‘Finding Your People’: What Does It Really Mean?

Why was I told to ‘find my people’ at Cambridge? On the surface, it’s a harmless and even supportive piece of advice — seek out those who understand you, who share your experiences, and who can make an intimidating institution feel a little more like home. But looking back, I can’t help but think it represents something deeper, more complex. To be told to find “people like you” in a space that traditionally wasn’t built for people like you subtly reinforces the idea that inclusion doesn’t mean transformation — it means something more akin to a segregated survival. It misses the broader purpose of social mobility, which shouldn’t just be about gaining entry, but about genuine belonging, empowerment, and long-term opportunity.

Cambridge has always represented a paradox — the struggle of getting in and the challenge of getting on^[1]. Statistics consistently show that students from more privileged socioeconomic backgrounds not only enter with advantage but leave with it enhanced — better jobs, stronger networks, more cultural fluency in elite spaces. In contrast, those from less advantaged backgrounds often face invisible barriers long after admission, navigating a system whose norms, values, and hidden rules were never made with them in mind.

This is where ‘social locations’ come in. A ‘social location’ refers to one’s position within the social structure — shaped by class, race, gender, and cultural capital — which in turn influences what kinds of people you interact with, the circles you operate in, what opportunities feel accessible, and how you’re perceived within elite institutions^[2]. These aren’t merely abstract forces; they manifest every day in the informal networks we build, the societies we join, the spaces we feel comfortable in – closely tied to Bourdieu’s notion of ‘habitus’^[3]. While friendships across class boundaries do happen at Cambridge, they often occur in spite of the structural divisions maintained by these social locations — not because the environment actively bridges them.

I was also struck by how starkly class seemed to express itself through sport. That’s where I had to go to ‘find my people’ in my first year. A football pitch felt familiar — comfortable. It provided a kind of social and cultural shorthand that required no translation: kicking a ball, rattling off names of Premier League cult heroes of the 2010s, laughing about missed sitters, before returning to 13th-century dining halls. It can appear a small, even insignificant thing, but also deeply symbolic of belonging — that moment when you realise you don’t have to perform another identity to exist here. Many would have thought sports like football, given the money and marketisation of the game would have moved beyond class, but in places like Cambridge it feels that that is not the case at all – a grassroots sport that feels just like that. This also underlined a deeper reality: that home at Cambridge was as much about the cultural familiarity of peers and that social connection as it was about physical place.

For students like me, imposter syndrome wasn’t even necessarily about academic ability — it’s social. It’s about recognising how others move so easily through spaces you are still learning to decode. The solidarity we find in ‘our people’ helps us survive and build confidence. But it can also create comfort zones that become invisible walls, keeping us tethered to safe spaces while others leap forward into the cultural and professional worlds we’ve barely glimpsed.

This is why social location isn’t just about the present — it shapes future trajectories. The networks formed in certain colleges, societies, or sports clubs often lead to internships, mentorships, or job offers. Some clubs function as gateways into high-status professions — media, law, finance. These aren’t always formal pipelines, but cultural and social ecosystems where trust, confidence, and ‘fit’ are cultivated. Football might help you get along — but rowing or debating might help someone else get ahead. The difference lies not in ability but in which rooms you’re in, which people you meet, and which opportunities you’re even aware of.

So while Cambridge is undoubtedly increasingly diverse in student background, it’s not equal in experience. What sports you play, what societies you feel welcome in, who you sit next to at formal dinners, and whether you feel comfortable attending them at all — these factors quietly coalesce to form very different post-university lives. And for many, especially those from underrepresented backgrounds, that life after Cambridge can feel disappointingly similar to the one before — in terms of status, access, and opportunity.

Of course, universities alone cannot solve deep societal inequalities. The role of closed-shop professions, unadvertised internships, and elite networks is undeniable. But Cambridge, as a world-renowned symbol of meritocratic promise, must do more than open its doors by working to smash the ‘class ceiling’^[4]. It must interrogate and dismantle the structural norms that privilege some students’ futures over others.

To ‘find your people’ should never be a euphemism for ‘know your place.’ For too many students, remembering where they came from becomes a barrier rather than a badge of pride. It can lead to ‘self-elimination’, where people quietly exclude themselves from opportunities they perceive as not for them^[5]. Cambridge has the power — and the responsibility — to ensure that students don’t just get in or get along, but that they are equipped to get on, on their own terms, with no expectation that they leave their working-class identity behind.

References

^[1] Friedman, S. and Laurison, D. (2019). Class Ceiling: Why it pays to be privileged. Bristol: Policy Press.

^[2] Ibid

^[3] Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Translated by R. Nice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

^[4] Friedman, S. and Laurison, D. (2019). Class Ceiling: Why it pays to be privileged. Bristol: Policy Press.

^[5] Bourdieu, P. and Passeron, J.C. (1990). Reproduction in education, society, and culture. Los Angeles: Sage.

Edited by Charlie Windle and Anusha Salhan