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Masculinity, Monster Munch and ‘Man Points’

The era of the Lad is upon us. What seemed like harmless banter in school has become a competitive race to see which man is the most macho. Between Beer Pong and the daily Frapes, the fresh fellas seem to find time to set themselves a series of challenges to earn the esteem of their fellow competitors and the crown of masculinity; the prize they crave the most… the ever elusive ‘Man Points.’

I have come to understand that where ‘Man Points’ are concerned no challenge is too absurd, no task too outrageous and no duel too disgusting. What starts as a relatively normal student evening (drinking, dancing, Dino’s), can be transformed into a barrage of ‘Man Challenges’ where every food substance on your shelf qualifies as the next testament of manliness and every female becomes the next prank prey. From Monster Munch to Wheetabix, from whole Satsumas to Hot Chilli sauce, the boys leave no stone unturned in their quest for ‘Man Status.’

Second home to the boys, the JCR plays host to the pranks and brawls of this laddish generation. A testosterone filled environment of over-competitive table football and devastating games of ‘tell her.’ These lads can often be seen roaming in packs, like hyenas looking for their next prey, scanning the environment for the next man to keg, tackle or shout some from of ridiculous faux abuse at.

And we, as fresh females, seem to have the front seats for these outrageous acts of ‘masculinity’. The boys thrive on entertaining the female population with their childish stunts, performing for our pleasure as much as to impress their fellow competitors. A night in halls is never ordinary: what starts as a simple night in front of the television can turn into a mass game of Tig around the 3 floors of Florence Boot or a competition to see if anybody can swig the ‘100% Pain’ chilli sauce and not cry or throw up. Or both.

Now there are things that we women will just never understand about men and this bizarre display of masculinity is certainly one of them. But quite frankly, it doesn’t matter. When I’m watching the latest lads doing their best chunder-monkey impression after their failed attempt at shotting French mustard, I don’t care why they’re doing it – it’s bloody funny.

Samantha Owen

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