Searching ‘Oxford’ on YouTube brings up what you might expect. One thumbnail invites the viewer to “Study With Me”, the title superimposed over the Radcliffe Camera. Another recounts “a week in my life at Oxford”, complete with “dorm tour, high table dinner, [and] studying”. The status of Oxford online is almost mythological. Polished lawns and gothic spires have brought the University from a solely academic arena to an idol of dark academia aesthetics. Study influencers have eagerly engaged in this reverence, and have not halted at distant adoration. Most popular are a slightly different type of videos: “How I got my offer”.
The popularity of study influencers reflect a generation concerned about work prospects and looking for some stability. Short-form videos bragging about UCAS results respond to contemporary anxieties about the precarious job markets. They mirror popular perceptions of Oxford not just as a place of learning, but an antique idol of security. At a time when the future of work is increasingly unclear, the rigid routines of study influencers provide some ritualistic certainty. The rise of study influencers seem to emerge between the two intersection of work-market anxiety and academic fetishism.
However, the lives these influencers present, and the version of Oxford that they create, are beyond idealised. Waking up at 5, taking no breaks while studying, and maintaining a constant posting schedule are beyond almost anyone’s abilities. For pre-uni viewers, study influencers seem to suggest that Oxford provides a perfect study routine the same way it does accommodation. But for Oxford students, the videos about their own university can end up fuelling even more anxiety.
The rise of the study influencer
Study influencers have been a mainstay of social media, with informality and relatability some of their main attractions. Like many online spaces, the isolation of COVID exploded the study influencers out of their niche corner of social media. The companionship offered by study influencers became doubly comforting with the social alienation forced upon students by the pandemic, particularly with schools and universities closed, and exam results uncertain. Live, multi-hour study livestreams on YouTube and TikTok became a psychological anchor for many students at home. Unlike the 2010s StudyTube creators, pandemic-era study influencers appealed mainly to companionship, not aspirational performance. As the pandemic faded away, the COVID-era casual intimacy of the study influencer swung in the opposite direction.
Economic instability during COVID revealed uncertainty in the job market, changing the way people work and increasing remote work at a time where in-person positions are increasingly scarce. AI as a competitor to humans has become a major concern, particularly for entry-level jobs. 2023 represented one of the worst years for the banking sector since the 2007-2008 financial crisis. The Financial Times recorded over 62,000 job cuts across major banking companies such as UBS, Wells Fargo, and Morgan Stanley. In an increasingly difficult market for graduates, top institutions like Oxford, Cambridge, and Harvard can provide certainty to those looking at university.
Study influencers became sources of reassurance, highlighting that academic strength was the solution to professional insecurity. It seems that the raw companionship of pandemic study influencers has vanished.Their content has returned to tours of ‘elite’ universities and intensely disciplined daily routines, capitalising on the youth’s dependency on secure institutions.
The myth of Oxford
In the study influencer world, Oxford is such a draw that creators can capitalise despite not actually studying at the University. David Cai can be seen as a representative of the contemporary era. His Instagram account boasts 108,000 followers, and on TikTok 27,700 followers. He has been posting study content since the beginning of sixth form. His Instagram reel on receiving his Oxford offer was reposted by the Oxford University Instagram page. However, Cai is a first-year student at UCL. He missed his Oxford offer. Up until his recent entrance into university, his content focused mainly on sharing his own sixth form experience through tips and advice.
Some of his projects seem to lean towards an authoritative stance. In September 2025, Cai held paid webinar sessions with the title ‘Oxbridge Application: Everything You Need to Know’, offering ‘every little trick that helped us get our offers’. The intention is admirable; Cai’s description talks of increasing accessibility about information surrounding the applications. At the same time, it is hard to ignore that this authority comes from only two sources of credibility: an Oxford offer, and posting study content. Merely by making videos on the topic, Cai has transcended from a fellow student passing around helpful study experience, to a gospel of university admissions – an Oxford idol in himself.
There is an element of blindness from the study influencer’s perspective. I interviewed Cai, who acknowledged that he has no concept of the tangible impact he has on his audience. From his side, his viewers are merely ‘numbers’. No matter what he says about accessibility and genuine human engagement, he is unable to control how his viewers actually perceive his content. His viewers might be truly drawn in by study tips and relatability. But it might equally be the aesthetics and status of universities Cai has come to embody.
The content he creates is equally for himself: Cai says that the work that performs the best is when he is “talking to myself”. Content creation is a sort of therapeutic, self-assuring process for Cai. Despite his extraordinary success in his admissions journey, he is ultimately just another student. By his own words, Cai’s motivation in his content was to reassure other sixth form students that he’s “struggling as well”. Yet through the title of study influencer, as well as his Oxford offer, he has become perceived as a figure of authority.
Even as part of one of the ‘stable’ institutions, Oxford students are not immune to job anxieties. Terms are packed with essays, and working a job is banned, so hopes of employment seem to rest on the vacation periods. Instead of sustained employment, most Oxford students’ main exposure to the job market will be through spring weeks and summer internships, notoriously competitive and incredibly opaque. To drudge through the specialised application process of each individual company is a ruthless task alongside the frenetic workload of the Oxford student.
Often, it’s difficult to know what you are doing wrong. Was it the application, the grades, the extra-curriculars – or did you simply not know the right person? The study influencer provides some hope here. Their polished ‘day in the life as an Oxford student’ advertises that academic rigour translates into stable prospects. But there is a bitter contradiction that, whilst Oxford students may be realising the limits of their university, the same prestigious name draws in viewers for the study influencer. In a city that practically breathes imposter syndrome, study influencers are a constant reminder that you could be doing more. With their perfect study locations, immaculate morning routines, and superhuman work ethic, they seem like ‘real’ Oxford students. But this is nothing but detrimental for those who work differently, and idealises overworking.
Reassurance or insecurity?
I spoke to one first-year student at Oxford, whose immediate reaction to ‘study with me’ short videos was to “scroll past that”. On one hand, this distaste stemmed from an awareness of artifice. Post-COVID, the oversaturated arena of study influencers means intense competition with one another to wake up the earliest, to study the longest, most continuous period. Mia Yilin’s ‘4AM Stanford Student Morning Routine’ is commonplace amongst a sea of supposedly early risers. Whilst it is unfair to accuse all study influencers of portraying a false image online to promote their content, the student argued that these routines were unsustainable, and unproductive to their own motivation.
On the other hand, despite acknowledging the unrealistic nature of extremist routines, he accepted that the main reason for avoidance was guilt. There is something ironic about viewing study content on Instagram and TikTok – these platforms are primarily a medium of guilty procrastination. Study influencers only seem to exacerbate this guilt, as their curated snippets of perfections become reminders of academic inadequacy. During the A-Level revision period, which he characterised as a time of constantly worrying that “what you’ve done is not enough”, the study influencer’s videos fuelled only stress, rather than competition. A half-minute video from a dubious source undermines all the reassurance of an Oxford offer and personal academic success.
The short video format has exacerbated all of this. Speaking to Cherwell about his Instagram and TikTok, his two main platforms, Cai is clear that he disagrees with the short video format. He considers that “social media is a terrible thing … it is terribly addictive”, especially to sixth-form students vulnerable to stress and distractions. Similar to the sentiment of guilty procrastination, there is a reductive contradiction in the medium of study influencer content. Engaging in addictive reels-scrolling is undeniably detrimental to studying, yet the authority of the study influencer seems to persuade the viewer that scrolling is somehow productive.
The curt nature of short videos means that the information conveyed is brief and simplistic: advice becomes imperative, where an Instagram reel on the Pomodoro technique declares it to be the only method of effective study. The medium itself is damagingly addictive. Even if you study ‘correctly’, the constant comparison and the unsustainable study habits and routines impressed by ‘study with me at Oxford University’ videos are equally insecurity-fuelling. Even as a then-prospective student at Oxford, the student I spoke to described the “shame spiral” this drove him into.
From the study influencer’s perspective, Cai states that the algorithm is a “difficult one to cater to”; to balance genuine personal content with content that performs well is a struggle. The equal desires to perform well online, and to provide the most genuine personal stories thus compete within the study influencer. For both viewer and creator, the short-form video medium can often be a source of distress.
The more accessible Oxford is online, the more distant it becomes. Antiquity and prestige establishes Oxford as a stabilising symbol; Oxford is desired for its aesthetic glamour and the job security it seems to promise. The study influencer, in the present day, reflects an anxiety-fuelled fetishism of established institutions, and presents ‘foolproof’ ways to get good grades
Besides the intentions of individual influencers, the perception of study influencers by their viewers is one of stressful competition. The viewer engages in addictive, superficially comforting reels, well aware that they should be studying, while the creator, for all their good intentions, loses any pretence of nuance in short video formats, leading to the impression of unsustainable study habits. The study influencer, and the Oxford study influencer in particular, is a paradox: when you’re on the outside, they give you a way in. But once you’re in, they might make you feel like you shouldn’t be.







