren, Heidi et al. It’s at this point I sincerely offer my condolences if I have somehow managed to detract from the glitz, the glamour, the romance, one may associate with their college ball.
With most sports clubs, societies and college communities worth their salt organizing a ball for their members, the list of such events appears seemingly endless. Bess, Medicine, Law, Science, Players, VDP, and let’s not forget Halls. With the ball market well and truly saturated, many students will find themselves with multiple invites, from organization and friend alike. In a perfect world of eternally full pockets, an invincible liver, and a perpetual appetite for ‘meat and two veg’ dinners, this writer would gladly attend all five Balls officially applicable to him. Unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately) such conditions do not exist and it bodes well to be selective and to maintain a discipline previously unwitnessed, perhaps attending one or two. But really, I wonder if such a feat can be achieved?
For the sake of argument let all Trinity students unify in agreement that the Trinity Ball is indeed of almost legendary status, truly marking us apart from any other university in the country (sorry UCD, and you were doing so well). To attend this event requires an immediate downpayment of €80 (undeniably a lot in student terms) before aforementioned additional costs are even thought about. In the case of the Trinity Ball, I would consider money to be well spent for a night likely guaranteeing the most savage banter, to put it in colloquial terms. Justifying the expense of this ball, not a bone in my body will allow to further justify buying a Bess, Mystery, or Hall ball ticket. Maybe it stems from empty pockets, or the fact that the Burlington or Santry don’t quite make it in my estimation as glamorous locations, begging to be visited and guaranteeing the best night out of my year.
There’s no denying, costs aside, that a great deal of pressure exists for students deciding to attend or not to attend the balls. When even stating my indifference to attending the Hall Ball to friends , the looks of dismay and the horrified gasps convinced me I had broken some sort of unwritten rule, committed a cardinal sin, social suicide. When mentioning unassumingly how I wasn’t planning on attending, I honestly have never seen eyes pop as wide as they have or gotten the feeling I should probably retire to some sort of life in a cave. Like all of you, not immune to peer pressure, I naturally and instantly reconsidered and the natural order returned. Two sleeps later and our good friend common sense had fought a winning battle, I remained at the very least fifty euro out of debt and unperturbed by the potential label of ‘dry’. Others not attending, have cited having few friends within Halls to share the night with as a reason, and it’s understandable, probably holding true for far more than those who care to admit.
Not attending really isn’t a big deal, and my Wednesday evening will most likely end up as enjoyable, if not more so than those who have indeed selected ‘Attending’ on the Facebook page. I know this is a simple choice that I won’t lose friends over, that means virtually nothing to you, that will be forgotten as quickly as the night itself, the morning after. It does mean something to me though, it shows me I can avoid the pressures of Ball season, and the peer pressure of the college social life that many presume fade away with transition from secondary school. I enjoy all the same things as you from a wild night out at a club, to the one or two at my local (and ending up getting wankered as the Facebook group dictates), or the Friday beers in the Pav. Above is why I won’t be attending, to all those who have previously convulsed in horror. And so there really isn’t much more to say except enjoy the Ball.
