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The return of the surreal 

Sylvie Quick
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The return of the surreal 

Mythical, dreamlike, phantasmagorical, and absurd: Surrealism, which took the art world by storm in the early 20th century, has enjoyed a huge resurgence in the past decade. 

The original pioneers of the movement have been receiving new attention and admiration. Early this year, Salvador Dali’s painting ‘Bacchanale’ sold for a whopping €254,400 at auction, and exhibitions displaying the work of Leonora Carrington were held in both London and Paris this summer. Contemporary artists have also been turning to themes of the irrational and the unconscious in their own work, producing a second wave of surreal artworks to be enjoyed and analysed. However, for a movement that was heavily intertwined with its contemporary science, politics, and culture, it’s extremely unusual to see a huge resurgence a century after its creation. 

Artist Paulo Nimer Pjota rose to fame recently with his summer exhibition ‘Encantandos’ at the South London Gallery, displaying 11 large-scale works, all depicting different, mystical, mythological scenes, figures and animals against a number of magical, dream-like backdrops. Pushing the boundaries of traditional painting, he made the gallery space a part of his landscapes, painting a large-scale mural on all four walls, inviting them to physically step into his artworks, challenging the traditional limitations of the canvas. He combined both modern culture, such as Brazilian hip-hop and rap music, and the images and styles seen in street art, with ancient myths and legends to create a unique painted landscape. His incredible exhibition displayed the new direction of contemporary Surrealism and reflects the interest and enthusiasm of the public towards this new wave of dream-like, imaginary images. With new art forms and media readily available and accessible, and the rapid changes of technology seen in the last decade, how will this modern renaissance of the surreal be different from its origins? What can we expect from the return of the surreal?

It’s impossible to mention this resurgence without acknowledging the influence of AI and the accessibility of dream-like, absurd images. In the last few years, the visual content we consume, whether in person or online, has been flooded with artificially generated images and videos, and as technology advances, it’s becoming more and more difficult to differentiate between the real and the fake. The status of photographs as truthful reproductions of reality has declined, and roles such as graphic designers and illustrators are at risk. This influx of artificial images has divided the art world: some artists embrace technological advancements to advance their own techniques and support their creativity, offering a fresh medium for their art forms. Artist Zach Blas has been exploring this intersection in his own art, navigating the new artistic possibilities provided by new technology, whilst simultaneously highlighting its potential dangers and downfalls. For example, his work ‘Icosahedron’, an AI chatbot residing in an electronic sphere, combines computer monitors with the familiar Magic 8 Ball toy, inviting visitors to interact with it, providing mystical answers to their questions or ‘predictions’ for the future, akin to a Tolkien-esque magic orb. However, through interaction with the artwork, the limits of the chatbot are revealed, shattering the illusion of an omniscient knowledge source and the availability of personalised algorithms and answers.  

Surrealism is simultaneously an introspective art style, taking inspiration from personal experiences, emotions, and the psyche as a way of revolting against rationality, rather than just responding to external factors. By translating the unconscious activities of the human mind into dream-like visual scenes, Surrealism mainly aimed to engage with the unconscious mind and encourage artistic expression, often informed by the developing understanding of human psychology. However, knowledge of the human subconscious has advanced from the days of Dalí and Carrington, with greater understanding of how the brain processes information and the impact of culture on our psyche. 

Contemporary artists have been using these psychological developments as inspiration. Artist and researcher Albert Barque-Duran combines his fields of study in cognitive technology with new media techniques as a way of showing the intersections of art and science. His research informs his art, infusing his images with his developing understanding of how the human brain works and understanding the mechanics of human creativity.  He describes his work as offering a “reinterpretation-actualisation of the surrealist movement through contemporary   knowledge”, with his art depicting ordinary objects in bizarre combinations or eerily out of place. 

In a similar vein, contemporary artist Julie Curtiss has also adopted modern psychological developments within her work, intertwining them with developing understandings of sociology and gender studies, including ideas of femininity, heteronormativity, and examining psychological theories in the modern world as themes for her work. She examines the position of women in society using distorted and warped depictions of everyday objects or familiar images. In theme, her work is similar to that of Carrington, working almost 100 years earlier. However, Curtiss, taking inspiration from pop art and illustrations, adopts modern techniques such as acrylic or vinyl to produce shiny, sterile, faceless figures in exposed positions. This physical barrier detrails the viewer’s gaze, pushing them closer to a voyeur than the central eye of traditional art.  

Overall, this resurgence in Surrealism challenges the traditional conceptions of how we view and interact with art. While the subject matter, the absurd distortion of everyday objects, and the creation of dream-like irrational scenes and scenarios have largely persevered, the mediums in which art is created and the ways in which we are interacting with it are being changed and reshaped by contemporary surrealists. The art created embraces modernity, intertwining aspects of modern culture with ancient myth, and using new opportunities provided by greater knowledge and technology to inform their art, whilst simultaneously highlighting their faults, displaying the conjunctions and challenges in the current art world. 

Feeling fresher: How to be casually healthy whilst going out in Oxford

Barbara Kempny
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Feeling fresher: How to be casually healthy whilst going out in Oxford

Freshers’ Week is drawing to a close, and the first lectures are rolling around alarmingly fast. The past week has been a cycle of pub, club, and grub alongside a whirlwind of people you’ll spend the rest of your university time with. It’ll have been a tough week – the first week away from home for many, adjusting to newfound independence whilst navigating the throes of Freshers’ Week. With luck, you’ll have come out with a few good stories and some budding friendships. 

Yet, the toll of a regular party-going lifestyle may soon catch up with you. A lingering sore throat might have started developing during freshers – an omen of the famous ‘freshers’ flu’. Fatigue might start to catch up at the most inconvenient times – when sitting in the front row of crammed lecture halls. And the Hassan’s cheesy chips that felt so right after THAT Bridge night might be starting to feel less inspired.

Partying and going out are important parts of the social scene at Oxford, and for most, Fresher’s Week is only really a taste of the nights to come. Balancing an active partying lifestyle without completely compromising health is something I struggled with in my first year and something I’m determined to do better in my second. 

Fully subscribing to wellness principles, especially as a student, seems onerous, tedious and, well, a little boring; after all, plenty of social bonding does come from drinking, smoking and just not sleeping. Yet, letting health completely slide can catch up with you well before the end of an eight-week Oxford term: you feel groggier, less energetic, and eventually less enthusiastic about going out at all.

Getting enough sleep, drinking plenty of water, and eating a balanced diet are hardly revolutionary advice. Yet, so much of the time in Oxford, they feel almost unattainable or unsustainable. Implementing micro-habits and small tweaks could optimise and enhance the party-going lifestyle, and make going out in university just that bit more calm.

Giving your immune system that ‘Gasolina’

You can tell which lectures were recorded in Michaelmas from the orchestra of coughing harmonising with the lecturer: the soundtrack of students battling freshers’ flu whilst still diligently making their daily pilgrimage to lectures. (classic Michaelmas fresher behaviour). Freshers’ flu is the catch-all name for the coughs, colds, and influenza-like symptoms experienced after Freshers’ Week. 

Because Freshers’ Week centres around thousands of new undergraduate students travelling from all over the UK and the world to one campus or small city, a melting pot of infectious diseases boils anywhere where groups of students gather. Communal swigs of bottles of wine and other drinks at pres certainly don’t help. Neither do several nights of poor sleep and heavy drinking.  

Some of the factors contributing to freshers’ flu can’t or really shouldn’t be avoided: it is important to meet a wide range of people in one’s first week at university, even at the cost of some respiratory irritations the following week. For a lot of people, going out, drinking, and sleepless nights are formative experiences in Freshers’ Week. If you led a reckless lifestyle during Fresher’s Week but still don’t want to be completely wrecked by a bout of fresher’s flu, there are small preventative measures that you could put in place. 

Not sharing your drinks so liberally is a very easy, doable action. In first year, I struggled with this one – if someone did so much as look my way, I would be offering them a sip of my drink. Second-year me will rein in this habit: holding my drinks closer to myself, and just saying no if people I’m not too familiar with ask me to share. Not only does sharing your drinks put you on the firing line for fresher’s flu, but oral herpes and meningitis sound very scary. 

Small changes to your diet can also strengthen your immunity, preventing illness in the first place and speeding up recovery. Citrus fruit, like oranges and tangerines, are perfect options here. They taste good, make a perfect light snack at any time of the day, and are fairly cheap. They contain Vitamin C, an antioxidant critical for aiding the correct functioning of the immune system. Vitamin C cannot be made or stored by the body, and so external sources of this micronutrient, say from citrus fruits or even vegetables like bell peppers or broccoli, are essential, particularly when grappling with fresher’s flu. It’s comforting to know that ingredients common to most healthy-ish savoury meals, such as ginger, garlic and onion, contain antioxidants and other micronutrients important for good immune health. 

Even drinking tea during the day can aid immune health. Green teas contain high concentrations of epigallocatechin gallate, a chemical which boosts the body’s immunity, whilst both green and black teas contain flavonoids – very good news for the body’s immune system. Studies have also found that milk benefits immunity – suddenly a cuppa sounds like the silver bullet for fresher’s flu. 

By the sounds of things, any food or beverage that’s fairly-ish healthy and not too processed could be the answer to a smoother ride through the oncoming Fresher’s flu epidemic. 

Disturbia-nces of sleep and what to do about them

Day after day of late nights can leave you feeling fatigued, groggy and very much sleep-deprived. There is no clever hack that replaces sleep, but there are ways to make the occasional bad night less painful.

Post the club and any afterparties, it can be helpful to have a quick post-night-out sleep routine. For example, drinking lots of water and eating a light snack, like a banana, before bed. A warm shower and cleanse before bed can also help set a calming atmosphere. Although this might seem like a very long-winded process at the time, in first year I found that having this routine meant I had a better quality of sleep but also meant I woke up feeling a lot cleaner and nicer. 

Running on two to five hours of sleep can make the next day tough, both for you and the people around you. This is where naps are really your friends. A short nap around mid-afternoon – around 20 minutes – can improve alertness without consuming half the day, although exactly how groggy you feel afterwards varies. 

‘Nappuccinos’ can be incredibly effective. Drinking caffeine, for example, a latte, just before a nap means that you wake up feeling fresher, more awake and caffeinated. Caffeine from coffee takes around ten minutes for the first effects to be felt, with peak concentration typically being reached after forty-five minutes. This works perfectly with the timings of a nap and so can be an effective technique for working past the lack of sleep. 

In reasonable quantities, up to 400 mg per day for a typical healthy adult, caffeine can be a good helping hand following a poor night of sleep. Too much, however, can instead leave you jittery, anxious, nauseous, or struggling to sleep the following night.

Coffee isn’t for everyone, especially following a night out. In this case, teas are your friend – practically any, for example, Oolong, black, and green teas. Green teas and matcha tend to have higher caffeine content, and matcha is often preferred over coffee due to more prolonged and smooth effects on energy – the caffeine in matcha is absorbed more slowly compared to that of coffee, due to the presence of an amino acid called L-theanine. Cocoa also contains caffeine – so having a hot chocolate or square of dark chocolate can also contribute towards a solid caffeine intake, albeit a smaller dose. 

Although these tricks can get you through an occasional bad morning, it is also important to make sure that sleep deprivation does not become a constant throughout the remaining eight weeks of term at Oxford. Taking rest days, where you get a proper night of sleep, and saying no to some late-night social events throughout the coming weeks will ensure that running on three hours’ sleep per night is not your new baseline. Eventually, another night out stops being fun and starts feeling like an obligation. Sometimes the healthiest ‘micro-habit’ is simply saying no and going to bed. 

I Gotta Feeling I’ve got a hangover

It’s difficult to tell what symptoms of a hangover are and what is just pure exhaustion. Hangovers are typically characterised by vomiting, diarrhoea, headaches, sleep deprivation, amongst other symptoms. Interestingly, most hangover symptoms peak when blood alcohol concentration is back to zero.

This is probably the principle behind the ‘hair of the dog’ hangover cure, where one drinks more alcoholic beverages upon onset of hangover symptoms. Unsurprisingly, postponing your hangover by drinking more is not much of a cure.

Drinking lots of water both before going to bed and the morning after is a good idea, especially as alcohol suppresses vasopressin, increasing urination and contributing to mild dehydration. It will not magically cure a hangover, but it may at least address the thirst.

Some sort of kebab van novelty is the norm after a night out. While eating food following alcohol consumption can go a long way to easing hangover symptoms; however, fatty foods shouldn’t really be the go-to. As boring as it sounds, eating healthy, fairly unprocessed foods is the way to go: oatmeal at 4am; eggs and avocado on toast as a 1pm breakfast; if you really squint, carrot sticks could almost be chips. Not only is this cheaper than getting £5 fried food items after every early-morning escapade, but also your skin and waistline will be better for it. 

Finally rapping it up…

Term times at Oxford are notoriously short and notoriously intense, as first years will soon discover – and older students, by now slightly scarred, already know. Balancing a social life, a demanding workload, your health, and – for many – living away from home for the first time is difficult. 

I know I put health and wellness on the back burner in first year. I’m not planning a monastic second year in response. If anything, I want to go out just as much – only without feeling completely destroyed by week four.

Being healthier at Oxford does not have to mean swapping Park End for Pilates and becoming evangelical about chia seeds. Drink some water. Stop sharing bottles with half the smoking area. Eat something vaguely nutritious. Take a nap when you need one. And, occasionally, accept that the best preparation for your next night out is a night in.

Sport Spotlight: Charlotte Maple

Gavriella Epstein-Lightman
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Sport Spotlight: Charlotte Maple

Sport has been a constant feature of incoming Oxford University Cricket Club (OUCC) women’s Blues captain Charlotte Maple’s time at Oxford. Now completing her DPhil, she began at Oxford six years ago to study Ancient and Modern History at Lady Margaret Hall. As an undergraduate, she combined her demanding degree with Blues competition in both cricket and football. This year, by comparison, will be easier, she tells me.  

“The only feeling I have is excitement”, Maple says when I ask how she feels about becoming captain of the Blues. “I have been playing for OUCC for six years, and I’ve been hugely invested in the squad. I’m going to make the most of it.”

Maple first played cricket when she was seven. Her father was a keen cricketer who had played the sport to a high level, and he encouraged her to play for the local village cricket club in Somerset. She was the only girl in the local team. “It felt isolating, but I fell in love with the game,” Maple tells me. Aged twelve, she was scouted for a county trial for Somerset, and after being accepted, she played county cricket for two seasons. She was told that a professional cricket career was possible, but put the sport aside to focus on GCSEs and A-levels. Her love for cricket never left, and upon arriving at Oxford, she promptly signed up to the cricket team at Freshers’s’ Fair, getting her first Blue that same year.

One of the most coveted events of the Oxford cricketing season is the annual Varsity match against Cambridge, held at Lord’s Cricket Ground. The men’’s Blues have played at Lord’s for over two centuries, but the women’’s Blues first played at Lord’s in 2022. Maple was part of the pilot squad playing that match. I ask her what it is like to play on such a historic sporting stage. “It’s an incredibly exciting and important opportunity, one that nobody else really has, to play an amateur fixture in one of the most spectacular cricket grounds”, Maple explains, her enthusiasm evident. She points out that some professional cricketers never even have the opportunity to play at Lord’s in their careers.   

Maple is keen to encourage more female students to engage in cricket. She tells me that women’s cricket became a full Blue sport from 2016. Since then, the standard of women’s cricket has continually increased, as has the number of participants. Last year, a second women’s team was piloted for the first time. Beyond Oxford, women’s cricket is taking off, growing in strength in funding, professionalism and grassroots engagement. “It’s a growing sport, and we’re rising with it at Oxford”, she says, as we end the interview. 

Why are we so afraid of being bored?

Jessie Jukes
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Why are we so afraid of being bored?

We wake up, and our phone is immediately in our hand – we scroll, we text, we check the weather, the news, our emails. Then it’s breakfast, which we eat while scrolling, tapping, and liking. We brush our teeth with a YouTube video on, walk to lectures while on the phone, eat lunch while watching TV. And then, when it’s time to sleep, our phones are the last thing we look at. Every day is the same. 

When this reality is spelt out, it does sound slightly dystopian. With hundreds of thousands of hours of content and entertainment at our disposal – all accessible whenever and wherever – there is little reason to ever feel bored. When there’s a lull in the conversation, a queue to wait in, a moment of silence, we can pull out our phones and be instantly entertained. To us, boredom has become a gap to be filled, an empty space to be occupied with distraction. But perhaps, in our eagerness to fill these spaces, we have underestimated what they were doing for us. 

Short-form content is everywhere on social media. A mere swipe-up on your phone can send you down the rabbit holes of TikTok, Instagram Reels, or YouTube Shorts. And sometimes, even the short-form content isn’t short enough. Our attention spans have become so fried that we won’t even watch the entirety of these 30-second videos, deftly scrolling after we’ve read the caption and seen the first 10 seconds. This quantity-over-quality style of media consumption, one which delays not only our having to feel bored but also our need to think critically, is having knock-on effects on all forms of media; even Netflix, famously designed for streaming long-form content, has a designated ‘Clips’ section now. Algorithms and media corporations have recognised that we are, in fact, becoming increasingly restless with engagement that requires patience or critical thinking. 

Our unwillingness to accept boredom has not only changed how long we are willing to watch content, but how we watch it. I’ve noticed a tendency in modern films to use dialogue to over-explain – think exaggerated exposition scenes, where we are explicitly told how a character feels, rather than being clued in by context. Even the unnecessary inclusion of ostentatious, fast-moving action scenes is designed to draw our attention away from our phones. Films that present ambiguity or require interpretation can feel unusually demanding by comparison, and are thus often misconstrued. Engaging properly with films requires patience and active thought, but, faced constantly with media that immediately rewards us, we are becoming unfamiliar and thus uncomfortable with this. And it is not only that we are unwilling to actively engage with other media – a decline in media literacy has eroded our ability to do so. 

As children, boredom was typically remedied with activities that required patience and creativity: drawing, writing, inventing. Now we have a whole generation of iPad kids who have never felt bored and likely will never have to. We, too, are now made so uneasy by boredom and the gaps that it creates in our lives that we avoid it completely. With this, though, we are losing access to the mental space that allows us to create our best ideas. We make our best decisions, have our best thoughts, and best understand the world around us when we allow ourselves the time to actually think, without a phone in hand or music in our ears. And nowhere is this discomfort with unstimulated thought more evident than when we have to actually concentrate on something. 

When we try to study, we are forced to confront something that our phones have been shielding us from – the fact that not every moment will provide stimulation, entertainment, or immediate gratification. We have become so used to unthinkingly filling every idle moment that it can be a real struggle when it becomes time to switch our brains back on, especially after a long vacation spent without any academic stimulation. At Oxford, despite a barrage of deadlines and collections and essays constantly looming over us, the ever-present option of unlocking our phones and not having to think is increasingly tantalising. And then a five-minute break becomes a one-hour scroll. I’ll admit that I’m often the first to pull out my phone when struggling to come up with ideas, idly waiting in a queue or walking somewhere, but it is undeniable that sometimes we do just need to pause, to wait, and do nothing. It is precisely when we resist this urge, when we allow ourselves to feel and to sit in our boredom, that our brain begins to make important connections and create original ideas.

We’ve come to think of boredom as an inevitable but unpleasant gap between activities, or as space to fill, but we’ve stopped seeing that space as worthwhile in itself. Those ‘lightbulb’ moments where a crucial point suddenly comes to mind often occur in moments of inactivity, like when you’re in the shower and a thought pops into your head, or when you’re staring into space, struggling to write an essay, and an idea suddenly comes to you. It’s when we allow ourselves to exist with this feeling that we do our best work.

The discomfort that boredom brings is arguably necessary, not only in academia, but for life in general. Giving our brains space to actually think allows them to work, whether that be to problem-solve or to spark our creativity. So whenever you next find yourself waiting in a queue, or walking to a lecture, it might be worth not immediately trying to fill those gaps. Instead, try to see this time as something that needs to be embraced, rather than something to be filled. Maybe then what feels like empty space might not be so empty after all. 

Must theatre be so dire? Thoughts on the “unworthy scaffold”

Saul Grenfell
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Must theatre be so dire? Thoughts on the “unworthy scaffold”

Picture this. It’s 1599 in London. You’re at the new Globe Theatre. Or perhaps at the Curtain Theatre. Historians can’t decide. Let’s say you’re a groundling – it’s more fun that way. You’ve got a bag of peanuts in hand, or the early modern equivalent. It probably smells. Then, the chorus shuffle onto the stage. They’re met with expectant hushes. Out of silence, they emerge into steady verse. The lofty iambs you hear invoke “a Muse of fire”, yet they also ask a crucial question: “Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France?” Absorbed, the chap next to you whispers ‘Yes, yes it can’. But you can’t help but think, well no. Not really.

I am aware this is the wrong answer. Shakespeare’s false modesty (“this unworthy scaffold” – come off it!) demands that you think, oh, of course it can. This wooden “O” can in fact cram the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt. Yes, I will make imaginary puissance so that when you talk of horses, I’ll see their proud hoofs. And generations of lit crit sycophants have given their nodding assent.

But let’s be honest for a moment. Even the most ardent enjoyers of the stage must acknowledge that theatre is, to an extent, always a little dire.

I’m reminded of this in the opening of The Tempest. I always smile to myself as I wonder how theatre-makers will construct a storm onstage. How an actor has to stumble across stage, yell ‘Boatswaaiiiin!’ and stumble back off to the wings, only to hold his head in his hands knowing all too well that this in no way resembles a storm. I love those little arm-flailing dances and staggering sidesteps meant to show the rising and falling of the deck. There’s something of the primary school nativity play. It’s pathetic and tragic, and neither in the literary sense.

Of course I’m being facetious here. Some theatre is remarkably skilful, and some lopsided limb-lurching is more impressive than others. Splendid set pieces and cutting-edge special effects of sound, rain, and wind can create real spectacle. Yet it often remains woefully unconvincing. We can only imagine the Emperor’s new clothes for so long before the public indecency gets a little off-putting. So at times we may wonder: it’s the 21st century. Film can faithfully represent the stories we wish to tell. What need have we for theatre?

If the thought often attributed to Ovid is correct, that art est celare artem (true art is to conceal art), then theatre is pretty poor art. You ain’t fooling me into thinking that’s a storm. A friend of mine makes this point, although strangely never to our director when he’s casting the plays. Yet I have to remind myself that this is a silly question. I have to imagine that a century ago I’ve come out of a particularly awful exhibition at a gallery. What, I ask myself, is the point of painting when we’ve a camera that’s a far more faithful representation?

Perhaps cinema is to theatre what photography was to painting. Whilst more photorealistic forms may tend to conceal their own art – as Ovid would praise – this surely doesn’t entail their superiority. Faithfulness cannot be the metric of good art. A high-definition photograph of flowers is not by definition greater than a Van Gogh. Likewise, a believable cinematic storm is not automatically better than some wacky wobbling and foot-floundering onstage.

There’s a paradox in that the artifice of art is all the more compelling if we have a glimpse of it. This is part of the tantalising appeal of behind-the-scenes footage, and why it’s always so thrilling to glimpse actors’ true personalities and relationships as they take their bows. Think how we’re so captivated by the possibility of Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones or Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield.

Two film representations of the prologue to Henry V are particularly delightful in this respect: they tease us with the illusion of theatre. Laurence Olivier’s Technicolour 1944 version begins with an aerial shot of Elizabethan London, which pans across from the Tower to the Globe Theatre, and into a deliciously evocative scene of crammed-in groundlings and the atmospheric accoutrements of a lady selling apples, before trumpets sound and our play begins within the theatre. At the opening of Act II, we shift our scene to Southampton, as the illustrated ocean vista on the theatre’s curtain dissolves into the real thing. The play ends with a zoom in from the opulent palace onto the newlywed royals taking their thrones, and a zoom out onto the Globe itself. Cue riotous applause. Kenneth Branagh’s 1989 take is wonderfully meta too, as Derek Jacobi speaks the prologue whilst wandering through a film set, and the epilogue straight down the lens. Both embrace their medium’s very artifice

We never return to painting and theatre for their nonchalance. The joy is the artifice. In painting, each brushstroke tangibly intimates the brush, the hand that held it, the mind that led it, and the heart behind it. In theatre, it’s to look into a man’s eyes and try to discern where man ends, and Hamlet begins. It’s to see those horse’s proud hoofs when that actor’s feet are firmly planted onstage. It’s to watch the curtain’s waves melt into that furrowed sea itself.

So theatre must draw attention to its own artifice. Hence the perverse appeal of Bertolt Brecht’s desire that the actor “must not go so far as to be wholly transformed” into a character; we’ve got to resist the full ‘method’. This is essential for an art form that’s ironically real, immediate in the physical distance between actor and audience, and immediate in its emotions. The messiness, the unpredictable, the implausible – all happening this very moment – are why we return to the stage. In the age of digital smoothness, we return to the awkward artifice of live performance.

It must be said that embracing grittiness is not unique to theatre. Of course, the Henry V productions above are themselves films, and Richard Ayoade delightfully talks of doubling down on the unreality of cinema, using a handheld camera to draw our attention more to the cameraman. But theatre can’t hide its seams as cinema can. The theatre is unrepeatable and live: we can’t ignore its bizarre unreality. Wood must transmorph into fields, actor into king, and wobbled arm-jerks into a ship in storm.

This is why I ultimately can forgive Shakespeare for the prologue to Henry V (I’m sure he’s relieved by my approval). It’s annoyingly brilliant. It walks a fine line between downplaying and exaggerating the power of theatre. It veers neither into self-indulgence nor disillusionment. I know the stage isn’t much, he seems to say, but join me.

So fine, William. I’ll happily indulge you. If you my humble patience pray, I shall gently hear, kindly judge, your play. Although if you’re doing a storm onstage, tell me now. I might need to grab some mead at the interval.

Pitt Rivers Museum returns Māori artefact to New Zealand

Orla McMahon
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Pitt Rivers Museum returns Māori artefact to New Zealand

The Pitt Rivers Museum, with assistance from The Homebound Project, has returned a kahu kiwi to its Māori community in Aotearoa New Zealand after more than 100 years on loan to the museum.

A kahu kiwi is a traditional Māori cloak covered in the feathers of a kiwi bird. It is one of the most prestigious garments within the Māori community. On 10th October, a ceremony was held at the Pitt Rivers Museum to mark its departure. 

The particular kahu kiwi was loaned to the Pitt Rivers Museum in 1913 by the widow of George Cleghorn, a 19th-century physician. Cleghorn was originally gifted the cloak by the local Māori population when working in the Wairau Pā region of the South Island. His initiatives to improve public health in the community included establishing a fever ward in the grounds of the local hospital. 

The transportation of the kahu kiwi to Aotearoa was funded by The Homebound Project, a charity that works to repatriate items of cultural significance to indigenous communities worldwide. On its website, the Homebound Project highlights that the UK, unlike many other countries, has no law that requires repatriation of items belonging to other cultures. This means the cost of repatriation often falls on the indigenous community involved. 

Dr Berklee Baum, founder of the Homebound Project, told Cherwell: “Across the United Kingdom, hundreds of thousands of Indigenous ancestors and cultural belongings remain in museum and university collections. Securing their return can involve long and complex negotiations. Even when a return is agreed, many UK institutions will not cover the costs and Indigenous communities are left to bear the financial burden themselves… 

“The University of Oxford has refused to pay for the physical return of these belongings and ancestors. I think this is a very important fact to point out, so that we are not too quick to praise the University for their generosity. I created The Homebound Project to fill the financial gap left by UK institutions like the University of Oxford, relieving Indigenous communities of carrying the burden alone.”

Baum’s Homebound Project was founded on a one-off donation of $2,000,000.00, which was then invested. The interest generated from this investment funds projects like the return of the kahu kiwi to Aotearoa. It has also funded the repatriation of Naga ancestral remains from the Pitt Rivers Museum, with a return expected later this year. 

When asked about the decision not to fund the kahu kiwi’s journey home, the Pitt Rivers Museum told Cherwell: “Where a claim for return is approved, the claimant will be responsible for the costs of returning the object(s), including the costs of any conservation processing that may be required for safe transport, packaging, transport and travel. An exception to this may be made in cases of financial hardship, where the University may consider a contribution towards the costs on a case-by-case basis.”

In a press release, Professor Laura Van Broekhoven, Director of Pitt Rivers Museum, said: “We are very pleased that the day has come for the kahu kiwi to return home… It has been our privilege to have cared for it on loan here in Oxford, and we know how deeply it will be cherished at Wairau Pā.”

Lorraine Eade, Chair of Ngāti Rārua o Te Wairau Society, a society representing the Māori community from which the kahu kiwi came, said that the return of the kahu kiwi was “beyond measure”, adding that it marked an “opportunity to extend [their] knowledge in terms of traditional weaving techniques”.

Before returning to the community in Wairau Pā, the cloak will be temporarily housed in the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa until construction of a new Wharenui (Meeting House) is completed at Hahunga Marae (a meeting ground in the Wairau region of New Zealand). 

Fashion trends: The illusion of choice

Nancy Pierre
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Fashion trends: The illusion of choice

Did society collectively decide to stop wearing 18th-century ball gowns, or 1920s flapper dresses? I doubt it. We love to dress up for Halloween and enjoy how we look and act in outfits that are no longer deemed socially acceptable. Yet fashion trends and societal norms keep us from wearing ‘costumes’ on other occasions. These outfits, such as a ballgown, a flapper dress, or medieval armour, represent a bygone era. By acting as costumes, there are fashion trends that we imitate without fully acknowledging how essential these were in their respective times. The question, therefore, remains: are these only trends that we imitate on specific occasions – Halloween or bops – instead of an everyday outfit? I find it quite hard to believe that there was a categorical shift in ‘personal style’ throughout the ages. Instead, our fashion choices emphasise how our individual styles are limited by the available market, and what fashion magazines and brands declare as ‘in style’.

Clothes declared ‘trendy’ are pushed on society, particularly on women. Although it may not have always been described in these terms, this expectation to wear these ‘trendy’ clothes is certainly something that has always existed, and undoubtedly continues to thrive today. Living in an age in which (Western) women have more choice on a social, political, and economic level, it is clear that this does not equate to total freedom in any regard. Despite being overshadowed by the range of women’s clothing in the modern market, this is also true for fashion. Is it really possible to create your own personal style?

If you have ever seen The Devil Wears Prada, you’ll know the scene where antagonist Miranda Priestly explains to protagonist Andy Sachs the process of how her ‘throwing on an old sweater’ went through so many branches within the fashion industry. This is because everything we wear, even casually, goes through an extensive process before it is available to the public. In the film, she describes the trickle-down effect within the clothing industry, in which a runway design influences brands, which then produce similarly styled garments. She then details how these styles travel from high-end brands into department stores and local shops, where they are picked up by us. This perfectly demonstrates the illusion of choice, as what we choose to wear passes through a long line of executive decisions that are not our own. In buying a new pair of jeans, for example, you make many choices: the choice of shop or brand, then the choice of the jeans themselves, among many more. However, these are likely the shops close to you, or that deliver to your area (and within a certain price range). These jeans have gone through this process in the industry, and their style is pushed in magazines and social media as ‘cool’ or ‘trendy’. They are designed to succeed in the market, not to be bought by an individual as a single expression of personal style.

The reliance on trends has only been enhanced by the growth of social media, particularly TikTok and Instagram. I have seen dozens of people expressing their ‘likes’ and ‘dislikes’ in regard to clothing items, and, on the whole, they are largely the same. That said, there are many different algorithms and aesthetics, and yet, even within these, there is a standard type of dress. The ‘clean girl’ aesthetic, grunge, and indie styles all contain their own distinctions, but we can still understand which is which based on appearance. Fashion trends often fit within a style category, often one that exists on some side of social media, from which people derive inspiration. Nevertheless, on these different ‘sides’ of social media, the manner of dress somewhat resembles each other.

I find that this was particularly true in certain periods of time – most obviously seen since 2020. There are many specific items of clothing that I still see people wear today, and they transport me back to the pandemic. The oversized green-blue knitted sweater, white tennis skirts, turtlenecks, and other aspects of the 2020 ‘indie’ style retain their cultural and social link to this period. The pandemic exemplified a dependence on social media in the world of fashion, since this was the only way in which we could gauge fashion trends, as streetwear became virtually non-existent.

Since then, we have returned to microtrends, vintage clothing, and thrifting. In this way, we feel we can express personal styles – with fashion trends that may have only 500 likes on TikTok, instead of 500,000, or things that are from the 90s, and judged to be a ‘rare find’. But, like I say, the general principle still applies: even where vintage or thrifted, these clothes travelled through a long process and are far from rare. Nonetheless, we believe that we have a choice.

Something I appreciate about the fashion trends of the 2020s is the rise of crafts, such as DIY, crocheting, and sewing, as an individual take on what we see online. While social media emphasises trends, myriad videos show people making their own clothes. This is exemplary of choice and personal style. And yet, this is still not necessarily an individual’s creativity. This is something of a trend – sewing, adjusting, or adding to clothes to make them your own. Most notably, the trend becomes clear when you ask, ‘Where does the inspiration for this come from?’ It often comes from social media – primarily, Pinterest. So, the idea of ‘being unique’ stems from both the internet and availability.

Consistently dressing in a completely original way is impossible. Making time to create unique ideas for, and sew or knit all new clothes in 2026 is an absurd concept. The time, effort, and money for this would be immense. As a result, total innovation and imagination are very difficult to achieve. There is simply not enough time.

However, this only relates to creativity in its fullest form. This is by no means an argument that there is no imagination in fashion. We can, indeed, still have some choice. While many of the fashion trends that we see online can only be defined as an illusion of choice, we each look distinct in the clothes that we wear. A dozen people could wear the same plain dress, but in a dozen different ways. Consequently, while choices may be dependent on the existing clothing market, autonomy does, in fact, remain within the fashion industry of today; we are not yet totally lost in the illusion.

Cherwell Mini Cryptic #8 – Front and Center

Robin Wopalenski
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Made by ZohMyGosh with the free crossword creator from Amuse Labs

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

Cherwell Mini #26

Ameya Krishnaswamy
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Constructed by ZohMyGosh using the crossword builder from Amuse Labs

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

From Oxford to Cambridge: The 204-mile punt for Alzheimer’s 

Gavriella Epstein-Lightman
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From Oxford to Cambridge: The 204-mile punt for Alzheimer’s 

Four students from St John’s College, Cambridge, have undertaken an extraordinary fundraising challenge, punting over 200 miles in 12 days from Oxford to Cambridge to raise money for the Alzheimer’s Society.

The participants – Charlie Swinfen, Stefan Narinian, Beth Erskine, and Ryan Vowles – covered an average of 19 miles a day in their bid to complete the endurance challenge.

Their punting effort has attracted considerable media coverage. The four have been interviewed by BBC Oxford, BBC Cambridgeshire, and ITV News Anglia. Cherwell interviewed the intrepid group midway through their journey.

How did they come up with such an unusual fundraising initiative? “Some students at St John’s did it in 2010, and we thought it was the craziest thing ever,” one told me. “We settled on doing it for the Alzheimer’s Society as a couple of members of the group have family affected by it, and also September is World Alzheimer’s Month.”

The group were also keen to emphasise the connections between their college and Alzheimer’s research. St John’s College and the Alzheimer’s Society share the forget-me-not as a symbol. The motto of the College’s founder, Lady Margaret Beaufort, was “Remember me often”, giving rise to the forget-me-not as a college flower. The College’s former Master, Sir Christopher Dobson, provides a further link between college and charity: Dobson was credited with research that shed light on the likely cause of Alzheimer’s.

“We didn’t have any experience with canals or houseboating,” one says. “Initially, being naive, we pieced together the blog of the students from 2010 to figure out a general route. But in hindsight, using canal planning apps, we realised that there’s only one decent route to get from Oxford to Cambridge.”

Surprisingly, the four did minimal physical preparation for the challenge they had set themselves. Instead, the emphasis was on logistical preparation: figuring out where to stay and securing insurance. The punt they used was built by Alex Ramsey, also from their college.

The most direct puntable waterway connection between the two universities takes a route through Northampton, Peterborough, and Ely. The group began their journey northwards on the Oxford Canal, navigating a maze of locks, tunnels, canals, and rivers before eventually joining the River Cam and arriving back at St John’s College.

“The first few days were really nice. The canals around Oxford were gorgeous,” one says.

Three of the former students who completed the punting challenge in 2010 also came to visit them for a picnic along the route.

Yet by the halfway point of their journey, on the canal from Northampton to Peterborough, the four admitted that the hours of punting each day were beginning to take their toll, though they stressed that the experience was still enjoyable.

I ask about the differences between their effort and that of the students in 2010. They point out that they are travelling to Cambridge rather than from it, meaning they are going in the opposite direction to their predecessors. “The droughts this summer mean there are lots of sections where we’ve had to lift the punt to get around closures,” one adds.

The day before we speak, the four had braved one of the most challenging – and perilous – parts of their journey: the Braunston Tunnel, a mile-long, unlit tunnel dating from the 19th century.

“There are seven locks in quick succession on both sides, so you are basically not allowed to go through the tunnel in a canoe or punt,” one tells me. “So we needed to find someone with a motorboat or houseboat to tow us through.” Eventually, after hours of waiting, a group agreed to tow them through the tunnel.

More peril was still to come for the four. The day after we spoke, they were due to pass through a large water-management complex north of Cambridge, the Denver Sluice. “We’ll need to do it at the right time of day so the dam doesn’t drag us out to sea,” one told me.

The group emphasised their appreciation for all of their supporters – old friends and new acquaintances alike. “The people we meet along the way are so lovely – they are very moved by what we are doing, and some have had family members affected by Alzheimer’s,” one tells me. “Meeting them keeps us going, even when it’s pretty bleak.”

“We really enjoy reading the comments that come through with the donations. They make us feel like this is worth doing,” another adds, as our interview draws to a close.

The four arrived at their final destination, St John’s College, at approximately midday on Sunday 4 October. They were greeted by a crowd of friends and family as they passed under the Bridge of Sighs. 

In an interview with BBC Oxfordshire, they admitted that they were “pretty knackered” but were still fuelled by adrenaline.

The group initially aimed to raise £5,000, but have since blown past that target. At the time of writing, they had raised over £10,000 for a cause rooted in college history.

“We are delighted to have made it back to St John’s and to have raised these funds for such an important charity,” they told Cherwell. 

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