If you thought Magdalen Tower would close on May Day, or that the Rad Cam implemented “History Readers-only” time slots, or that kebab vans would be banned in Oxford after 10pm… Got you! You were a victim, however temporarily (I hope), of Cherwell’s April Fools stories in recent years.
As a dedicated prankster, I’ve got six years of experience wreaking havoc on my favourite day of the year. My pranks ranged from absurd to sneaky – one of them so realistic that two years later the Trump administration made it reality. My victims comprised anyone from close friends to the heads of educational institutes with the misfortune of having me.
I didn’t start out as the victor, however. In 2019, I was thoroughly fooled when my debate team captains announced their sudden resignations. As my wiser teammates laughed in my face, I vowed to turn the tables henceforth.
My first victims, come 2020, were debaters. After the pandemic cancelled the qualifying rounds to the prestigious national tournament, I preyed on their nervous uncertainty. With the “inspect element” function, I faked a website screenshot claiming that all qualifiers to the state tournament will also qualify to the nationals. The two friends who received my screenshot were overjoyed – until they checked the date. But perhaps my pranks were prophetic: both of them did qualify for nationals in the end.
Fast forward to 2021 and still stuck in lockdown, I turned to my family. A flawlessly forged jury summons sent my father into a panic, all the while puzzling over why his computer mouse stopped working (a sticker on the bottom sensor).
For my little brother, I put four Ferrero Rocher chocolates in obvious places around the house and labelled them #1, #2, #3, and #5. My brother was delighted to find his beloved snacks, and wasted all day looking for the non-existent chocolate #4.
In 2022, my high school newspaper had a blast publishing a fake print issue. During a time of contentious debates over a new school schedule, we obligingly published a front page story claiming that school was set to end at 8pm – a teacher nearly cried at the news. She should have suspected a prank though, considering how we printed everything in Comic Sans.
I also photoshopped a school board announcement that henceforth all student leadership positions would be abolished in favour of an egalitarian structure, sending everybody from debate captains to newspaper editors into a frenzy.
An email arrived from the vice-principal with “perfect” as the subject line: “your prank… is fabulous…I paused ‘I don’t think we have received board communication about this!!!! let me look!’ when a student just came and asked me…”. Another message from the debate coach read: “Top notch, I asked Greg [the principal], and he was like…FOOL, she got you!”.
2023 saw me studying Arabic in Morocco on a US government programme, so I forged a Washington Post story with the headline “Conservative congress to defund Department of State youth language program after reported misuse of taxpayer money”. It was accompanied by a photoshopped draft law on congress.gov, sponsored by none other than the far-right conspiracist Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene.
Our programme director immediately jumped into action, urging us to call our congresspeople in a bid to save the programme. Sadly, my prank turned into reality two years later via President Trump’s slaughter of government-sponsored exchange programmes.
Sometimes we all wish reality is an April Fools joke.
I was a news editor of this illustrious publication when 2024 rolled around, and the Cherwell Instagram became my hunting ground. Taking inspiration from Jakub’s wonderful “Kebab vans to be banned from Oxford streets after 10pm” article from the year before, I wrote “Radcliffe Camera to enforce ‘History Readers-Only’ time slots amid overcrowding”.
History students – who had long complained of real overcrowding – immediately reposted on Instagram with shouts of triumph, while non-history students ranted their fury. Some of the Oxfess posts were splendid:
- “History students – I feel your pain, really I do, but PLEASE LET ME INTO THE RADCAM I NEED A PRETTY LIBRARY. Sincerely, a concerned Catz English student xxx [sic]”
- “Protest at rad cam when? Worked my arse off to get into this uni, pay 10 grand a year to be here and I can’t enter a bodleian library ? Unfair and anti-university. No hate to history btw you’ve got the fittest students. Xoxo an angry stem student who’s college and uni library is always full and no one seems to care [sic]”
- “Shoutout to that cherwell article for being the funniest april fools prank possible literally iconic [sic]”
It baffled me how many people bought the story, even when it claimed absurd things like the Bodleian Library’s plan to commemorate years of important historical events with wacky times, reserving 12.15pm (Magna Carta) to 18.15pm (The Battle of Waterloo) for history readers only.
Anyway, you’re welcome.
This year, my co-editor Georgia Campbell and I had lots of fun putting together “Magdalen Tower to close for repairs over May Day, choir set to move location”. An immediate Oxfess post exclaimed: “MAGDALEN TOWER CLOSED ON MAYDAY WHAT IS THIS [sic]” – my sincerest respect to whoever was checking Cherwell past midnight.
Here are some alternative ideas, for your amusement:
- St John’s to abolish rent (credits to Laurence Cooke)
- Saltburn producers hiring Oxford student consultant for sequel script
- Leaked emails: Both Boat Race teams pre-drafted E. Coli complaints in case they lost
- University news office accidentally added Cherwell editors to its group chat discussing PR strategy plans
I’ve no idea what’s to come in 2026, but here are my top tips for aspiring pranksters:
- Use the early morning hours when the world is groggy and gullible.
- Every prank, as they say, has a grain of truth.
- Most importantly: know your audience.
