When you read the byline for this article, how did you pronounce my surname? Chances are, you worked through it phonetically, elongating the vowels as you went along.
When I went back to my high school last year to talk to prospective applicants, the number one thing I was asked was: “Are all your conversations, like, really smart?”
As the sun shone over Oxford and my collections drew ever closer, I decided I needed a change of scenery from the panicked atmosphere of my college hall.
All tours are fundamentally flawed. Though they might be detailed and student-focused, they are utterly incapable of expressing what it is like to love Oxford.
There is no place in Oxford that my muscle memory takes me to more reliably than the Alternative Tuck Shop. This happens regardless of my state – still half-asleep, perhaps slightly hungover, or already late for class.
This winter, social media encourages us to embark on the journey of the "winter arc": a self-optimisation quest which leaves little room for hibernation.
Not all icks are created equal, and of course, they shouldn't be treated as such. Either way, they undeniably speak volumes about the person you're with.
I always knew I was a bit of a peculiar child. But I was deeply surprised when a friend seeking a diagnosis herself suggested that I might be autistic.
I’d been warned about the dating scene at Oxford. There’s something about self-entitlement that sharpens the sting of hook-up culture. One too many walks...
CW: Sexual assault; mention of suicide.
When you walk into college on the first day, you experience community, a sense of stepping into belonging. Consent...