When McGill was named the top university in Canada in this year’s QS World University Rankings released this June, the reaction from students was a mix of pride, shrugs, and a few smug grins. For some, it was validation — proof that the long nights at the Redpath library and the endless MyCourses submissions really are part of a top-tier institution. For others, it was just another label, another addition to McGill students’ already confident ego .
The so-called “McGillian complex” isn’t new. Ask anyone who has spent time at McGill, and they’ll likely tell you about the way students compare themselves — sometimes jokingly, sometimes seriously — to those at the University of Toronto, the University of British Columbia (UBC), and even our anglophone neighbours at Concordia. A new ranking only gives that culture further validation. A student, who chose to remain anonymous, said, “We already thought we were number one. Now it’s official.”
Rivalries between universities are nothing unusual. Harvard and Yale, Oxford and Cambridge; students have always measured their schools against others. But at McGill, that competitiveness sometimes slips into something sharper. Comments like, “At least we didn’t end up at Concordia” or, “UBC is basically just McGill with better weather” aren’t hard to overhear in downtown Montreal cafés.
Platforms like Spotted: McGill show just how baked-in rivalry is to student culture. The page is essentially an anonymous confessions account on Instagram, with over 21,000 followers and more than 1,200 posts that capture the tone of campus life. Anonymous posts like, “Concordians infiltrating the confessions form yet again…” spark comments that are funny, casual, and full of that playful tension that makes the “McGillian complex” so visible in social media banter.
It isn’t only students who keep this rivalry alive. The university itself profits from it. Walk into the McGill Campus Store and you’ll find items that play up the hierarchy between schools like the McGill Pride Shot Glass, which ranks universities as if they were measurement lines, with Concordia at the bottom and McGill proudly at the top. By selling merchandise that turns competition into a joke, the administration reinforces the very culture of superiority that students are accused of carrying.
The new ranking risks amplifying these attitudes. While some students see the banter as harmless, others point out that these jokes feed into an elitist culture. Concordia, for example, has a long history of excellence in creative fields, arts, and community-based programs — opportunities that McGill doesn’t necessarily have, such as a dedicated Visual Arts program. Reducing the success of a university to a punchline overlooks the complexity of the different factors that make universities thrive.
The real question is how should McGill students respond to this recognition. Pride doesn’t have to equal arrogance. Being proud of our institution’s reputation can coexist with respect for other schools. Yet too often, the McGill identity has leaned on dismissing others rather than building its own community culture.
One student, who wishes to remain anonymous, put it simply: “It’s nice to be at the top, but it feels like nothing on campus will change. We still struggle with the same issues as before.” Another noted that the ranking made them more conscious of how McGill is perceived outside Quebec: “It’s good for the brand, but it shouldn’t make us forget the cracks in the foundation.”
At the same time, it’s worth asking what exactly this number one title really means. Rankings like QS are based on metrics such as academic reputation, faculty-to-student ratios, and international outlook. They make for glossy headlines, but they don’t magically fix the problems students within universities face every day. Tuition isn’t going down — it’s actually more than doubled in Canada since 2006. The shortage of advising appointments isn’t shrinking. The never-ending line at Redpath Café certainly isn’t disappearing.
What the ranking does change is perception, both externally and internally. Internationally, McGill now has another stamp of credibility to attract students and funding. On campus, it shapes how students talk about themselves, their degrees, and their job prospects. But perception alone doesn’t improve the lived experience of being here. That tension, between reputation and reality, is part of what fuels the “McGillian complex.”
So, what should McGill pride actually look like? Rankings like QS are based on metrics such as academic reputation, faculty-to- student ratios, and international outlook. They make for glossy headlines, but they don’t magically fix the problems students face every day. Tuition isn’t going down — it’s actually more than doubled in Canada since 2006. The shortage of advising appointments isn’t shrinking. The never-ending line at Redpath Café (and maybe Gerts) certainly isn’t disappearing.
Being ranked number one doesn’t guarantee that we’ll act like the number one community. It doesn’t erase elitism in student culture or solve inequities in access to education. What it does offer is a chance to ask ourselves: are we living up to the title, or are we just polishing the ego of the “McGillian complex”?
If McGill students are serious about embracing this recognition, it might be worth stepping back from the rivalry game. Instead of measuring our success against the University of Toronto or UBC, we could focus on what actually makes this place worth being proud of. Is it the ranking, the diversity of students, the city we live in, or the communities we build on campus?
McGill’s new title is an opportunity not just to brag, but to rethink how we define excellence and honour. The ranking will eventually fade into next year’s cycle, but the culture we create around it is ours to decide. The “McGillian complex” doesn’t have to mean arrogance. It could mean something else entirely: a culture of confidence without condescension, and of pride without the put-downs. Maybe that’s the kind of number one reputation worth holding onto.