Page 3 – Cherwell

SU launches new community fund for society events

News

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21st August 2025

SU launches new community fund for society events

The Oxford University Student Union (SU) is launching a new community fund to support student societies “to create exciting, inclusive events”. Societies can apply for up to £200 in events funding from this Friday – with applications for Michaelmas term closing on 5th September.

Alongside financial support, societies which receive funding will also feature in the SU’s MT25 term card, a new initiative which advertises student events across Oxford.

The fund is spearheaded by the SU’s President for Communities and Common Rooms, Shermar Pryce, who was elected in February. Upon election, Pryce said that he would address college disparities and give powers of society registration and funding to the SU instead of the University Proctors.

Pryce told Cherwell: “I believe student societies are a core component of university life at Oxford. The Community Fund is about giving them the tools and support they need to continue to bring people together and create memorable experiences.

“We at the SU are very excited to see what societies will be able to create for students with the support from this initiative.”

Speaking to Cherwell, the President of the Oxford Economics Society said that the fund would be “very useful” and “much needed”. He added that “societies in Oxford pretty much have to fend for ourselves whereas other unis [sic] provide budgets worth several thousands to their societies”.

The President of the Oxford University Turkish Society also told Cherwell: “This grant would be a great boost for the Turkish Society at such an exciting stage in our growth. As President, my focus has been on making the society an inclusive and empowering space, and this support would really help us continue that mission

“The funding would not only cover essentials like event resources, travel and administrative costs, but also help us expand our reach, social media content and make the society as enriching and impactful as possible.”

The SU has encouraged societies to apply early to secure support for their events. More information about the fund, application criteria and how to apply will be available on the SU’s website on Friday.

Architectural and religious fusions in Andalusia and Oxford

Art
Culture

Sofia O'Casey

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21st August 2025

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Architectural and religious fusions in Andalusia and Oxford

Oxford is a city deeply entwined with religion. With the first of its colleges founded as Christian institutions, a college without a chapel is rare. The city’s architecture survives as a testament to this past. This is not to say that Christianity is the only religion to influence the city’s history. Every year on the 1^st May, Magdalen College Choir sings the Hymnus Eucharisticus to herald the arrival of spring. Celebrations of May Morning are rooted in Celtic paganism, while the lyrics of the Hymnus Eucharisticus are inherently Christian (with the hymn beginning with a dedication “Te Deum Patrem colimus” or “We worship you, God, the Father”). Oxford’s religious syncretism is most obvious on May Morning through song and celebration – but in the Andalusian city of Granada, syncretism lives and breathes through its paint and stone. After a year of being consumed by my studies in Arabic and Islamic history and culture, the relief of summer after a long Trinity term crept into view. The idea of seeing Granada this summer – the last Islamic city to fall in the Christian Reconquista – grew clearer and more concrete.

For nearly eight centuries, cities like Córdoba, Seville, and Granada stood as centres of learning and beauty, shaped by the intellectual, cultural, and aesthetic values of the Islamic world. Today, in the region now known as Andalusia, the traces of Islamic civilisation are not just preserved, but define the region’s character. Granada’s Alhambra stands atop a hill, shielded by the mountains and overlooking the modern city, while serving as a vestige of Spain during the Islamic Golden Age. Walking in the space between the Nasrid palaces and the Alcazaba, one is not only astounded by their sight but by the sound that accompanies it. Hundreds of swifts can be heard singing from the towers and the treetops, the little birds permeating the complex with their euphony. One could easily be forgiven for forgetting their existence in the modern day, as one is immediately transported to an era of Islamic rule over Spain. The Alhambra complex is one of the best-preserved relics of the Islamic Golden Age, and this fact becomes evident upon wandering the sight. What most piqued my interest, however, were the Nasrid palaces.

In the Patio de los Arrayanes, the courtyard is symmetrical along a central axis – mirroring divine harmony as conceived within Islam. The rectangular pool serves as a mirror and a visual anchor that evenly divides the space, which is typical of Islamic Garden design. The pool, lined with myrtle hedges, serves as a reference to the Persian chahar bagh (or, “four-part garden”) which functions as a symbolic microcosm of paradise as described in the Qur’an. The stucco work in its arches are filled with Arabic calligraphy of Qur’anic verses, poetry, and Nasrid inscriptions – for Islamic architecture utilises (and indeed, relies on) text as decoration, transforming scripture and praise into visual experience.

Why, one might wonder, does Islamic architecture rely on calligraphy or geometry for decoration? Why is there no figural imagery? Islamic art often practices aniconism: the absence of figural representation of religious figures, especially in sacred places like the Alhambra. This is because the Qur’an and ḥadīth discourages the creation of images on the basis that doing so may lead to idolatry. This is not a prohibition of all figural art, but within architectural ornamentation it’s avoided in favour of more abstract modes of expression. This practice is in direct contrast with, say, many examples of Christian ornamental architecture which favours figural imagery (such as in the Catedral de Granada, only a short distance away).

The Court of the Myrtles is a masterpiece of Nasrid architecture and is of an architectural style typical of the Andalusi oeuvre, but today it is overlooked by a cross atop the turret of a building beside it. The presence of this cross, in a space built for and by followers of Islam, is emblematic of the shift in religious affiliation of those who inhabited the complex, as well as the majority religious affiliation of the region. One becomes aware of the religious changes in the region while inside the complex through simply lifting their head, as ceilings of the Nasrid palaces are painted with Castilian and Christian figural imagery.

After wandering further and further into the heart of the Nasrid palaces, one of the paintings in a ceiling alcove in the Hall of the Kings (Sala de los Reyes) seems incongruent to the setting and its origins are somewhat unknown by scholars. This painting is in the central vault of the court and features a Christian courtly scene. There are chivalric images of knights and a castle, possibly alluding to European heraldic or Arthurian traditions. In the lower half of the image, in the centre, two figures can be seen kneeling to pray in a typical Catholic fashion. One might easily label this painting within an oeuvre of Christian art, but one ought to look further – for the painting, while rich with examples of Christian figural imagery, features images that are evocative of the Qur’anic descriptions of paradise (such as the birds, the trees, and the fountain at which the figures pray).

What does this seemingly incongruent convergence of religion and culture represent? Convivencia. This term, translated as “coexistence” or the more literal “living together” refers to the syncretism of Muslims, Christians, and Jews in the Spanish Middle Ages. This painting is unique as it demonstrates the act of an Islamic court appropriating Christian artistic forms.

Having seen the representation of Christianity in originally Islamic spaces, when I came across the inverse of this – Islamic figures depicted in a Christian sphere – I was doubtlessly intrigued. Aside from being the burial place of Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon, the Capilla Real de Granada also houses an impressive collection of artwork. What initially caught my attention was a smaller painting tucked away on the side of a wall in the chamber that precedes that royal crypt.

I refer to an oil painting, depicting Ferdinand III of Castile and Ibn al-Ahmar the first Muslim ruler of Granada – the founder of the Nasrid dynasty, and the same ruler responsible for the erection of the Alhambra complex. The artist depicts Ferdinand III as embracing al-Ahmar, whose attendant stands behind him. Al-Ahmar is wearing a red cape, which seems to be a reference to his epithet, and he is wearing a turban with a red rose and a feather. While we find men wearing turbans adorned with carnations in Ottoman art as a reflection of the current fashion, we have no evidence of it being the fashion for men of this period to wear roses in their turbans. Thus, this choice from the artist is emblematic of the artist’s depiction of al-Ahmar in the Spanish perception. One can also understand the adornments of al-Ahmar to refer to his high status. Ferdinand’s face is of centre view, and he is the largest of all six figures (as both rulers have two attendants behind them), showing that Ferdinand is intended to be the focus of the painting, rather than al-Ahmar. Ferdinand embraces al-Ahmar in a doorway, with Ferdinand and his attendants inside and al-Ahmar and his attendants on their way out of the door.

The painting aims to depict the conclusion of the conflict by the Treaty of Jaén. By illustrating the moment of their embrace, the artist visually communicates the formal submission of Granada’s ruler to the Castilian king, symbolising the end of hostilities and the establishment of a fragile peace. This event not only reflected a shift in political power but also emphasised the complex coexistence between Christian and Muslim territories on the Iberian Peninsula during the 13^th century. Through the composition and the positioning of the figures, the painting encapsulates both the assertion of Castilian authority and the nuanced diplomacy that followed the treaty’s signing. The painting’s place in the Royal Chapel is pertinent, as it contrasts the portrayal of Christians in the Alhambra, by Muslims, as a portrayal of Muslims in a Christian sphere, by Christians. While the painting in the Alhambra celebrated Convivencia, this painting in the Royal Chapel aims to show an assertion of power.

Anyone can read about history, but there is something quite profound in seeing it and feeling it. It is not often that one can walk through a city and feel the presence of history so vividly – with cities like Granada and, doubtlessly, Oxford being the exception. Granada’s art and architecture is more than merely beautiful: it tells a story of succession, syncretism, and ultimately change.

‘HOLE IN THE WALL L’HOPITAL’ at Fringe

Rebecca Harper

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18th August 2025

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★★★☆☆

Everything I write ends up being about grief – I suppose this review only proves that point. HOLE IN THE WALL L’HOPITAL, created by Chicago-based comedian Brendan Tran, pays tribute to his late father. This is his Fringe debut and though somewhat scrappy, it is full of vulnerability that makes it a worthwhile watch.

Tran starts the set with a light tone, opening with a simple joke about aeroplane seats and punctuating each punch with a giggle. The routine was full of references to Star Wars, Wandavision, Game Of Thrones, and various TikTok memes: combining these in a way that only a Zillenial routine can.

There were a couple of jokes that I’m sure would work better for an American audience. Some of Tran’s references flew over the audience’s heads, including the price of a Subway foot-long, the lore of Chicago’s Lincoln Park, Jared Fogle (which I did admittedly know a bit about due to my mild Aunty Donna obsession), and repeated mentions of a baseball player whose name still eludes me. Tran was not oblivious to this fact: he made a point of following up many of these jokes with a quippy “that would have killed in America!”. I am a big believer in writing what you know and I do not believe that these references should be cut just for the sake of an oblivious audience. However, in a show that tried so much to connect with the people watching it, the highlight of the cultural divide on either side of the stage left me with an odd feeling.

I do wish that Tran had provided a bit more of a through line in the heavier section of the set: whilst the themes of grief and parenting one’s parents came across, the transitions sometimes felt a bit clunky. Despite this, the stories about Tran’s father shined through. The performer’s connection, not only with his late father but with the experience of grief, was palpable. These were the pieces which I enjoyed most: whilst not following the traditional stand-up format, they felt most true to the set and impactful for the audience.

The staging was suitably no-frills. Tran wore a smart grey button down, accompanied only by a bum bag and a water bottle perched atop a stool. The lighting shifts were subtle but appreciated: Tran’s performance was somewhat static at points and the tech, though sparse, ensured the show held my interest.

Tran himself appeared to be somewhat of a nervous performer. As someone who has been in Tran’s shoes, part of me wonders if this was because of the relatively small (but mighty!) audience. It can be tough to stand on a stage where you can see the whites of every audience member’s eyes – I wager it would make even the most experienced performers anxious. There were moments where Tran jumped ahead, repeated himself, stumbled over punches, preempted future jokes, and repeated himself. It is understandable that a show with this level of vulnerability would manifest itself in visible nerves, but I believe that more rehearsals would have helped to disguise the nerves and enable Tran to reveal them when they were needed for the set’s heavier sections.

I like to think I’m a performer’s audience member. I have never walked out of a show, I laugh loudly, I sit in the front and do my best to return the energy. Performing is exhausting at the best of times, and it is entirely true that a good audience can make or break a show, so I somewhat selfishly aim to be the audience member I would want to see. Unfortunately, my persona as the Perfect Audience Member somewhat conflicts with my role as a reviewer. After all, it is somewhat intimidating to see someone in the front row scribbling sentences into a little notebook in the dark. (In fact, comedian and Balliol alum Claire Parry riffed on this fear in her show I Am Claire Parry, by planting notebooks within the audience and gasping in shock at the sight of her reviewers.)

I like to think I’m a performer’s reviewer, then, too. So I will summarise the above in a takeaway, as Tran would call it: whilst the hour itself undoubtedly needed more rehearsal and polish, Tran succeeded in making the small Gilded Balloon room a place to share experiences of grief.

The Fringe is relentless. You’re often on little sleep, walking quickly down the street to avoid flyerers, changing your usual routes to avoid the worst of the windstorm, and arriving home with a new hairstyle courtesy of Storm Floris anyway. It is impossible to find a routine in a place this non-stop: maybe shows like Tran’s are what we need. Sometimes you find a small reprieve in sharing vulnerability, sitting in a small theatre, and breaking down the walls together.

5 Simple Fixes to Instantly Improve Your Reflective Essay

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External Contributor

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16th August 2025

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5 Simple Fixes to Instantly Improve Your Reflective Essay

Reflective essays look easy on the surface. You write about your experience, say what you learned, and hand it in. But in practice? They’re some of the hardest to get right.

A lot of students either turn them into personal diary entries or keep things too shallow. Others over-explain the events but forget to reflect. The result feels flat even if the topic had potential.

If you’ve ever Googled do my essay after getting stuck on a reflective assignment, you’re not alone. This guide will walk you through how to write a reflective essay that’s personal, insightful, and structured enough to stand out.

Fix #1: Stop Telling, Start Reflecting

One of the most common mistakes is turning your essay into a timeline. Listing what happened doesn’t count as reflection. Your professor already knows how time works. What they’re looking for is what you thought or felt during the experience and how it changed you.

Instead of writing, “I joined the debate club,” ask yourself: What did that experience challenge in me? Did it shift how I see public speaking? Did I learn how to listen more than I talk?

Reflection isn’t about the event. It’s about the meaning behind it. Keep that as your focus from the first sentence to the last.

Fix #2: Add a Real Reflective Essay Structure

Reflective writing doesn’t have to be freeform. In fact, it reads better when it’s structured, especially if you’re reflecting on a longer or more emotional experience. Structure helps you stay on track, and it makes it easier for your reader to follow your thought process.

Here’s a simple layout that works:

Introduction – Give context and explain what experience you’ll reflect on.
Experience – Describe what happened briefly.
Reflection – Break down what you learned or how you changed.
Conclusion – Summarize your key takeaway or how it connects to your future.

This approach works especially well if you’re unsure how to start a reflective essay. Start with the facts, then build toward meaning.

Fix #3: Be Honest, But Don’t Overshare

Reflective essays are personal, but they’re not therapy sessions. You don’t need to include every detail of a painful moment or vent about someone who wronged you. Vulnerability is good as long as it supports your main point.

Stick to experiences that connect to a theme: personal growth, facing a challenge, learning a skill, shifting your mindset. Focus on how the experience affected your thinking, values, or behaviour.

It’s possible to be real without going too deep. Ask yourself: Would I be comfortable reading this aloud in class? If not, revise.

Fix #4: Use Specific Details

General statements like “It was a hard time” or “I learned a lot” don’t say anything useful. Specifics are what give your reflection weight and make it memorable.

Here’s the difference:

❌ “The project taught me a lot about teamwork.”

✅ “When our group missed the first deadline, I realized I was relying on others too much without checking in. I learned to manage expectations early.”

Details like that bring your essay to life. Think about sounds, moments, reactions, conversations, and all the little things that shaped the experience.

Fix #5: Edit Like You Mean It

Just because reflective essays are about you doesn’t mean grammar doesn’t matter. These assignments still need to follow a logical flow and avoid common writing issues.

Here’s a quick editing checklist:

Trim repetition
Fix awkward transitions
Watch tense consistency
Cut clichés (like “eye-opening,” “it hit me like a ton of bricks”)
Read it out loud, and you’ll hear what sounds off

Tools like Grammarly help, but don’t rely entirely on them. A reflective essay needs your voice: not just clean grammar but writing that feels natural.

Conclusion

A reflective essay can either be a powerful piece of writing or a rambling mess that says nothing. The difference is in how you handle the details, structure your thoughts, and choose what to focus on.

With these five fixes, you’ll have a clear process for turning your personal experience into something more impactful. It’s not about sounding deep. It’s about showing real thought.

Next time you’re stuck, skip the panic and come back to these steps. And if you still feel stuck on a draft, don’t be afraid to look for guidance.

Performative perfection and the reality behind the Instagram post

Lifestyle

Natalie Conboy

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16th August 2025

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Performative perfection and the reality behind the Instagram post

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, and I’m scrolling through Instagram. One of my resolutions for this summer was to reduce my screen time, but I still allow myself a few moments in the mornings to see what everyone is up to and communicate with friends via the time-honoured tradition of sending hundreds of reels.

It’s nice to see people on their holidays: an endless feed of bodies on beaches enjoying their well-earned rest. Naturally everyone wants to share what they’re doing, but it’s easy to compare when faced with a flood of stunning stories, and with the additional pressure of perfection that Oxford tends to inspire, the feelings of inadequacy can quickly take over. I’m not projecting the aesthetic of the blasé middle-class-white-girl holiday enough, I’m not bettering my future enough, I’m not ‘Living My Twenties’ enough.

It’s common knowledge that social media only shows the good stuff. We’ve been told this since we were kids, warned by our parents as they, willingly or unwillingly, gave us the keys to the digital world, and yet it never stops deceiving us. Its whole draw is to share memories with your friends, to advertise your highlights with the added satisfaction of having others admire your perfectly put-together life.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s anything intrinsically wrong with wanting to create your own online space filled with beautiful memories; one look at my own Instagram will show you I am very much a pawn in this aesthetic-chasing game. Whilst I do this for myself as much as for others, I have to admit that the performative element still plays a part. There’s a reason that likes are such dopamine hits.

And so I have my own summer travels to broadcast. Two days after getting back home from Oxford, I hopped over the Channel to France to stay with my grandparents. Theirs being a beautiful home in an idyllic village, Instagram is used to great effect. As I sit eating fresh baguette and apricots for breakfast on the terrace, the photo I take of my laptop and the beautiful garden behind it goes straight onto my story, a picture-bite to encapsulate my day.

Well, at least my morning. This aestheticised self-documentation hides the fact that every afternoon we drive, not to the beach or the local château, but to the hospital. My grandmother is ill, and what Instagram doesn’t know is that instead of leading us on our Sunday walk or helping us win evening boules, she is dying of cancer. Not very hot girl summer.

So, as my perfectly formed summer plans crumble in front of me, why am I still compelled to publicise the stunning views that I am not enjoying without her? Or the picturesque French market where I accompany my grandfather, whose early-onset Alzheimer’s means that he struggles to remember anything in the absence of his wife? Maybe it’s a deliberate form of escapism to cling to these aesthetic snapshots, in the hope that in some alternate universe I am enjoying a summer with a perfectly well grandmother, speaking French and discussing literature as usual. But why, then, do I still take others’ displays at face value when I am so obviously not following my own picture-perfect pretence?

Of course, I am enjoying some of this summer, and I am well aware that preparing for grief in a beautiful cottage in Brittany is a very privileged way to spend a shitty vac. Yet as I scroll through my feed waiting to be let into the hospital room, it’s impossible to stop the surge of envy. But how do I know that these people are not also engaging in false advertising? I’m sure not everyone is deliberately obscuring their realities, and most people probably are genuinely enjoying jetting off around the world, but it’s true that anyone not in my closest group chat could well be looking at my profile feeling the same envy with which I regard theirs.

Is there any escape from this constant cycle? Awareness of its superficiality doesn’t prevent me from wanting to participate in it. Of course there are ways: deleting social media for one, or letting everyone know the reality for another, but cutting myself off from the world of aesthetics isn’t something I want to do, and the latter seems even more performative. The challenge of being aware of my own deceptive front is projecting it outwards and understanding that not everything makes its way online.

Or maybe I’m just saying this to make myself feel better. Chances are my end-of-summer post will be all sunny skies and rainbows, with no mention of the darker threads that have been present the entire time. All that remains is the hope that my own carefully curated perfection reminds me of the rose-tinted lens social media places over reality, and that this awareness eases any envy as the summer vac unfolds in snapshots of other people’s lives.

Triptorelin: The Crossroads of Endocrine and Neurobiological Research

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External Contributor

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15th August 2025

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Triptorelin: The Crossroads of Endocrine and Neurobiological Research

Triptorelin, a synthetic decapeptide analog of gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH), has emerged as a focal point in experimental endocrinology and neurobiology. As a potent GnRH receptor agonist, Triptorelin is believed to modulate the hypothalamic-pituitary-gonadal (HPG) axis, supporting the secretion of luteinizing hormone (LH) and follicle-stimulating hormone (FSH). While its experimental implications have been widely explored, its potential in mechanistic research continues to expand, offering insights into hormonal regulation, neuroendocrine signaling, and developmental biology.

The peptide’s structural modifications are theorized to support its receptor affinity and resistance to enzymatic degradation, making it a valuable tool in long-term experimental protocols. Investigations suggest that Triptorelin may serve as a model compound for studying hormonal feedback loops, receptor desensitization, and the broader implications of endocrine modulation across various physiological systems.

Structural Characteristics and Mechanism of Action

Triptorelin is composed of ten amino acids, structurally engineered to mimic endogenous gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH) while exhibiting increased stability and prolonged receptor interaction. The peptide’s affinity for GnRH receptors in the anterior pituitary is believed to initiate a biphasic response: an initial surge in gonadotropin secretion followed by receptor downregulation and suppression of LH and FSH release upon sustained exposure.

This dual-phase mechanism has made Triptorelin a subject of interest in research models exploring hormonal pulsatility, receptor sensitivity, and endocrine adaptation. It has been hypothesized that the peptide’s prolonged receptor engagement may provide a unique platform for dissecting the temporal dynamics of hormone signaling and feedback inhibition.

Endocrine Modulation and Reproductive Research

One of the most prominent areas of Triptorelin research is its potential to modulate reproductive endocrinology. By engaging GnRH receptors, the peptide may support the secretion of gonadotropins, which in turn regulate the synthesis of sex steroids such as estrogen and

testosterone. This cascade is central to the development and maintenance of reproductive function in research models.

In developmental biology, Triptorelin is relevant in studies of the timing and regulation of puberty. Research suggests that the peptide may delay or suppress the onset of puberty in research models, providing a framework for investigating the neuroendocrine mechanisms that trigger sexual maturation. Additionally, Triptorelin has been employed in models of reproductive senescence to explore the decline of gonadotropin signaling and its systemic implications.

The peptide’s potential to transiently alter hormonal profiles has also made it relevant in studies of gonadal feedback mechanisms. Investigations purport that Triptorelin may help elucidate the role of kisspeptin neurons, GnRH pulse frequency, and steroid hormone feedback in maintaining reproductive homeostasis.

Neuroendocrine Interactions and Cognitive Research

Beyond its potential role in reproductive biology, Triptorelin has garnered attention for its hypothesized support of neuroendocrine signaling. The GnRH system is not confined to the hypothalamus; GnRH receptors have been identified in various brain regions, including the hippocampus, amygdala, and cerebral cortex. This distribution suggests that GnRH analogs, such as Triptorelin, may support cognitive and emotional processes.

Experimental models have explored the peptide’s potential to modulate neuroplasticity, synaptic transmission, and neurogenesis. It has been theorized that Triptorelin may interact with neurotransmitter systems such as dopamine and serotonin, thereby supporting functional mammalian behavioral patterns, learning, and memory. These findings have led to speculation about the peptide’s relevance in research on neurodevelopmental disorders, stress adaptation, and cellular age-related cognitive decline.

Metabolic and Growth Research

The HPG axis is intricately linked to metabolic regulation, and Triptorelin’s possible role in this context is an emerging area of interest. Investigations suggest that the peptide may support insulin sensitivity, lipid metabolism, and energy expenditure by affecting sex steroid levels. In

research models, alterations in gonadotropin signaling have been associated with changes in adiposity, glucose homeostasis, and hepatic function.

Triptorelin has also been investigated for its possible support of growth hormone (GH) secretion. While GH is primarily regulated by growth hormone-releasing hormone (GHRH) and somatostatin, there is data to suggest that GnRH analogs might indirectly modulate GH dynamics through their support of sex steroids and hypothalamic signaling. These interactions have prompted further exploration into the peptide’s potential role in growth and developmental research.

Oncological and Cellular Proliferation Studies

The peptide’s potential to suppress gonadotropin and sex steroid secretion has made it a valuable tool in experimental oncology. In hormone-sensitive tumor models, Triptorelin has been revealed to be relevant to investigations into the role of endocrine signaling in tumor growth, angiogenesis, and cellular proliferation. It has been hypothesized that the peptide might reduce mitogenic signaling in tissues responsive to estrogen or testosterone, thereby altering tumor progression.

Additionally, Triptorelin has been employed in studies examining the support of hormonal deprivation on cellular apoptosis, autophagy, and DNA repair mechanisms. These investigations aim to uncover the molecular pathways through which hormonal modulation supports cell cycle regulation and genomic stability.

Developmental and Epigenetic Research

Triptorelin’s support for hormonal cascades during critical developmental windows has positioned it as a candidate for research in epigenetics and developmental programming. It has been theorized that transient hormonal alterations during early life stages might induce long-term changes in mammalian gene expression, chromatin structure, and cellular differentiation.

In research models, Triptorelin has been relevant to explanations of the support of early-life endocrine disruption on reproductive capacity, metabolic function, and neurobehavioral outcomes. These studies suggest that the peptide may serve as a tool for investigating the

developmental origins of science and disease, particularly in the context of endocrine-disrupting exposures.

Molecular Signaling and Receptor Dynamics

At the molecular level, Triptorelin’s interaction with GnRH receptors has provided insights into receptor desensitization, internalization, and downstream signaling. The peptide’s prolonged receptor engagement is believed to induce conformational changes that alter G-protein coupling and second messenger activation.

Research indicates that Triptorelin may differentially activate signaling pathways, such as MAPK, PKC, and calcium-calmodulin cascades, depending on receptor density and cellular context. These findings have implications for understanding biased agonism, receptor trafficking, and the fine-tuning of hormonal responses.

Moreover, the peptide has been studied in research models examining receptor cross-talk, where GnRH receptor activation supports the signaling of other hormone receptors, such as those for prolactin, thyroid-stimulating hormone, or corticotropin-releasing hormone. These interactions underscore the complexity of endocrine integration and the potential for Triptorelin to serve as a probe in systems biology.

Future Directions and Theoretical Implications

As peptide-based research continues to evolve, Triptorelin remains a molecule of considerable interest. Future investigations may focus on mapping its receptor distribution beyond the pituitary, characterizing its support on non-reproductive tissues, and developing analogs with selective receptor affinity or altered pharmacokinetics.

There is also growing interest in exposing research models to Triptorelin in combination with other peptides or small molecules to explore synergistic implications for hormonal networks. For instance, pairing Triptorelin with kisspeptin analogs or neuropeptide Y modulators might reveal new dimensions of hypothalamic regulation and reproductive control.

Conclusion

Triptorelin represents a versatile and multifaceted peptide in the landscape of experimental endocrinology and neurobiology. Its hypothesized properties in hormonal modulation, neuroendocrine signaling, and developmental regulation have positioned it as a valuable tool for probing the intricacies of physiological adaptation. While much remains to be uncovered about its mechanisms and broader implications, the peptide’s structural resilience and receptor specificity make it a compelling candidate for continued exploration.

As researchers delve deeper into the molecular and systemic dimensions of Triptorelin, new insights may emerge that reshape our understanding of hormonal communication, cellular plasticity, and the dynamic interplay between endocrine and neural systems. The journey of this synthetic decapeptide is far from over, and its potential to illuminate the hidden architecture of biological regulation is only beginning to unfold.

Visit Core Peptides for the best research materials.

References

[i] Wang, Y., Chen, Y., & Zhang, F. (2023). Physiological and pharmacological overview of the gonadotropin-releasing hormone. Biochemical Pharmacology, 212, 115553.

[ii] Morgan, K., Leighton, S. P., & Millar, R. P. (2012). Probing the GnRH receptor agonist binding site identifies methylated triptorelin as a new anti-proliferative agent. Journal of Molecular Biochemistry, 1(2), 86–98.

[iii] Barton, E. R., et al. (2018). The effect of luteinizing hormone–reducing agent on anxiety and novel object recognition memory in gonadectomized rats. Behavioral Brain Research, 345, 54–62.

[iv] Conley, R. S., & Jones, C. (2018). Triptorelin: A review of its use as an adjuvant anticancer therapy in early breast cancer. Drug Safety, 41(6), 675–688.

[v] de Paula, A. C., et al. (2012). Spotlight on triptorelin in the treatment of premenopausal women with early-stage breast cancer. Breast Cancer: Targets and Therapy, 4, 19–28.

Cherwell Mini Cryptic #1 – Just Desserts

Puzzles

Zoë McGuire

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14th August 2025

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Constructed by Zoë McGuire with the free <a href="https://amuselabs.com/games/crossword/" target="_blank" style="color: #666666;text-decoration: underline">crossword builder</a> from Amuse Labs

Fancying something a little more savoury? Why not try this week’s mini crossword.

Follow the Cherwell Instagram for updates on our online puzzles.

For even more crosswords and other puzzles, pick up a Cherwell print issue from your JCR or porters’ lodge!

Cherwell Mini #18 – A Slice of Life

Puzzles

Zoë McGuire

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14th August 2025

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Built by Zoë McGuire with the online <a href="https://amuselabs.com/games/crossword/" target="_blank" style="color: #666666;text-decoration: underline">crossword puzzle maker</a> from Amuse Labs

Mini-crosswords from last term:

Follow the Cherwell Instagram for updates on our online puzzles.

For even more crosswords and other puzzles, pick up a Cherwell print issue from your JCR or porters’ lodge!

Jonathan Coe: ‘We’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater big time by embracing neoliberalism’

Profiles

Hassan Akram

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13th August 2025

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Jonathan Coe: ‘We’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater big time by embracing neoliberalism’

Jonathan Coe is a novelist and writer. He graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, and completed an MA and PhD at the University of Warwick. His novels, most of them comic or political, include What a Carve Up! (1994), a sprawling satire of Thatcherism; The Rotters’ Club (2001), an award-winning account of growing up in 1970s Birmingham; Middle England (2018), described as “the first great Brexit novel”; and, most recently, The Proof of My Innocence (2024), a mashup of mystery and autofiction and dark academia set during the premiership of Liz Truss. Cherwell spoke to him about novel-writing, neoliberalism, and Henry Fielding.

Cherwell: You’ve written sixteen novels, I want to say?

Coe: Yes if you count The Broken Mirror, the children’s book. The handy thing to remember is that Number 11 is the eleventh.

Cherwell: Do you have a favourite book you’ve written?

Coe: I like things about all of them and dislike things about all of them. I have a soft spot for The Accidental Woman, because it’s my first one and it’s so different from all the others. When I listened to it once as an Audiobook, it felt like it was written by someone else. It’s part of my twenty-four-year-old self, and that seems a long time ago.

Cherwell: Who would you say is your biggest literary influence?

Coe: [long pause] There are so many in a way and they influence you in different ways, but to go to the fountainhead I’d say Henry Fielding. I discovered him by accident when I was doing my A-levels. We had a slightly incompetent English teacher and he gave us Joseph Andrews to read over the holidays even though we were actually meant to be studying Jane Austen. Everyone else came back furious that they’d wasted their time reading this book that they all hated, but I absolutely fell in love with it, and I bless my teacher’s incompetence every day. It took me straight to Tom Jones. I was obsessed with Fielding in my twenties and did my PhD on him at Warwick. There’s a kind of mixture of the innovative and the accessible in Fielding that I’ve always aspired to. He was making the novel up as he went along, to do that and to carry the reader along on a really involving narrative journey is quite an achievement.

The more I read about Fielding, the more I think that the narrative persona he adopts in Tom Jones is just as fictional as everything else. He was really just grumpy. If you want to know the real Fielding, you should read his last book, Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon. The prose is convoluted, and he’s very ill and angry, but it gets closer to him as a person. I actually dramatised it and it’s one of the big disappointments of my career that it only got one production.

Cherwell: I can definitely see the Fielding influence in your novels, the high spirits, and the willingness to make fun of things, especially hypocrisy. But your work is similar to that of other comic novelists too, like PG Wodehouse.

Coe: I have mixed feelings on Wodehouse. I call him the Mozart of comic writers but you have to be in the mood. I was meant to do a podcast on PG Wodehouse and I agreed to do it. It was just after Trump had been elected and the world seemed very grim, I picked up Wodehouse and started reading and it just got on my nerves a bit.

Cherwell: Which contemporary writer do you find yourself most in sympathy with?

Coe: I love Ishiguro, especially The Remains of the Day which is actually a great comic novel. I like Ian McEwan, too, a less funny writer but he has his moments. I’m endlessly waiting to be blown away by a contemporary writer but it never happens.

Cherwell: Your novels are more explicitly political than most, more explicitly tied in to current affairs and politics. For example, The Proof of My Innocence is a satire on Trussonomics. Where do you see the role of the novelist in political discourse?

Coe: My family interestingly would be amazed that I’ve turned out as a novelist with this kind of reputation. As a kid I had my head in the clouds, watched movies and never watched the news, and probably didn’t even know who the prime minister was. I was like that until 1979 when Mrs Thatcher got into power.

Cherwell: You say “Mrs” Thatcher, I notice, that’s usually what her admirers say! But I know you’re not an admirer.

Coe: My opinions about her are starting to change. Compared to the generation that followed her, the Conservative politicians we have now, she seems a towering figure. One reason I wrote The Proof of My Innocence was to talk about what’s happened to the Conservative movement in the last forty years. It’s taken a very dark and shameful turn. In hindsight, you can see that everything Mrs Thatcher did had consequences, that everything would turn out as badly as it has, but I think she would be horrified to see what the long-term effects of some of her policies have been. She would have vigorously opposed Brexit, I suspect.

But I don’t think novelists have a duty or responsibility to write about these things. We write about whatever interests us and happens to fire our imaginations. I’m not active politically, I’m not a party member but there are other writers who are much more politically involved than I am who don’t write about it at all. I think I’m just interested in the choices people make and how the choices we make are inseparable from the context we make them in, and how part of that context is political. I think there’s been a big cultural shift in Britain in my lifetime, between the post-war consensus which lasted until 1979, and everything that has come since – I grew up in the first of those eras, and that was what nurtured me. I think we’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater big time by embracing neoliberalism.

Cherwell: That definitely comes through in your books, this vision of the post-war years. In most novelists you get a sense of an ideal, which you can infer from their body of work, and the ideal I get from your books is sort of – the 1950s but without the prejudices.

Coe: Well this is the thing, it was a great time to be a white heterosexual guy but not a great time if you belonged to any other minority, including just being a woman. I have a strong nostalgia for it in some ways and an equally strong sense that we can’t and shouldn’t go back to it. Part of the situation at the moment, that so many people are turning to the far-right and voting for populists, is that they’re so angry about things, and yet materially nearly everyone is better off than they would have been in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

Cherwell: I suppose the difference is that, then, things were getting better, whereas, now, things are getting worse. Real living standards have barely risen since 1975, whereas if you look at the changes in living standards between say 1910 and 1975, they were enormous.

Coe: If that’s true, it means the resentment has been festering for a long time. I think we’re at a number of other watersheds as well. So many people lost faith in the Labour Party when we went into Iraq in 2003 and the economy hasn’t recovered from the crash in 2008. We haven’t really had an honest conversation about it. It’s going to happen again sooner or later. Most people I listen to say it’s just a matter of time before another crash.

Cherwell: What do you see as the alternative?

Coe: It would be great if we could take the baby back and leave the bathwater out, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t think the problem is with the government, it’s successive governments. Everything is viewed in terms of the profit motive and how much money something can make, and that’s been the case since the 1980s. It’s not only not enough, it’s not even most people’s values. Endless growth is not the answer to everything, especially not with the radically unequal distribution of wealth. It’s an absurdity, really, when you think of just how much money someone like Elon Musk has. I think when people say every billionaire is a symptom of social failure, that’s how we should look at it.

I know some people say my politics aren’t as radical as when I wrote What a Carve Up! in 1994, when that book is really just a bog-standard centre-left polemic, it’s just a simple soft socialist argument for people not being too greedy.

Cherwell: That’s berating it a bit. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book that’s more unformulaic than What a Carve Up!, it’s so well-plotted and well-constructed. How did you even begin to construct it?

Coe: It was very fun, I remember that. It and The Proof of My Innocence are the two examples that leap out as books I enjoyed writing. Some people are fantastic at pure maths, some people are fantastic at crosswords, and it turned out – I didn’t suspect it – that the thing I was good at was devising large-scale structurally complex plots. Writing sentences I find hard, getting an idea down on the page is hard, but planning a novel – which I mainly do in my head, by the way – is something that comes naturally and instinctively. A lot of my sense of narrative structure comes from Fielding, who was one of the great literary architects. I remember reading a lot of Agatha Christie while writing it. One of my quirks is that I know before I write them how many pages my novels will have, and this one I knew would be 500 pages. I enjoy doing it. I call it structured daydreaming. It would be a nightmare for me to write a plotless novel, I wouldn’t know how to do it.

Cherwell: You said you equally enjoyed writing Proof of My Innocence. The section of it that I enjoyed most was the one set in Cambridge. Was that based on your own memories?

Coe: Brian Collier, who narrates that section, is a mix of myself and my best friend at Cambridge. It was a quick and fluid section to write because I’d been waiting to write something like this for years, I’d never really written about my time at Cambridge. I wrote one and a half novels while I was at Trinity and a book of short stories – it’s all unpublished, but it gave me material to work from for this section. The short stories were truly appalling, self-pitying, and sentimental, which was where the Tommy Cope character came from – I wanted to take the piss out of my old self a bit. Part of me is Brian and part is Tommy.

Cherwell: When is your next novel coming out?

Coe: I would like to say… November 2026. For the last eight years, it’s been one every two years but I’m not sure I can keep up with that.

Beyond the binary: Leigh Bowery’s radical individuality

Art
Culture

Ava Doherty

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13th August 2025

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Beyond the binary: Leigh Bowery’s radical individuality

Tate Modern’s “Leigh Bowery!” refuses easy categorisation—much like its subject

A fashion student from Sunshine, Melbourne, rocks up to London in 1980, writes ‘wear makeup everyday’ on his New Year’s resolutions, and proceeds to revolutionise performance art. Leigh Bowery (1961-1994) packed more artistic innovation into his 33 years than most manage in twice the time. Tate Modern’s retrospective proves why his influence still reverberates through contemporary culture. Considering Bowery’s own relationship with institutional capture, the irony isn’t lost.

Bowery famously declared, “if you label me, you negate me,” and this exhibition treats that complexity with appropriate seriousness. This isn’t another show about an “LGBTQ+ artist” or “club kid” but about pure artistic meritocracy in its most visceral form. It makes you question your own assumptions about art, identity, and why certain bodies make us uncomfortable.

Countering London’s fashionable “Hard Times” look (deliberately shabby, post-apocalyptic chic), Bowery went full maximalist. Sequined vinyl hats, platform boots, faces painted in abstract geometries that made Bowie look restrained. His early fashion collections weren’t just clothes but wearable sculptures that transformed the human body into something delightfully alien.

Bowery understood performance art’s fundamental principle: the individual is the artwork, not merely its vehicle. His legendary 1988 gallery performance Mirror at Anthony d’Offay crystallises this concept. A room divided by a two-way mirror: Bowery poses under spotlights for two hours daily, seeing only his reflection while audiences watch from the other side. Here, contemporary drag performances are turned into conceptually rigorous yet deeply unsettling pieces.

Fergus Greer’s photographs document this merger of body and art with methodical precision. Session VII, Look 38 shows Bowery as pure form—geometric patterns painted across skin, fabric distorting human anatomy into alien topography. These aren’t merely documentary shots but genuine collaborations, transforming photography into another performance medium.

Leigh Bowery's individuality appeared in the elaborate and aliien-like fashion he produced - utilising colour, sequins and headgear in unique ways. — Image Credit: “Leigh Bowery Exhibition” by jacquemart via Flickr. (CC0)

The exhibition’s curatorial intelligence lies in refusing to confine Bowery within identity. Yes, he operated within queer club culture—his club Taboo was legendarily “London’s sleaziest, campest and bitchiest”—but his artistic project transcended demographic boundaries.

Jeffrey Hinton’s multimedia installation recreating Taboo’s aesthetic chaos demonstrates this perfectly. Layered video “scratches” (experimental films mixing pornography, surgical footage, and TV commercials), pounding club music, shifting lights—it’s genuinely overwhelming. You understand why bouncer Marc Vaultier would hold up that mirror, asking: “Would you let yourself in?” Most honest viewers would probably answer no, which was rather the point.

But what was Bowery stripped of makeup and clothes, outside of his performance den? Consider his collaborations with Lucian Freud, that bastion of the heterosexual artistic establishment. Freud painted Bowery “unmasked” (without makeup or elaborate costumes) on a larger scale than his usual portraits. But was this the “real” Leigh? Or simply another performance of authenticity? The paintings suggest Freud recognised that, even naked, Bowery remained fundamentally performative.

This artistic promiscuity proves Bowery’s point: talent trumps taxonomy. From fashion shows funded by unemployment benefits to Freud’s studio, from underground clubs to mainstream galleries, he succeeded purely on artistic merit. Contemporary influences from Alexander McQueen to Jeffrey Gibson prove his reach extends far beyond any single scene—he achieved that rare status of an artist whose work speaks louder than biography.

The exhibition preserves the raw, uncomfortable power of Bowery’s work without museum sanitisation. Dick Jewell’s film What’s Your Reaction to the Show? (1988) captures gallery-goers’ bewildered responses—faces cycling through disgust, fascination, and nervous laughter. This wasn’t art seeking approval but demanding visceral reaction, the kind that lingers uncomfortably long after viewing.

Bowery’s final performances pushed this methodology to logical extremes. His 1994 Birth piece with wife Nicola Rainbird (where she burst through his costume covered in fake blood and sausage umbilical cords) reads less as queer body politics than durational sculpture with theatrical flair. Think Marina Abramović (who sat motionless while audiences did whatever they wanted to her body) with sequins and considerably more bodily fluids.

Capturing Leigh Bowery in style and in spirit proved a complex task for many, and each attempt brought forth a new aspect of Bowery. — Image Credit: Leigh Bowery Oil on Canvas by Arshak A Sarkissian via Wikimedia Commons. (CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/)

Presented during the AIDS crisis peak, Bowery’s messy, confrontational work insisted on celebrating all aspects of human physicality. His death from AIDS-related illness on New Year’s Eve 1994 feels tragically premature, but his influence suggests that being utterly yourself—however weird that might be—can actually change the world.

The final rooms, tracing his increasingly extreme performances, feel genuinely elegiac. Not because we’ve lost a “queer icon,” but because we’ve lost an artist who proved that refusing categorisation could be its own artistic statement. In an era of increasing social media pigeonholing within arts discourse, obsessed with algorithmic consumption, Bowery’s insistence on pure artistic evaluation feels almost revolutionary. Today’s artists are routinely asked to define their sexuality or ethnicity before their aesthetics. Bowery understood this trap decades early, consistently deflecting biographical interrogation back to his work itself. And perhaps, as Oxford students, taught to question the world around us, we would do well to consider how Bowery’s viewpoint may affect our own lives.

Tate Modern has pulled off something tricky here: an exhibition that doesn’t try to tame its subject or explain away the bits that make you squirm. Bowery would dislike the stillness of a gallery floor – covered in photos and paintings, but he would absolutely love the fact that people are still walking out looking vaguely disturbed. Because let’s be honest, if art isn’t making you at least slightly uncomfortable, what’s the point?

★★★★☆

Leigh Bowery! runs at Tate Modern until 31 August 2025.

UrbanObserver

Oxford's oldest independent student newspaper, est. 1920