Slops. Average Cambridge vernacular or just Downing lingo, who knows? For those out of the loop, it’s our term of endearment for dinner in hall. But what’s more important is what that time means for us. Aside from some of the best college food in Cambridge (maybe I’m biased), slops is where we reconnect. In an exam season that has everyone holed up in the library for hours on end, dinner is one of the few places that is keeping us sane.

Not long after settling in, I was sent a link to join the renowned ‘slops leaderboard’. Initially, I – along with everyone else – thought of it as light-hearted competition. In my defence, a leaderboard barely cracks the list of strange things I’ve been invited to join since arriving. I never interacted with it, but I’ve heard about it often enough in conversation, in praise, but more often in disbelief.

After finally pressing on that link, the appeal became even less evident. For the people at the top, that place on the leaderboard didn’t seem to be just a number. For them, it became a status symbol – a subtle flex that they could laugh about. For me, it felt absurd.

“When the consequence is alienation from a silent hierarchy, then intentions start to feel secondary”

Seeing people spend almost twice the value of our largest meal plan within weeks seemed hard to justify. For further context, our college also offers a £5 meal deal in the Butterfield Cafe on top of slops. For some, it rubs them the wrong way to see people spend double that price on a single meal without a second thought. And sure, maybe you’re just hungry – or not exactly a culinary talent – I’m also guilty of sometimes sacrificing a deal for my iced vanilla matcha. My problem isn’t the spending per se, but more so the glorification and then the smugness that follows.

When we’re spending upwards of four figures on food every term, not only to brag about it but to actively compete with one another, it starts to normalise viewing money as a new high score that not everyone can so easily keep up with. Paradoxically, it’s so blatantly tone-deaf that it goes unnoticed. It leaves the same weird taste in your mouth after hearing ‘day or boarding? ’ or ‘how many May Balls are you going to?' – knowing that you’re awkwardly excluded from answers that were never on the table for you.

“It’s becoming a reminder of how we’ve all ended up in the same place but some of us are still worlds apart from each other”

So, I have to ask the question of what exactly college culture values. I’ll be the first to rave about how incredible my college is. It’s not just the superficial things like the aesthetics or the accommodation, but also the people and how quickly it’s become my home away from home. I’ve seen the best parts of it already, and it’s more than enough to make me sure of how much I love it. But it’s the undertones in certain comments and practices like these that make me wonder how the same community that’s embraced me can quietly exclude others. It doesn’t seem worth compromising certain values in order to earn an extra nod in d-bar, or to be rated highly by people you may never speak to again after university. I don’t believe there’s malicious intent behind it, but when the consequence is alienation from a silent hierarchy, then intentions start to feel secondary.

Class divide is already pervasive at Cambridge – especially as a university that is often criticised for representing everything elitist about British society and its education system. From stereotypes about degrees to how respected colleges are, judgements about class are inescapable. It’s observed in the way you dress, the way you talk, and now, in how much food you eat.

Slops have become a currency. If you want to know how much money someone comes from, the leaderboard becomes a cross-check. Instead of just dinner, it’s becoming a reminder of how we’ve all ended up in the same place but some of us are still worlds apart from each other. For me, the hall is our place to see friends and engage in some banter over good food. Let’s not ruin it by turning it into another arena for insufferable performativity.