Fresher’s week is here. You’ve been accepted into your 2nd choice halls of residence, your Dad is finally pretending to agree that sociology is a real subject, and your Mum has taken you shopping for an ironic cartoon duvet set that you’re immediately regretting insisting on. But wait, you’ve been so busy spending your last days at home hotboxing a Citreon Saxo in the Morrisons carpark that you’ve completely forgotten to invent an interesting new persona for yourself! Now you’ll barely have time for your first snakebite before you’re ostracised as the boring bastard you so clearly are. You spent your summer working part time in a pub? Well you should probably see if they’ve got any full time positions going Sonny Jim because that backstory just isn’t going to cut the mustard on campus. And no, going skiing every other February does not mean you’re into ‘extreme sports’!
Well, you can stop crying, and you might want to tape that acceptance letter back up, because here is an absolutely foolproof guide to whipping up a brand new university persona in just a day or two. A persona that will provide you with all the friends and cheap sex you could a quirky, personality-defining stick at.
Well Versed in the Arts = Well Used Private Parts
Whether they’re poets, painters or the old Spanish man who drew that insulting caricature of your nana on holiday, everyone knows artists get a lot of fanny. The best thing about reinventing yourself as an artist is that people only pretend to like art, so nobody’s ever going to ask to see or hear any of it. And if for some reason anyone does call your bluff, abstract impressionism and beat poetry means you can just put any old shit down on a piece of paper and call yourself an artist. The key things to remember are to act like you’re the only one in the world who can express your feelings (no, I mean truly express them, man), leave a 5 second pause before you answer any question and dress yourself by using what I like to call The Haribo Technique. So called because it throwing 6 half-sucked gummy sweets in random directions in a vintage shop and buying whatever they stick to. Statistically you’ll probably be shoe-less - this helps.
“Hello, I’m Mr. Rheus”
People love a mystery, that’s just a fact. ...or is it? I guess you’ll just have to keep reading to find out. And you will, because YOU LOVE A MYSTERY! It’s simple really, the myth is always more interesting than the truth. So, if somebody has an inclining that you have some secret life then you’ll quickly be on the tip of everyone’s tongue, and soon enough that simple metaphor with become a filthy reality. Create this facade of mysteriousness by wearing sunglasses 24 hours a day, making sure your fellow students catch you overtly avoiding CCTV cameras and lingering suspiciously in parks pretending you’re holding a gun in your pocket as if you’re about to meet somebody very dangerous. You should also answer all questions with slightly seedy puns or ambiguous non-answers like “You don’t want to know” and “If I told you I’d have to kill you.” Everyone with think you’re an international super spy...or a dangerous and relentless pervert. It really is a forked road this one, but either way you certainly won’t be considered boring.
Fuck Me I’m Famous
There’s a few certainties in this life; you will be taxed, you will die at some point, and you will drop your knickers for absolutely anyone you recognise from TV.
In a recent survey 87% of 10-16 year olds said their life ambition was to have bitchy comments made about what they’re wearing in the Mail Online sidebar. Why? Because that’s means that somebody somewhere thinks you’re famous, and being famous is the most important thing in the world. It also gets you laid more than a battery farm egg on a bungee cord, which explains why that one from Geordie Shore with the face like a roofer’s knee has a threesome every single fucking night while the rest of us are wanking over MTV Bass.
Now the problem with this persona is that if people are supposed to know who you are, then it figures they would know who you are. Now you could also say you were someone who isn’t really famous for their face but that only gives you authors, who very quickly become associated with essay deadlines at university, or the guy who does the voice on the X Factor, but that lie is going to unravel as soon as you open that squeaky trap of yours. No, your key to the year of a thousand pregnancy scares is by reservedly telling everybody you were the baby who played The Sun in The Teletubbies. The genius in this lies in the fact that every single baby looks like a clammy Alfred Hitchcock so nobody can refute it, it’s absolutely watertight. Unless you’re black. If you’re black just say you’re one of Daft Punk.
If Music be the Food of Love, Sext Me.
Everybody knows musicians rarely wake up without having somebody’s saliva on, in, or around their genitals. And as it stands at the moment; guitar bands are out, and dance music is in...or EDM as the Americans have decided to call it in a bid to ruin yet another thing we hold dear. But before they do, a DJ is still the most popular made-up persona for Freshers across the country, snatching the number one spot from ‘I’m in a band’ back in September 2007. This is mostly because swallowing a couple of Rizlas packed with MDMA is a lot easier than reading sheet music, and it’s a hell of lot easier to get your mitts on too. You have to do horrific things to find a couple of lines of crotchets or quavers in nowadays. It’s no coincidence that they call it a ‘score’.
A DJ is the fake persona equivalent of buying those birthday cards where they put a caption on a black and white photo from the ‘40s; you’ve not put any thought into it but it’s always a safe bet. If you wanted to go leftfield you could always call yourself ‘MC’, but unless you absolutely nail the irony everyone will think you’re a dick.