Saturday 24th January 2026
Blog Page 3

You, too, can ski: at the cost of your ego and bank balance

Sophie Shade
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You, too, can ski: at the cost of your ego and bank balance

Whoever decided that a week of physical exertion was exactly what 3000 burnt-out Oxbridge students needed after eight weeks of academic rigour was…onto something? For most freshers, 6 December signalled home time – much-anticipated, and well deserved. I however, found myself on a flight to Geneva at 5pm that afternoon. The reason? Varsity Ski 2025, a no-brainer for the seasoned skier, but a trip I barely knew existed until early November. Coming in at £400 base, I was told this was a ‘proper bargain’ for a week of skiing and my arm was twisted. Fleeces and flights were soon purchased in quick succession – what on Earth could go wrong?

By 11pm on Saturday of 8th week, the last bunch of us were herded off our flights, left to fend for ourselves in the mess of customs, and onto a fleet of coaches that proceeded to precariously scale the French Alps for the next three hours. The view we were met with in the morning, though, made it all worth the wait. For the never-ever’s of us, casting our eyes out two-star hotel windows to be met with rolling hills of snow was the closest we’ve been to reaching euphoria this Michaelmas. Reality hit again in the hour-long queue to pick up our ski equipment, but from there on out it was onwards and upwards. Quite literally. I somehow ended up on my first chairlift not too long after. 

For beginners like me, the first few days were a hit to the ego. Most of my friends – and it seemed the majority of the Varsity cohort too – were well-acquainted with the slopes; I couldn’t help but feel like an ugly duckling amongst a flock of graceful swans, both in style and skiing. 

Learning how to ski is, as I learnt, not for the faint hearted. The green slopes – the easiest and the flattest – soon became repetitive after my friend and I stuck strictly to them for the first few days. In a moment of weakness, we agreed to take on a blue – slightly prematurely. Your friends tell you it’ll be fine, but you almost take them out before hurtling down the slope, as you, your two poles – actually never mind, you dropped them halfway up the mountain after your first fall – and sheer unjustified confidence miraculously make it to the bottom unscathed. Time for après?

This was all, thankfully, sorted out by six hours of beginner lessons. Nathalie, our instructor, was, despite all stereotypes, a helpful and encouraging French woman who soon helped us find our feet. So, while making it back from the first night of après in the dark proved a slight challenge, completing a blue slope with our egos pretty much intact became more than doable by the end of the week. 

While you may not need much talent to ski, there is more to the financial aspect of Varsity than meets the eye. It’s billed as the ‘cheapest university ski trip in the country’ – but this statement alone doesn’t make it affordable for the average student. The £400 base price mentioned earlier only includes your lift pass for the week and basic accommodation, while necessary add-ons such as ski equipment and clothing hire, airport transfers, and lessons bring the total closer to £800. With flights, events, and food shops on top of this, my expenses for the week ended up totaling £1200. Though it’s true – Varsity is more affordable relative to what other, external ski trips would set you back by – it isn’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination.

This isn’t to say I’m not looking forward to returning to the slopes next year, but rather to make an important note that Varsity, despite being marketed as such, isn’t widely accessible to the masses – most students have to think twice before dropping more than a grand on a week’s trip. For anyone thinking of making the trip next year, though, if you have the financial means to do so, Varsity Ski isn’t a trip you’ll regret – some of my fondest memories this term are of face planting in the snow off-piste while my friends laugh in the background. December 2026 can’t seem to come around fast enough.

‘Songs, skits, and a third thing beginning with S’: Jack McMinn in conversation

Rebecca Harper
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‘Songs, skits, and a third thing beginning with S’: Jack McMinn in conversation

If there’s one thing I believe Oxford’s theatre scene is missing, it’s a button-down-shirt-wearing ex-zoology student with a penchant for writing songs about Pret A Manger. Thankfully, Jack McMinn exists to fulfil my very specific niche. I was lucky enough to sit down (on my couch and engage in an Instagram DM exchange) with Jack, to discover all there is to know about his new solo show, sperm-related songs, and the seductive power of Magdalen Street Tesco.

Some come out of the womb singing, but Jack seems to have started even before that. His first comedy song was “an entire parody of ‘Tik Tok’ by Ke$ha from the perspective of a sperm.” Since then, his life has been a busy one. Perhaps to avoid litigation from Ke$ha’s team, Jack immersed himself in academia and committed to the Cambridge-Oxford double bill, having recently graduated from his DPhil. A recurring member of the Oxford Revue and resident musician in the Oxford Imps, he also worked towards curating the Oxford Comedy Archive. The mammoth project details the careers of Oxford’s own comedy legends, icons such as Rowan Atkinson and Michael Palin, to more recent rising stars like Sophie Duker – and undoubtedly soon, Jack McMinn.

Jack spent the summer at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe – as all the best comedians and Cherwell reporters do – gigging in the city’s oddest locations. He reminisced on his favourite moment from the month: performing in a “beautiful two-storey Georgian vault. The inside basically looked like a castle complete with nooks, crannies, and an enormous vaulted ceiling – which is just as well because it sucked away any kind of atmosphere for comedy whatsoever”.

The location for Jack’s upcoming solo show, Curio Books and Culture, may lend itself better to McMinn’s brand of sharp musical comedy. Located below student favourite Common Ground, not a lot of people seem to know that Curio hosts regular book events, poetry readings, and shows like Jack’s. In fact, there are a whole host of little-known (or at least, little-reported on) cabaret comedy venues – Jack shouts out Hot Rats (based in The Library Pub, Cowley) and Undercover Comedy (in the Jolly Farmers) as two of Oxford’s alternative comedy essentials. He also founded the Live & Peculiar variety nights, often hosting them himself. Live & Peculiar certainly fulfils both of its titular adjectives – one eventful show ended with “a stand-up comic, an old woman drag act, and a burlesque performer post-strip, all sitting quietly in chairs onstage around some guy sitting on the floor playing a Greek lute”. As per.

When asked if we could expect another Live & Peculiar show any time soon, Jack commented: “You’re allowed to! I can’t stop you!” I suppose he’s right. His focus has undoubtedly turned to his other numerous projects. Fresh off the back of appearing in Channel 4’s The Piano and singing his way to second place at the 2025 Musical Comedy Awards, Jack is back in Oxford to spread a bit of cheer — lord knows we need it. 

The tone of Jack’s solo show is illustrated perfectly by the poster graphic: a photo of McMinn in a suit atop an overflowing bin holding a tiny blue ukulele. The set will include, I’m told, “an hour of songs, skits, and a third thing beginning with S”. Then Jack backtracks. “Actually, I lied, there isn’t a third thing starting with S. The description just seemed lacking without it”. This bait-and-switch characterises much of our conversation, and seemingly a hefty proportion of his set too. Jack developed this show by “swapping [songs] in and out… I keep a big list of voice memos full of song ideas, and only some of them make it. Some of the rejects that you WON’T hear at the gig include ‘Baroque Obama’, ‘Dolphins Miss the 90s’, and ‘Bob Dylan Penne Blues’, mainly ‘cos I peaked with the titles”.

Suppressing my deep anguish at not being able to see ‘Baroque Obama’ live (maybe someday…), our conversation turns to something which we were both sure would unite, not only ourselves, but all of Cherwell’s readers: Love. 

Love for the Magdalen Street Tesco escalator, that is. One of Jack’s earliest songs was an ode to the Tescolator, but when I ask about the subject, he bristles slightly: “It’s been a bit iffy between the Tescolator and I since the song dropped. A LOT of arguments about royalties. Turns out it’s difficult to sign non-disclosure agreements if you’re a piece of architecture without thumbs.” Having recently completed a similarly lengthy lawsuit with the Glink, I express my sympathy.

Audience members attending Jack’s show on the 28th January should not just expect songs about beloved Oxford infrastructure. Jack teases a “very very dumb experiment… which I really hope works. I REALLY hope it works. The last time I tried something like it, it failed twice, in front of 100+ people each time”. He then informs me that this happened in Cambridge, which allegedly explains the lacklustre response. As a representative of Cherwell, I cannot comment. 

To avoid an inevitable battle with Cambridge’s legal team, I wrap up our (Instagram DM) interview. When asked to describe his solo show in anything but three words – because here at Cherwell we believe in bucking trends – Jack channels David Bowie at the Webbys: “Anything BUT? Um-.” His solo show will leave you similarly speechless. 

An Evening Of Musical Comedy with Jack McMinn will be performed on the 28th January 2026, at Curio Books and Culture (basement of Common Ground), OX1 2HU.

The Oxford art calendar: Hilary 2026

Maxim Vorobev
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The Oxford art calendar: Hilary 2026

Oxford’s frosty Hilary term is best spent looking at new exhibitions, from Renaissance charcoal, prop-making, the treasures of the Ashmolean, or photography in the Pitt Rivers. This art calendar will guide you through some of the highlights open in term – and hopefully inspire you to write a review for Cherwell!

Suturing Wounds: Now until the 25th of January  at the Pitt Rivers Museum

A photographic installation of Egyptian artist Sara Sallam that explores the impact of early archaeologists, artefacts, and modern curatorial practice. Byzantine-era Egyptian funeral garments are brought in conflict with the present through photography.

Living with Human Conflict: 23rd of January – 7th of March at Pembroke College JCR Art Collection)

Dr Chris Lavers presents the intersection of science and art, utilising satellite imaging, data and analytics to reflect upon the impacts of human conflict on communities as well as the environment. It promises to be a truly unique way of examining how science not merely influences, but can be at the heart of art.

It’s not just black and white: Now until the 16th of March at Christ Church Picture Gallery

In a change from the digital, cutting edge contemporary work, Christ Church offers a fresh look on the Renaissance. With works from the greats and the underappreciated on display, take a moment of rest from the modern world in this exhibition.

Story Painters, Picture Writers: 20th of January – 2nd of February at Kendrew Barn Gallery, St John’s College

The far fields of Renaissance Italy might be a bit of a journey, if you want something a bit closer to home (in both distance and time), local artists Julian Bell, Nick Bush, Jane Griffiths, Gala Hills, Jamie McKendrick, and Kate Montgomery all take a personal look in this varied exhibition that explores the relationship between painting, language, and narrative. 

We’re Going to Need a Bigger Brush!: 23rd of January – 22nd of March at Modern Art Oxford

Personal narratives play a similar crucial role in this new exhibition by the Shadowlight Artists Collective. Bringing together learning disabled artists, the exhibition explores transformation, representation, and personas through a wealth of media.

Facing the Future: 20th of February – 25th of February at the Kendrew Barn Gallery

Ruth Swain and Paul Starns present a portrait exhibition of those diagnosed with breast cancer, or involved in treating, researching, and caring for those diagnosed. Narratives play a prominent role in exploring the lived experience and impact of breast cancer.

Unfinished – a poem by Carol Anne Clarl: Now until the 7th of June at the Pitt Rivers Museum

Carol Ann Carl has produced a poem written from the perspective of pearl shell tools taken in the late 19th century from the King’s tomb at Nan Madol. Carol Ann Carl, herself from the island of Pohnpei where Nan Madol is located, brings together her community work with storytelling, writing, and healing to produce this display. 

Hopefully, in this diverse array of media, stories, works, and places to visit, something will spark your interest. Your Art Editors are excited to read your reviews of these, or of the many other exhibitions Oxford has to offer.

Why you don’t need a “winter arc”

Amy Lawson
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Why you don’t need a “winter arc”

Congratulations, you’ve made it through another (calendar) year at Oxford. You’ve endured the delight of start of term collections, May Day and hiding hangovers in tutorials; then exam season, and camping out in sweaty libraries. You’ve watched the newly matriculated Freshers make their way in droves to Magdalen boat house, kitted out with bottles of prosecco and gowns that haven’t yet experienced the post-trashing scent (which seems to linger no matter how many times you wash it). You’ve experienced Oxmas and delirious Christmas dinners with friends, that frantic sprint towards the end of term; being weighed down with a room full of overdue library books and barely-packed suitcases. But if you thought the grind was over, you’re far from correct. 

What I’m referring to is not degree work –  we hardly need reminding of the Sisyphean rock that is the deadly weekly essay-and-tutorial combo (or tute sheet, if you are so inclined) –  but a different kind of journey. It’s one that invites you to look inwards, to transform yourself into a master of self-discipline and, all in all, become entirely unrecognisable. This is the “winter arc”, a trend brought into our vernacular by Instagram and TikTok, those two behemoths which increasingly shape our conception of the world around us (or at least, the neat little categories we think it can be placed into). 

The winter arc asks us to reevaluate the way we view our habits, diets, careers, fitness and even relationships. No area of life seems to be free from its self-actualising iron grip. It asks its disciples to cheat the winter blues and the post-Christmas malaise in favour of meditation, working on a side hustle or, somewhat predictably, training for a half marathon. There’s no time for hibernation when you’ve been tasked with living the key montage of a coming-of-age film. 

The idea is not to change yourself entirely, but to rebrand into a version that is optimised, operating on maximum efficiency; an elevated self that is somehow simultaneously self-aware, mindful of destructive behaviour patterns in both oneself and other people, yet also self-transcending. It demands that we place aside things that are deemed trivial, unsuitable for personal development –  doomscrolling, overspending, overeating. Overindulging in anything, in fact, is frowned upon. Not very festive, if you ask me. 

Another key element of the winter arc is its promotion of progress under the radar: the “stealth grind”, as it were. Silence is golden when you’ve decided to use it to work on yourself, your investments, your side hustle. The winter arc is portrayed as a path you walk alone – quite literally, since a Pinterest search for the term throws up endless isolated images of individual runners in idyllic landscapes, a desk with a single lamp and notebook, a lone figure sitting and reading a book. We’re encouraged to ‘lock in’ and ‘maximise productivity’ without talking about it, and in a way that produces astonishing results. 

This is perhaps the key problem with the idea of the winter arc: its inherent performativity. Delivered to us on a silver platter by the algorithm, with consumerism predictably hiding in its shadow, it’s easy to see the trend as just another aesthetic to aspire to. Yet there is nothing silent about the kind of behaviour it encourages, which often borders on the problematic and the toxic: there’s a reason why ads for intermittent fasting and tips for ‘eating clean’ are peppered amongst these vision boards. It’s hard to shake the sense that impressing others – at whatever cost – is one of the ultimate motivations. 

It’s easy to imagine how the kind of habits and self-discipline lauded by staunch believers in the winter arc might find a rife breeding ground at Oxford. The intensity of the environment here can certainly give way to extreme behaviours, with 11-hour shifts in the college library not being an uncommon occurrence. That said, the community that college offers might be the best antidote to the self-isolation the winter arc demands. It’s difficult to ‘grind in silence’ when your friends are yapping to you about the disorganisation of their course, or how they messed up in their tutorial last Friday, and rightly so.

One of the things I love so much about this place is the fact that we’re all growing alongside each other and, in many ways, your friend’s wins feel like your own. From your tute partner reassuring you that your argument actually did make a lot of sense, to helping your friend practice a presentation about seals, the community is a constant reminder that (contrary to what Instagram and TikTok might be keen to tell you) progress doesn’t always happen in isolation. Holding each other accountable, or just holding each other when the going gets rough, is one of the best ways of building healthy habits. 

So by all means, get up at 6am, abstain from Reels and eat only chicken and brown rice – but don’t forget that sometimes, the most radical act of self-improvement can be simply going to hall or the college bar with your friends, and chatting absolute nonsense. If that’s my winter arc, I’m locking in. 

Anastasia Bukhman on philanthropy, academia, and the role of investment in medical research

Sophie Price
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Anastasia Bukhman on philanthropy, academia, and the role of investment in medical research

In 2025, Oxford University announced a £10 million gift from the Bukhman Foundation to establish the Bukhman Centre for Research Excellence in Type 1 Diabetes, dedicated to improving diabetes treatments and finding a cure. 

Cherwell: What inspired the Bukhman Foundation’s focus on Type 1 Diabetes research, and why do you believe now is the pivotal moment for accelerating innovation in this field?

Bukhman: We have a familial connection to Type 1 Diabetes (T1D), first through our parents, and then our daughter, who was diagnosed with T1D when she was little. In the years since, we have learned a great deal about all the daily challenges faced by people with T1D and their families.

When it comes to timing, innovation never really stops, it just keeps moving forward. The progress in the last few years has been truly incredible. Exciting new treatments are being developed, like beta-cell transplants. With a simple blood test, we can now screen entire populations, helping us detect T1D early and delay the need for insulin – one such drug was even approved in the UK just a few weeks ago. A full cure isn’t here yet, but it feels like we’re right on the edge of real and lasting change.

Cherwell: Looking back, was there a defining moment when you knew you wanted to create a foundation of your own?

Bukhman: There wasn’t really one defining moment. Prior to around 2021 – when Igor [her husband] and I started thinking about creating a foundation – we supported charities, but it had been more ad hoc. But as time went on, we realised that this was something we wanted to do properly, dedicate time to, and develop a proper structure and strategy for it.

Neither Igor nor I come from privileged backgrounds, so we understand that when you are fortunate enough to have the means, using it to support the world around you, the society around you, is the very least you can do, and through the foundation we hope to do that and maximise the impact that funding can make.

Cherwell: What have been the most significant lessons or challenges in setting up the foundation?

Bukhman: In many ways, having a foundation like ours is a constant exercise in learning. You start out with a rough framework of aims and ideas, but it keeps evolving in small ways all the time and will likely continue to in the future. We believe that you have to be flexible to be able to make a difference: listen to expertise, hear new voices and perspectives.

And then, of course, there is the question of focus. You cannot solve all the world’s problems at once, so there is also a process of deciding where to focus funds to make a difference in the short and medium term as well.

Cherwell: How do you approach working with medical professionals and determining which areas to invest in?

Bukhman: So, first of all, we know that we cannot do any of our philanthropic work in isolation, and for anything we look to support through the foundation, our first goal is to surround ourselves with experts in the field. But something that we think is of vital importance is to have a plurality of expertise and experience. For instance, when it comes to medical research, one side of the card is the pure, academic, medical research –but the other side is the human, the everyday, the realities of implementation. You can have the smartest, cleverest academic breakthroughs, but if it cannot be efficiently translated to people day to day, it has failed. You have to take a multidisciplinary approach to things to stand the best chance of success. This is why we are so excited about the leadership of this initiative at Oxford, because it really brings together the best of a multidisciplinary world.

Cherwell: How do you foresee the role of philanthropy in medical research shifting in the future, and what responsibilities come with being a major donor?

Bukhman: Philanthropy is only ever one part of the puzzle when it comes to addressing any cause. You need governments, private investment, NGOs, universities, community groups, and a hundred other elements to be successful. In that sense, there will always be a part for philanthropy to play in medical research. 

Philanthropy is there to back what others cannot, for initiatives and projects that might be seen as too risky or not a priority for governments. Philanthropy is there to take risks where perhaps others cannot. In terms of responsibilities, the main one is to not make things difficult. At the end of the day, the goal is to help, so there is no point giving money to an organisation and then asking for their precious time to be spent filling out lengthy grant applications or quarterly impact reports. Trust those you are supporting to do their job.

Cherwell: For students or early-career researchers, what qualities, mindsets or skills do you believe will be vital for the breakthroughs ahead?

Bukhman: I have always believed in the power of multidisciplinary thinking in getting to solutions that would otherwise be hidden to those with one-track minds. For example, if you are a scientist or engineer, actively develop creative thinking and embrace literature, philosophy, art history, poetry, or music. It can train a different part of your brain; make you think in different ways. ‘Groupthink’ is something that can be very damaging to innovation.

Cherwell: What does success look like to you personally, not just in terms of scientific progress, but in terms of the human impact you hope the foundation will achieve across the board?

Bukhman: I think it’s unwise to be purely tied to specific goals or metrics in philanthropy. Some people do like to do that, analysing the impact of every cent spent. But from my perspective, the world can take highly unpredictable turns out of nowhere, and your whole giving strategy might have to adapt. When dealing with areas like T1D and the arts, like we are, these are highly complex systems, and there is simply no way of knowing one way or another how changes manifest. The best approach is simply to do the best you can as you go along, trying to do what you can today in the hope of helping people tomorrow.

The opaque charity funding St Anne’s new scholarship

Cherwell Investigations
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The opaque charity funding St Anne’s new scholarship

Cherwell has conducted an investigation into the charity which jointly administers the Tikvah scholarship with St Anne’s College. The income of the charity, Leg-Up Charity for Kids (LUCK), dwarfs its expenditure. Cherwell can also reveal that there is no evidence that St Anne’s was involved in the alumnae fundraising process, despite claims otherwise.  St Anne’s College recently launched the Tikvah scholarships, meaning “hope” in Hebrew, in order to “support Jewish and Israeli students in Oxford”, and to foster “greater understanding between people of different faiths and cultures”. 

The Tikvah scholarships were announced last August and beginning in the 2025/26 academic year. St Anne’s told Cherwell that “four … students have been awarded” scholarships this year, each receiving £5,000 for the academic year. The College states that they “are designed to support Jewish and/or Israeli (of any or no faith) undergraduates”. It also requires the candidates to write a personal statement which would “demonstrate a clear plan to give back to Jewish or Israeli communities”.

Opaque funding

Very little information is publicly available about the charity which provides for the scholarships. The Tikvah scholarships are jointly administered by St Anne’s and Leg-Up Charity for Kids (LUCK), which lists its charitable purpose as “the advancement of education of students” and “relief of those who are in need by reason of their youth, age, ill-health or disability, financial hardship/other disadvantage”. It has a very limited online presence, with no website or social media pages.

LUCK was established in December 2021 and has more than doubled its assets in two years, going from £199,000 in 2023 to £449,000 in 2024, in most part due to £210,000 received in donations during the period. However, it has only distributed a handful of education grants since its founding – just £2,830 in the last financial year, and a single school scholarship in the North East of England the year before.

In 2024, it distributed £5,901 in donations, amounting to less than 1.5% of its total assets. It is unclear whether the donation income came from St Anne’s alumnae, as the college suggests, or whether LUCK plans to increase its grant amounts in the future. LUCK did not respond to Cherwell’s request for comment.

The address where the LUCK charity is registered in London is home to over 52 companies, including 3 in liquidation and 17 dormant ones – a dormant company is a registered business which does not actively conduct business activities, and which has limited filing obligations to HMRC. The same address is shared by the accountants that certified LUCK’s accounts in 2024.

Trustee involvement with college

Cherwell has also found irregularities in the charity trustees’ dealings with St Anne’s College. The same individuals running the charity that finances the Tikvah scholarships are also in managerial positions – and one a company director – at Alfreton Capital. 

LUCK has three trustees, who are individuals that run the charity and are legally responsible for it. Two out of three trustees at LUCK, Andrea Morall and Natalie Abraham, are in leadership positions at Alfreton Capital – respectively as CEO and Director. The company is an investment management firm for long-term endowments and charitable foundations, which offers internships for students at St Anne’s.

Since Cherwell initially contacted St Anne’s regarding the scholarships in August, the college has removed all references to the Alfreton Capital internship scheme from their website. Other internships that are currently available retain their page on St Anne’s website, so it is unclear whether the internship scheme has been discontinued since August. 

St Anne’s told Cherwell: “Annually the information on the College website is updated as a matter of course to show the internships available that year.” However, other discontinued internships are still publicly advertised, stating that they are “unfortunately … no longer available”.

A spokesperson for St Anne’s told Cherwell that the scholarships are “unrelated to other programmes or internships” and that there are “no conflicts of interest” involved. The scholarships are awarded by a panel of College trustees with no external involvement in the selection process. 

Communication with alumnae

The Tikvah page states that “St Anne’s alumnae and others have generously donated to LUCK to establish these scholarships”. However, a Freedom of Information (FOI) request made by Cherwell demonstrates that St Anne’s had no involvement in the fundraising process for the Tikvah scholarships.

The College’s response to the FOI stated “that there are no communications sent by the College to alumnae that mention The Tikvah Scholarship scheme or opportunities to donate via Leg Up For Kids (LUCK)”. It is therefore unclear how St Anne’s alumnae would have been made aware of the opportunity to donate to LUCK given the charity’s lack of online and public presence. 

St Anne’s declined to share correspondence between the College and LUCK, or any records of agreements between the two parties, citing concerns that it would “inhibit the free and frank provision of advice” under section 36 of the FOI Act.

St Anne’s later told Cherwell that “donations to LUCK were made independently by alumnae and others through their own networks and were not solicited by the College”.

Lobbying from a Tory MP

According to St Anne’s the scholarships came to be as a result of individuals supporting LUCK and asking the College to establish these programmes. The College spokesperson told Cherwell: “When the scholarships were first proposed by LUCK, a number of individuals wrote to the Principal in support of the proposal, including Oliver Dowden”. 

Dowden wrote in an opinion piece for Jewish News that “[h]aving lobbied Helen King QPM, Principal of St Anne’s College to back them, [he] was absolutely thrilled to see the recent announcement”. Dowden is not an alumnus of Oxford University. Cherwell approached Dowden for comment.

Dowden is a former Conservative Deputy Prime Minister, who voted against ceasefire in Gaza and claimed he was worried about Lammy pledging to comply with the ICC arrest order for Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu. He claims to “stand firm against the scourge of antisemitism” by campaigning to “ban public bodies from imposing divisive [BDS] campaigns against foreign countries, which invariably target the state of Israel”. LUCK is based in Dowden’s constituency of Hertsmere.

Alongside Dowden, Campaign Against Antisemitism (CAA), a charity “dedicated to exposing and countering antisemitism”, said in a public statement that it is “proud to have advised the charity that is financing [Tikvah Scholarship]”. CAA has faced criticism in the past from Jewish groups for conflating criticism of Israel’s actions with antisemitism. 

A number of MPs have previously raised concerns about CAA’s political activity, and it was under investigation by the Charity Commission for “political partisanship”, though the case was dropped in 2024. Baroness Hodge, a Jewish and Labour parliamentarian, accused the CAA of being “more concerned with undermining Labour than rooting out antisemitism”. Charity regulations state that “an organisation will not be charitable if its purposes are political”.

Reactions

On its launch in August last year, former Principal of St Anne’s Ruth Deech came out in support of the scholarships. Deech served as head of college until 2004, and is currently chair of the House of Lords Appointments Commission (HOLAC). She told Cherwell that “the new [scholarships] at St Anne’s fill a gap left by many [other] scholarships in colleges”.

Deech is a patron of UK Lawyers for Israel (UKLFI), an organisation that campaigns to “support Israel, Israeli organisations, Israelis, and/or supporters of Israel against BDS and other attempts to undermine, attack or delegitimise them”. UKLFI faced criticism last year when its Chief Executive Jonathan Turner suggested that Gaza starvation may “increase life expectancy by reducing obesity”. Its charitable arm is currently under investigation by the Charity Commission.

Regarding Deech’s involvement, Anne’s College spokesperson told Cherwell: “The decision to proceed was made independently by the College’s trustees in accordance with its established processes. Baroness Deech has not been involved.”

Speaking about the scholarships, a student at St Anne’s told Cherwell: “I think the most relevant thing I can say is that I am Jewish, so I would have qualified, and really could have used the money, but I chose not to apply. I thought about [it] and couldn’t, in good conscience, take that money … It’s a statement more than anything – and a statement I don’t want to be a part of.”

In 2024, over 100 students signed an open letter expressing disappointment in the Principal of St Anne’s, Helen King, for signing a University statement on pro-Palestine protests. She was one of only three college heads to sign the statement, which she did in her capacity as Chair of the University Security Subcommittee. 

Then in June 2024, St Anne’s JCR passed a motion condemning “the ongoing genocide within Palestine being carried out by the Israeli government” and expressing support for the Oxford Action for Palestine (OA4P) encampment. It demanded that the University and College make “progress towards full divestment” from companies and institutions with ties to Israel.

In response, over 60 alumni signed a letter criticising the motion for “the absence of any condemnation of Hamas”, and calling on the College to release a “public statement highlighting that this motion reflects the view of the voting members of the JCR only and does not reflect the view of the College or alumni… college members hold a range of views… Israeli and Jewish students are welcome at St Anne’s”.

The Oxford Jewish Society, the Jewish Student Solidarity campaign, and OA4P were approached for comment.

Other scholarships

Individual colleges and the University offer a variety of scholarships for students based on characteristics like nationality and religion. A spokesperson for the St Anne’s told Cherwell that the scholarships are designed to “signal clearly to prospective applicants from all backgrounds, including Jewish and Israeli students, that they are welcome at St Anne’s”. They added that “the scholarships will only be awarded after the commencement of a course of study and will have no bearing on admissions decisions”.

According to St Anne’s, the scholarships were designed to avoid conflating Jewish and Israeli identities. A College spokesperson told Cherwell that they are “open to, for example, students of Israeli nationality who may be Muslim, Christian or non-religious… It is precisely because Jewish and Israeli identities are not inseparable that the eligibility criteria have been elaborated in this way”. Reuben College also offers another scholarship for Israeli graduate students, established by the Reuben Foundation.

Oxford also runs the Palestine Crisis Scholarship scheme, which provides full graduate scholarships to students displaced by the war in Gaza and the West Bank. Several scholars from Gaza arrived in Oxford in October through this scheme. This occurred after a protracted struggle to acquire visas for the scholars, after the only UK-authorised biometric centre closed in October 2023 following the outbreak of the conflict in Gaza.

The scheme faced criticism from a member of OA4P who worked with the University on the scholarships, arguing that its postgraduate criteria “does not support students who never had the chance to go to university, or undergraduates whose studies have been interrupted”.

Cherwell recently uncovered a University scholarship tied to Russian shell companies, with around ten scholarships per year handed out even since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. The Hill Foundation scholarship, which has supported 56 graduate scholars over the past 5 years, states in its eligibility criteria that students should intend to leave the UK upon completing their degree.

A 2024 Cherwell investigation also revealed that the University continues to offer a scholarship requiring its recipients’ “support of the leadership of the Communist Party of China”, despite multiple other universities cutting ties with China Scholarship Council’s schemes.

The ick factor

Ava Lifton
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The ick factor

“He wore flip-flops…to dinner!” The girls around the table nod knowingly as we dissect the night, instantly recognizing this near-universal ick as irredeemable, foreclosing any possibility of a second date. But flip-flop offenders are only the beginning. In their wake trails a lengthy catalogue of other icks, ranging from the seemingly innocuous – wearing skinny jeans or using an umbrella in the rain (one should simply evade the water) – to more substantial character flaws, such as disrespecting restaurant staff or lacking basic communication skills. 

Not all icks are created equal, and of course, they shouldn’t be treated as such. In this respect, the term ‘ick’ is something of a misnomer: traits like bravado, poor communication, and abrasiveness are not trivial turn-offs but genuine red flags. While there are no hard-and-fast rules about whether these qualities warrant a breakup or maybe just a difficult conversation, they undeniably speak volumes about the person you’re with.

Still, a dilemma remains at the heart of ick culture. Can fashion faux pas, alongside being rude to waitstaff, really be classified as an ick? Although the word “ick” has earned its place in the dating lexicon, the idea is highly subjective in both definition and consequence. So what do we do when the ick reveals itself? Do we quietly file it away in a mental checklist and press on, or does the ick itself justify a breakup? While established relationships tend to relegate icks to the periphery, those still in the talking stage often choose the latter. Once an ick takes root, it becomes so firmly ingrained in the mind that no amount of contrary evidence can fully redeem the person in question. 

This culture is only magnified in Oxford, where social circles are demarcated by college friend groups with limited crossover between them beyond shared classes. As a graduate student, I’ve drawn a personal distinction between Oxford’s clubbing scene (predominantly undergraduate territory) and its pubs, which offer an alternative but equally viable social landscape and have since become staples of my weekly routine. The result is that I inevitably see the same people again and again. 

So after fielding my mother’s weekly phone calls asking whether I’ve “found a boyfriend yet”, I started examining Oxford men under a microscope. Perhaps this is merely the unavoidable consequence of attending a university in a small city. When you encounter the same faces day after day, even the most carefully constructed facade begins to fray, and any potential ick becomes magnified. Jumping over a large puddle? Ick. Sending a barrage of inexplicable emojis? Ick. Some people (my mother, the self-appointed ringleader) would call this picky. Preposterous, even. 

Writing someone off for some objectively trivial offence may seem an act of self-sabotage, a tailspin of masochism, which only narrows the already limited dating pool. And, whilst I agree that this reflex should probably warrant some self-reflection, it’s equally possible that TikTok-induced ick culture (Ick-Tok?) is simply giving language to female intuition. That inexplicable knot in your stomach when a guy looks perfect on paper, yet something deep in your gut remains unconvinced. 

And yes, it may have become a hackneyed phrase, but female intuition is rarely wrong. Maybe icks are simply a manifestation of the intuitive sense that you don’t like someone, even when you can’t point to a single, tangible reason why. I once went on a first date with a guy who did everything right: he opened the car door, paid for drinks, and asked thoughtful questions. Yet when I debriefed the night with my older sister, I found myself enumerating a series of small icks. I conceded that I was probably being immature or overblown, but she reframed it: if I actually liked him, I wouldn’t scrutinize his behavior so closely. This insight gets to the crux of ick culture: sometimes it’s difficult to admit you don’t like someone who has done nothing wrong. Instead, we latch onto minor quirks or habits and label them as icks, allowing us to justify that feeling without having to name it.

The whole debate surrounding the ‘ick factor’ reflects a much older pattern of casting women as dramatic, overzealous, overly ‘emotional’. In fact, we’ve been socialized to distrust our gut reactions, in case they are dismissed as irrational or excessive. What emerges is ick-culture, cloaked in TikTok trends and viral language, functioning as a proxy for intuition. Rather than relying on an abstract gut feeling to end a relationship or forgo a second date, we point to specific behaviors, however trivial, to legitimize our decision. Ironically, this reliance on surface-level flaws often reinforces the very stereotype it’s meant to counter: that women are too dramatic. In the end, it’s a zero-sum game.

So perhaps the discourse around the ick and the readiness to label women as hypercritical deserves deeper scrutiny as yet another incarnation of a misogynistic script. And maybe it’s not the flip-flops themselves that provoke such disdain, but the accumulation of micro-signals leading up to them, with the footwear being merely the icing on the cake. 

That said, flip-flops at dinner should still be absolutely avoided.

Breaking free from the Pinterest board

Victoria Corfield
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Breaking free from the Pinterest board

Over the Christmas vac I was lucky enough to attend an exhibition on one of my favourite designers, Vivienne Westwood, at the National Gallery of Victoria. Rich in archival treasures, the display visually narrated Westwood’s career in all its exquisite technicolour, serving as a true testament to her commitment to non-conformist aesthetics. Alongside the clothing, one of the most memorable aspects of this exhibition was the selection of quotes by the designer weaved amongst the mannequins, primarily the one displayed above the entrance: “I never look at fashion magazines. I find them boring”. This statement encapsulates Westwood’s disdain for the social politics and conventionality she deemed characteristic of the fashion industry. A notorious pioneering figure of the punk movement, founded in its immovable notion that fashion should be born from individuality, Westwood’s designs are the product of her belief that fashion is rooted in originality, a creative medium for the outward expression of the individual. Her disdain for the hyper-consumerism rampant in the fashion industry – “I don’t feel very comfortable defending my fashion except to say that people don’t have to buy it” – reflects her enthusiasm for reworking what you already have, rejecting the idea that to be fashionable is to constantly be consuming and conforming. For Westwood and her punk contemporaries, there is no such thing as to be ‘fashionable’, and if that is what you are aspiring to then frankly you’ve missed the point entirely.

This exhibition inspired a great deal of reflection on my own attitudes to fashion and how I dress. As someone who likes to consider herself somewhat ‘fashionable’ (or at the very least someone who takes an interest in fashion) I feel as though this individuality which Westwood posits as so central to personal style has become lost, muddied by the rise of visual social media, which allows us to access trends, and thereby adopt them, at an ever increasing rate. Fashion is no longer primarily a medium built on originality, nor on individual expression. Contemporary fashion, by which I refer to the manner in which fashion is consumed by the masses (not strictly runway or editorial fashion) has become a careful act of self-curation. Our clothes and outward appearance contribute to a narrative which we wish to convey to the world, about us, our status, our intellect, and our person. It is driven by a kind of aesthetic cohesion, one which I think can be best observed in the compartmentalisation of fashion into countless ‘aesthetics’ and ‘cores’. Don’t get me wrong, defined styles with their own aesthetics have always existed, Westwood herself found affinity with the punk movement which can be viewed as its own ‘aesthetic’. An identifiable visual code has long been a core part of countless sub-cultures and minority communities for whom fashion becomes much more than frivolity, rather aiding representation and articulating a desire to be seen. However, what I am observing now is less an allegiance to a sub-culture than what I deem to be a kind of binary categorisation, one which is driven by this age of fast fashion and excessive consumerism which demands us to be always chasing the latest trends.

As we live in a time dominated by visual forms of social media (think sites such as Instagram and our much beloved Pinterest) it is no longer entire cultures or corporations who feel the need to curate a kind of personal brand image, it’s now individuals. We face a compulsive desire to turn our lives into uniform and aesthetically pleasing Pinterest boards. This is killing our creativity. Personal style is built upon plagiarism. In any other art form, making a carbon copy of another’s work and branding it your own is almost always frowned upon, and yet in fashion it appears to be rebranded as ‘inspiration’. Today, the development of a personal style is less an act of originality, or of learning to sharpen our perception to distinguish our likes and dislikes and establish parameters of taste, than it is built upon imitating the fashion of those we deem ‘cool’ or conventionally attractive.

When confronted with this warped notion of ‘style’, defined by the next ‘aesthetic’ that the internet will try to shove down our throats, I am inclined to return to Westwood’s words of wisdom, that you do not always need to be consuming to be fashionable. There is no obligation to keep up with this insatiable trend cycle, now moving at a previously unprecedented speed, with the average ‘micro-trend’ cycle in 2025 lasting just three to five months. To be truly fashionable is to be both intentional and original, knowing what suits you and what you are drawn to, while being innovative and experimental. I feel like Oxford is an environment which fosters this kind of experimentation. In a city which embraces defined senses of personal style, where individuality is valued, what’s stopping you? Go digging in your wardrobe, and try looking at things in a different way, because you never know what treasures you might find.

Bodleian Libraries Catalysts portrait series unveiled

Angelina Mirraslavska
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Bodleian Libraries Catalysts portrait series unveiled

The Bodleian Libraries and the British Journal of Photography (BJP) unveiled a new photographic portrait series, entitled ‘Catalysts’, last month. The series is made up of 19 portraits, highlighting members of the University whose work has been identified as “driving meaningful change”, according to a Bodleian Libraries press statement.

These sitters range from leading academics and clinicians to senior figures in science and arts, including Professor Steve Strand, Shadreck Chirikure, Rajesh Thakker, and Rachel Upthegrove, alongside public health leaders such as Sir Peter Horby, Dame Molly Stevens, and Sir Adrian Hill. They are joined by researchers and humanities scholars including Philip K. Maini, Nandini Das, Krina Zondervan, Teresa Lambe, Dr Samina Khan, Anne Davies, and Alain Fouad George. 

The shortlist of sitters also reflects collective and interdisciplinary work, with projects spanning cultural collections, climate training and global engagement, including Gardens, Libraries, and Museums (GLAM), Global Youth Climate Training, We Are Our History, the Africa Oxford Initiative and REACH, “a research team improving water security for vulnerable communities”.

The Bodleian Libraries told Cherwell that sitters were selected by a “panel representing the University community, including students, colleges, and divisions, and the editor of BJP”. This panel included senior University officials and Richard Ovenden, head of the Bodleian Libraries.

The shortlist of sitters was selected using criteria that included recipients of internationally recognised honours between 2024 and 2025, those shortlisted for the Vice-Chancellor’s Awards 2024/25, and individuals whose work has pushed the boundaries of their discipline, regardless of field or specialism, including through interdisciplinary approaches. Priority was given to work that makes a generous contribution to society and improves lives across a wide range of settings beyond academia. 

The series was created by three photographers Alys Tomlinson, Francis Augusto, and Leia Morrison, with diverse photographic and artistic approaches. Tomlinson said: “Working with such brilliant minds was an exciting prospect, and I found everyone to be incredibly approachable and down-to-earth.”The project was funded by the Guy and Elinor Meynell Charitable Trust, which provides grants to charitable organisations for projects related to the arts. The portraits will first be displayed at the South Parks Road Reader entrance of the Weston Library. ‘Catalysts’ will also be exhibited to the public and members of the University at several events this year, with more details to be announced soon.

‘Beautifully we may rot’: ‘Madame La Mort’ in review

Beatrix Arnold
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‘Beautifully we may rot’: ‘Madame La Mort’ in review

In a small, black-painted room on the top floor of a pub in Islington, known as The Hope Theatre, Madame La Mort, a play by Labyrinth Productions and Full Moon Theatre, and directed by Rosie Morgan-Males, was staged for the public for the first time, after a collaborative and, by all accounts, intense writing process. 

The production is derived from a 19th century French symbolist play of the same name by Rachilde, the narrative of which is embedded within a 21st century plot. The protagonist, Juliette (Esme Somerside Gregory), suffering mental breakdown, uses the character of Rachilde’s Paul as a framework to cope with her neurosis, until she can no longer differentiate her own identity from his. 

Despite the sparse and rather small set, the production makes innovative use of the space, projecting handwritten words on the back wall which become more and more confused as the play progresses. Strobe lighting for a scene set in a club, and a soundscape of recorded voices are likewise highly effective devices. In the midst of her psychosis, Juliette imagines her apartment as a decadent French salon. There is a sense of sustained irony as the stage and its props become the mise-en-scène of Juliette’s constructed reality; she parades around the set with glassy childish glee, engaging in a procession of kitsch that draws attention to its own artificiality. Yet overall, the play uses a minimal amount of props, facilitating the audience’s immersion into the landscape of the mind. 

The production seems to delight in experimenting with form, swiftly switching between contrasting scenes that become more disorienting in line with the process of Juliette’s neurotic desubjectification. The feverish pace of the play, hurtling from one scene to the next, is pulled up short by moments of stillness, when it lunges and lands in the exploration of an image – a still lake, toast crumbs, the colours of a sunrise. One such extended pause comes with Juliette’s monologue, which is where Somerside Gregory, who wrote the passage herself, really excels. Her delivery was engaging and evocative, monopolising the audience’s attention with compelling intensity. 

Juliette’s narrative is propelled by a psychology of paranoia, whereby the self is threatened by its own unaccommodated residues, and dissolves in a web of uncomprehended forces. A concatenation of short scenes traces Juliette’s self-disintegration as a result of the pressure from outside – the impersonal intervention of the therapist (Rohan Joshi), the anguished concern of her girlfriend, Lucie (Thalia Kermisch) – and paranoid fantasy from within. Lucie maintains a stubborn rationality in the face of her partner’s neurosis, as the prosaic clashes with the poetic. The intransigence of Juliette’s therapist is a source of frustration, as he, in the face of her breakdown, can only repeat ad absurdum the phrase: “We’ve talked about this.”

Juliette’s secure bearings in the world are eroded, as she is precipitated into a final and catastrophic decline, her subjectivity disintegrating under the pressure of her nightmarish delusions. The play’s emotional matrix is an acute claustrophobia, an oppressive sense of imprisonment, which, as the narrative progresses, extends from Juliette to the audience. There is no scope for distantiation here; the audience is immersed increasingly into Juliette’s psyche. 

Themes of psychosis and suicide are difficult to portray with subtlety and sensitivity, particularly through the visual medium of theatre. As a result, the production, leaning as it does towards abstraction, tends to fall back on a vague romanticisation of its more hard-hitting concerns, which, although not handled without nuance, comes across at times as a little hackneyed. 

The script, the product of a ‘writers’ room’, is an amalgamation of translation from the original French – a florid, baroque style – and modern insertions, creating “a polyphonic translation”, according to the programme. At times, this sits in uneasy juxtaposition, particularly when Lucie switches from her colloquial, doggedly rational idiolect to a more archaic form of beseeching speech. The heavy-handedness of several of the narrative jabs – the drug-laced cigarette, the figuration of death as a woman in a black dress, the suicide note – are likewise the result of appropriation from the source material, and have the potential to point up the convoluted nature of the play’s conceit. 

The limitations of the set, and the run-time, although doubtless frustrating for the production team, ultimately work in its favour. Productions of this kind, encroaching into the realm of the abstract, often veer towards self-indulgence. Restricting the play to a vignette serves to concentrate its thematic and symbolic resonance, although one does get the sense that, hyper-aware of this restraint, they are attempting to pack too much into it. 

Morgan-Males insists that it is still a “work in progress”; by the time of its scheduled Trinity term run in Oxford, and, looking further ahead, its staging at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the play may appear entirely different. In fact, the script was subject to heavy revision just days before this week’s performance. Its fluctuating nature as a piece of media grants it the ability to explore and incorporate varied angles on its themes, while retaining its core focus. As if to reflect the content, the very form of the work plays upon the spectacle of chaos and multiplicity. 

Madame La Mort is a highly evocative piece of writing, creatively staged, and, on the whole, well-performed, if slightly let down by the contingency of its literary strategy. The script will, no doubt, develop and mature with revisions – it is this resistance to stasis that supplies the play’s appeal. Even if French accents are not really your thing, its commitment to innovation makes this play one worth watching. 

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