Last Saturday was the annual RAG ball and it being my first ball ever, what I’d been eagerly counting down till, since the start of term. Oxford balls have somewhat acquired an image in the popular imagination of fancily clad students in their white tie and white gloves, dancing stiffly to indie bands under circus acrobatics, and wandering into champagne-filled versions of Willy Wonka’s chocolate room to have their dignity sucked up like Augustus Gloop himself. However, I had relegated any visions of Gatsby-esque debauchery to my stock of daydreams after hearing of the price; even more so considering that the same amount could get a lifetime membership to the union, or just three terms’ worth of nights out to Park End. RAG ball though, unlike the pricy commemoration balls, didn’t require me to sacrifice my body to clinical trials in order to score a ticket. So how did RAG ball stack up to the preconceived image in my head? Less “rah”, and a lot more fun.
Walking up to the queue at 19.05, I found myself playing hopscotch with trains of fabric longer than Kate Middleton’s wedding dress, seeing more jaw-droppingly stunning dresses than could be found in Tatler’s Bystander spread. But the air of sophistication soon vanished, as students poured in thick and fast, revealing a ubiquitous primitive instinct to run to the nearest, vacant bar and down £75 worth of jagerbombs and potently blue cocktails, overlooking the champagne flutes waiting elegantly by the door. The décor inside of fairy lights and flower garlands, matched on the faces of girls sporting colourful flower face paint, stuck loosely to the theme of ‘Neverland’, whilst outside, the theme was relaxed to incorporate a bungee run, sumo wrestling, mini golf and even human hamster balls. Being prohibited from partaking in most of these activities by a dress that was a) floor length, b) of fragile material and c) not mine, I enjoyed the role of spectator, witnessing a few nip slips on the bungee run as well as the amusing deflation of a human hamster ball, leaving someone writhing about under a soggy and cold sheet of plastic.
For those not willing to crease their suits or lose a sequin on the bungee run, there was a casino inside where free chips and dutch courage created some bold moves in poker, and a beauty room where real fairy godmothers were on standby to offer hand massages and retouch hairdos post all the sweaty dancing to pop punk from the headline act, ‘Kids in Glass Houses’. There was also the ‘Enchanted cave’, which like a rabbit hole, I had accidentally stumbled into on my way to finding the loos, offering an intimate setting for some spellbinding acoustic performances and the chance to take a break from the more full-on festivities outside. Proceeding to find the loos, I was further distracted by a fancy dress box overflowing with neon wigs and feather boas, beckoning me into a room where there was a photo booth to capture the drunkenly fashioned look. Although there was no shortage of activities to try out, most of the night was spent gorging on all the delicious treats on offer- from burgers and noodles, to pink and blue candy floss, sparkly ice cream, toffee apples (which I had managed to shove into my handbag), mini doughnuts, and a cheeseboard that had magically appeared at the end of the night; all taste buds were catered for.
Contrary to the popular image of balls as ostentatious affairs, RAG is simply seven hours (if you can accomplish that) of good, unpretentious fun, where you can ditch the stilettos and drunkenly try your hand at mini golf, regress to your infancy with a game of Giant noughts and crosses, feast like a king and royally collapse in a shisha tent after a sweaty bump and grind in the silent disco.
Photography by Kate Hodkinson