A few weeks ago, my favorite website disappeared.
To anyone familiar with the site I’m about to describe, you may know that it is quite possibly one of the most bizarre pieces of online literature ever created. The website, which I’ll call “Oatmeal Talks,” has been my obsession ever since I first discovered it.
There is so much to criticize about “Oatmeal Talks” — to the point where trying to explain what it is to a normal person is near impossible — but the thing that I keep coming back to as a point of fascination is its primary conceit.
“Oatmeal Talks” was conceived last year by a UVM student who took issue with the school’s obsession with the “crunchy granola” subculture. They argued that UVM is negatively impacted by the implicit promotion of a singular identity — granola.
For those unfamiliar with the term, granola is essentially a subculture relegated to those who enjoy traditional outdoorsy activities like hiking, skiing or rock-climbing. These people, at least from what I’ve observed at UVM, also partake in more sustainability-focused practices and dress in an alternative fashion.
“Oatmeal Talks” was created out of a burning hatred for granola subculture and argued that its prevalence at UVM was a deliberate act of racial exclusion of those deemed inferior by the white granola hivemind — a claim backed by a single Reddit thread.
With my first year at UVM almost complete, I’ve been returning to this argument and wondering if the creator of “Oatmeal Talks” was at all correct. Does the persistence of granola culture at UVM create a worse school?
In short: no.
First off, “Oatmeal Talks” was not wrong about the persistence of granola or “crunchy” UVM culture. Every corner I turn, I see a Patagonia backpack, a group of students hauling their skis through buildings or rattling dorm hallways with massive ski boots.
My life has been transformed by the “crunchy granola” culture that “Oatmeal Talks” detests so greatly.
I should make myself clear: I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of granola culture. Much like the creator of “Oatmeal Talks,” I don’t ski, nor do I intend to start. Further, I don’t smoke, drink or find Patagonia appealing in any regard.
Yet I cannot help but be entranced by the “crunchy granola” aesthetic. Despite all of the things that I’ve stated above, there is a mysterious force that has been slowly trickling from the granola life into my own.
Before I arrived at UVM, I told a friend I met through ZeeMee — an app incoming freshmen use to meet future college classmates — that I didn’t intend on going on many hikes or walking that much at all, much to his dismay.
However, almost every weekend I’ve been here, I have gone on several miles-long walks that cannot be defined as anything but a hike.
As a part of my mandatory first-semester meal plan, every morning I’d wake up and eat breakfast at the nearest dining hall — Grundle — for a yogurt bowl with honey, fruit and granola.
Some may call me superstitious or looking for idols to worship. I know that “Oatmeal Talks” would say that I’ve fallen prey to the University’s trap, but I can’t say that I feel negatively about this infiltration.
Though I am not a part of this keystone culture, I appreciate how there is a stereotypical UVM “look,” and how the person associated with that “look” is, more likely than not, going to be a member of the crunchy granola mindset.
I chose to go to UVM, and as such, I want to get an experience as a student that I wouldn’t otherwise get at any other college, such as Arizona State University.
As I’m writing this piece, “Oatmeal Talks” is back up and running, all of its findings perfectly preserved. I don’t know if it creator temporarily lost the domain or if Marlene Tromp herself found it and sued for defamation.
There was one instance on the site where the creator called for a public apology from the University’s president, as it’s so cruel and unjust how so many people here like to ski.
As much as I love this website, a part of me is disappointed at its return. Perhaps, if it remained gone, that could be a sign that its creator had finally transferred to a school more fitting their interests, since they were so clearly miserable here.
While it’s still here, I will most certainly continue talking about it. Every aspect of the website fascinates me — from its admittedly great title to its cryptic formatting to its call for a public apology by Marlene Tromp for granola culture’s existence.
I do have to thank “Oatmeal Talks” for one thing: If one student wasn’t upset that their friends didn’t enjoy subpar hip-hop music, I don’t think I would be where I am now at the Cynic.
I definitely would not be writing an exposé on said student’s exercise in web design.
