It’s a Warwick thing: A different kind of culture

At Warwick, there’s a weird but comforting sense that everyone is, at most, one degree of separation away from each other. You’ve either danced next to them at POP!, seen them perform at Dirty Duck karaoke, or nearly got physical with them over a T-Bar pool table. Despite the university being home to nearly 30,000 students, there is a distinct feeling of community – and not the fake, branded kind. Instead, there is a bond made by deeply bizarre, shared experiences that bring people together in mutual affection for the university. The same affection you might have for an old, strict teacher, where, by the end of the year, you think: “They were alright, actually.”

Warwick’s identity lies in its unique communal rituals

Campus life is freeing: there’s something nice about having everything you need pretty much on your doorstep. Not having to constantly travel miles for essentials helps ease you into university life. You can talk to most people here without fear of judgement, and there’s a shared knowledge that to be here, you must be a bit of a neek. Things on campus that outsiders might see as cringe or strange, like salsa dancers in the piazza doing their thing, or always seeing your lecturer with a pint of Carling in the Dirty Duck, are just the Warwick way. It’s cultural – just not in the way the word normally implies.

Warwick’s identity lies in its unique communal rituals, from the Wednesday food trucks, which entice you, like temptresses, into financial ruin with their greasy allure, to inhaling the toxic stench of POP!, which somehow blends the smells of sweat, toilet, and faeces into one dense, magical fog. Hopping on the bus to Leamington for circling in what could generously be called eccentric attire, surrounded by others equally as curiously dressed, like some haunted travelling circus propelled by alcohol. Whether you take Film or Law, these experiences are universal, emphasising the ‘we’re all in the same boat’ type of feeling.

There is a flip side to all this interconnectedness. It’s easy to feel like you’re too late to the party. If you did Freshers’ wrong – maybe stayed in too much or spent too much time strenuously trying to bond with every character in your massive, new flat, even the instantly unlikeable ones – the Warwick web can feel less like a safety net and more an exclusive club that you’re awkwardly trying to enter mid-year. You don’t want to be the new one or, worse, creepily keen.

I must admit I am the person who regrets the way they managed Freshers’. I know I’m allowed to show up and it would be fine, but no one wants to be the odd one out who’s missed the initial bonding boat. Privacy can also be a problem, especially in larger flats. Sound travels and gossip travels faster. Secrets are difficult to keep when you share a kitchen the size of a big cupboard. I guess this isn’t necessarily a campus problem, but a people problem. Some forget that gossip has a different effect when it spreads around someone’s home rather than their school group.

The fact that the ins and outs are not widely known is what makes it feel more like ours – a kind of inside joke with 30,000 people

Leamington also deserves a mention here – a place that somehow straddles two dimensions. By day, Oliver Bonus warriors walk the streets, browsing the Cath Kidston-esque stores, but when the sun begins to set over the Georgian structures of this royal town, a herd of students in their clubbing best colonise the thoroughfare. They then descend to their battleground of choice, after prepping for this clubbing warfare with drinks from the reliable, yet sticky, Benny Satch Spoons. It’s not stereotypically cool – but that’s what makes it better. It’s distinct. It’s Warwick.

Just because Warwick’s culture isn’t an international media sensation, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The fact that the ins and outs are not widely known is what makes it feel more like ours – a kind of inside joke with 30,000 people. Warwick doesn’t have to mimic some glossy city-university blueprint – it thrives because it doesn’t. Its quirks aren’t polished or flashy or rooted in historical tradition, but they are genuine and connected with the students. Warwick isn’t trying to be cool. It’s trying to be Warwick – that’s what makes it special. Not everyone will get it, but it’s my place and I’m protective of it. If you don’t get it, that’s fine – go to Bristol.