Oxford’s historic charm is being reshaped. Not by the hands of time, but by the relentless expansion of its own University. For decades, Colleges have played a cutthroat game of Monopoly, gobbling up properties, bulldozing community spaces, and transforming neighbourhoods into sterile academic annexes. Students, just passing through this ancient city, barely notice the metamorphosis. But beyond the libraries and quads, a quieter crisis unfolds: Oxford’s soul is being hollowed out. Independent shops shutter, beloved venues vanish, and rents skyrocket to absurd heights, ignored as collateral damage in the University’s imperial march for growth. This isn’t mere NIMBY whining; it’s a slow suffocation of our city’s heartbeat.
A quick glance at any local Facebook page will tell you a very consistent story. Locals are fed up with us for what seems to be the University’s expansion into their neighbourhoods. What once were community spaces are now cut-and-paste accommodation and offices, which in turn makes Oxford less liveable for someone who has no need for either.
The thing is, as a student here, I’d like to dismiss this as NIMBYism, but it’s the truth. Does anybody here remember the Warehouse nightclub? It was before my time, personally. It sat on 42 Parkend Street. On the off-chance that the Nuffield College administration reads the Cherwell, they’d recognise it as their administrative offices, and a few rooms for the sociology department. The rest of us, however, wouldn’t recognise it. Why would we? What was once for everyone, is now a building for a few dozen people.
On Cornmarket Street, businesses have come and gone, shutting within mere years of opening. Burger King disappeared in 2020, LEON in 2024 – the list goes on.. Naturally, we should not shed a tear for multi-million-pound fast food chains. However, Burger King explicitly pointed to Jesus College’s rent prices as the reason for their closure, and similar rumours surfaced on LEON’s closure. How high the rent must be, that a billion-dollar company can be priced out, boggles the mind.
Many of us have seen our own high streets and social areas at home die off in the wake of COVID, and the same thing is happening to Oxford five years later, courtesy of the University. Their rationale seems to be as follows. The more people who get the chance to study in Oxford, the better, and the more resources Colleges have at their disposal, the better. This sounds good; after all, life here is so good, you’d want to share it with as many people as possible, right? The logic falls apart rather quickly, however. Oxford is what it is, not because of office blocks, but because of the spaces both Town and Gown may enjoy. Clubs, restaurants, cafes, simply cannot exist if colleges continue their rent-hike tirades and aggressive acquisitions.
A final thought. It feels downright evil to close spaces students probably won’t have heard of to expand the University’s resources, when its impact directly harms the roughly 160,000 people already living here. Most of us students will live in Oxford for three years, then pay it an occasional visit following graduation. We don’t have to treat it like our forever-home, and so we have no regard for places we’d have no need for. This makes us complacent, whilst the University’s colleges rid the city of the few social spaces for both Town and Gown still here. We should be living together with Oxford’s residents, not separated and locked in a war for control over the city.
This article was amended on 11th June 2025. A previous version incorrectly suggested that Magdalen College owned the land on which Oxford’s Hollywood Bowl and Vue Cinema are located and that the College was involved in redevelopment plans on this site. Cherwell apologies for this inaccuracy.
Have an opinion on the points raised in this article? Send us your 150-word letter to [email protected] to see your response in print or online.
Student theatre has always thrived on experimentation, collaboration, and the courage to speak up. So Far, So Good, a new piece of original writing by Melissa Chetata-Brooks, undoubtedly embraces all three. From its very first moment, a stark countdown projected onto a television screen, the play situates itself as a work with something urgent to say.
Drawing inspiration from the cult French film La Haine, it promises an unflinching look at grief, community, and the cycles of violence, with a particular focus on the impact of knife crime in the UK. The production’s heart is also in the right place, raising awareness for the Ben Kinsella Trust, a charity that works against violent crimes through education, and showcasing a richly diverse cast and creative team.
What makes So Far, So Good compelling in concept is its desire to break traditional boundaries, not just thematically, but in its form. The play integrates music, photography, and video into the storytelling. A raised bedroom set cleverly evokes adolescence, while the live DJ, who scores scene transitions, provides moments of atmospheric immersion that sometimes outshine the dramatic action itself. At times, the soundtrack is so arresting that it momentarily pulls the audience out of the plot, leaving one almost tempted to ask for the DJ’s playlist rather than follow the next twist of the story.
The performances are spirited, and several cast members bring a striking presence to the stage. Alexa (Damola Arin) is especially strong as the voice of reason among a group of teenagers caught in cycles of violence and mistrust. Arin delivers her lines with a grounded conviction that offers the audience an anchor in a narrative full of instability. Her moments of lightness are just as impactful as her serious ones, as when she deadpans “This isn’t the 1950s” during a conversation about leaving an abusive partner, eliciting a much-needed burst of laughter from the audience amidst the play’s heavier moments.
Other standout scenes include a heart-wrenching exchange between Josh (Kwame Appafram) and the mother of Isaiah, who was killed before the beginning of the play, and Sheila (Arya Coban), which offers a rare pause for grief to be processed rather than performed. Joseph Beckett as Cain brings an unsettling authenticity to the role of Kia’s (Carla Mukasa) abusive boyfriend. So much so that when he calmly microwaved a lasagna mid-argument, I was gripped by an overwhelming urge to leap onstage and fling it straight into his smug face, ideally while it was still scalding-hot from the microwave.
But So Far, So Good also grapples with a recurring issue in student-written theatre: how to match strong themes with a coherent script. There are frequent moments of poetic ambition – Kayla’s monologue near the end is delivered with emotional force by Nyla Thomas – but the writing at times feels rushed or under-explored. Motives shift quickly, and characters occasionally serve the demands of the plot over psychological depth. For example, Kayla’s sister, Kia’s, relationship with Cain is clearly central to the story, yet the nature of her dependence on him remains vague. Given that she seems to live with her siblings and has other forms of support, her continued attachment to him is underwritten, making her eventual tragic fate feel more like a narrative necessity than a character-driven outcome.
The play’s most symbolic device – a gun that passes from hand to hand, eventually resulting in Kia’s accidental death – raises further questions. While a direct nod to La Haine’s motif of circular violence, its presence in this setting strains plausibility. The characters are teenagers in Oxfordshire, involved in low-level drug activity at most. The ease with which a gun is obtained and how casually it is passed between characters feels more like a borrowed cinematic trope than an organically integrated plot point. It gestures toward the gravity of systemic violence but lacks the infrastructural context that would make it believable.
Some narrative choices are similarly discordant. At one point, Alexa offers Kia £20 to leave town and pursue her dreams of becoming an actress. The gesture is sweet, but also jarringly unrealistic, especially in an economic climate where £20 barely covers a train ticket, let alone a new life. Other lines, like Kayla’s sudden insistence that she’s the one holding everything together and taking care of everyone, are delivered with power but lack sufficient buildup provided that no indication of this had been given before, creating emotional beats that don’t always feel entirely earned.
That said, the production’s sincerity and ambition are undeniable. The use of multimedia, the focus on inclusivity, and the determination to tell stories about marginalised experiences are all crucial contributions to Oxford’s theatrical landscape. Chetata-Brooks speaks with great clarity in her interview about the need for student theatre to evolve into a space where multiple art forms intersect and where new voices are embraced on their own terms, without being reduced to labels like “diverse” or treated as a “niche” interest. Her work is a direct manifestation of that vision.
So Far, So Good may not be polished, and some moments feel less fully realised, but it’s a production that deserves attention and respect for what it sets out to do. It asks its audience to engage with uncomfortable truths, and even when its storytelling falters, its underlying message comes through: these characters, these stories, and these conversations matter. For a debut play, it shows remarkable promise, and more importantly, it opens the door for others to step forward and try, fail, or succeed on their own terms. In student theatre, that is something to be encouraged, and should never be critiqued out of existence.
Tucked away in a room at Worcester College, I sat in on a rehearsal of Ella Hickson’s The Writer (2018), which Fennec Fox Productions is bringing to the Michael Pilch theatre this term. My immediate thought? Anyone even remotely interested in theatre has to see The Writer.
Even from the few scenes I watched, it is clear that this is not an ‘easy play’. The play begins with a seemingly straightforward encounter between a young female writer (Rose Martin) and an older male director (Christina Hutchings), yet this is quickly revealed to be part of her script-in-progres. What follows is a series of layered, at times surreal scenes, which uncover more about the writer’s life and artistic project. The cast have the difficult task of moving between multiple roles and navigating various layers of reality. It is knotty and difficult, challenging traditional theatrical form while exposing the power structures embedded within it. The production team are leaning into this tension by staging the entire play on the diagonal. In other words, the Pilch will literally be tilting off its axis.
Director Joshua Robey told me about the first time he saw the play in 2018: “I was really drawn to it because it’s got some quite scathing things to say about theatre as an industry in general.” But it’s not just about ‘Theatre’ with a capital T. First performed in 2018, Hickson’s play spoke to a range of pressing issues, from #MeToo to Trump – all issues which remain alive today. Theatre becomes an extension of the broader social arena, foregrounding questions of who gets to be heard, and who is expected to stay silent.
“This is not going to be like anything anyone’s seen in Oxford before,” Robey assured me. “There is a radical argument running through the play which is balanced by a sort of pragmatism and realism. We are letting the play speak for itself.”
With such complex material, it can be tempting to fall into analysis before even starting to rehearse. Robey explained how the production team had been cautious not to get bogged down in questions of meaning or interpretation. Instead, his approach was to take each scene on its own terms – making it as visceral and immediate as possible. Rather than getting caught up in questions about whether you were a character or a character within a character, the cast were challenged with simply committing to the reality they were currently performing; or in the audience’s case, watching.
Watching Robey led the actors through a scene, this scene-by-scene approach became especially clear. They would pause and discuss, “What is happening here? What is my character thinking?” Each scene is investigated in itself, prioritising the character’s immediate emotional stakes over how the broader, complex narrative might be interpreted.
The rehearsal atmosphere was intense, but deeply collaborative. All the actors told me how fulfilling this process has been. Gabriella Ofo, playing the character of ‘Female actor/ girlfriend’, said: “In order to act them, you have to really understand who these characters are, what they want or what they need.”
The cast also highlighted the challenges of switching between characters and emotional states without much transitional material. Susie Weidmann, who is playing both ‘Male Actor’ and ‘Boyfriend’, told me: “It’s weird playing this doubling throughout. The director’s take on characters I am also playing may be weird and strange. It’s really fun.”
You will have seen posters for The Writer everywhere: Rose submerged in the river, framed as Millais’ Ophelia. While the specific Shakespearean reference may be tangential, this marketing foregrounds the play’s discussion about how women are represented in art. There is intimacy in The Writer, but Robey was keen to point out how Hickson had written it very deliberately in order to escape the pitfalls of representing intimacy on stage. “She is very aware that just by being on a stage, a woman becomes visible in certain ways. While the intimacy may be more extreme than you might expect, the material avoids the pitfalls of women being objectified.”
On another note, Robey also told me: “The Writer is also about money. It is a timeless story about selling out, and what you’re willing to give up in order to make profit.” This emphasis on artistic compromise speaks directly to the realities of student theatre in Oxford, and why this production, in particular, feels pointed. Unlike a lot of universities, Oxford uses a production company system, where students are encouraged to set up a company and run it like a business. Inevitably, people are incentivised to do shows that will sell really well, making as much money as possible.
Robey explained: “A lot of people are really deterred from the £500 that you need to do a show with rights, so we are seeing a lot less contemporary drama than you get in a lot of other universities.” This is one of the reasons he wanted to do this play, a play which is all about “that frustration with an economic model that makes theatre less exciting than it should be.” With that in mind, staging The Writer in Oxford, where budgets are tight and expectations are even tighter, become a central part of the play’s urgency and relevance.
When asked about his hopes for the play, Robey explained that he just wanted audiences to come away with the same thrill he had in 2018, watching experimental theatre which refused to play by the rules. With the energy and talent of this cast and crew, it seems likely that The Writer will do exactly that.
“All art is quite useless,” declared Oscar Wilde in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Grey. It’s a provocative claim, inviting us to reconsider how we view the portraits which line Oxford’s dining halls, libraries, and examination rooms. Taking Wilde’s comment in all seriousness, can we learn to appreciate these paintings not simply for who is depicted, but instead, for how they are painted? In essence: can we attempt to separate the art from the subject? I believe that, with some adjustments, we can do so.
While sitting down in a formal hall in most Oxford colleges, students often find themselves under the watchful gaze of painted benefactors and alumni from long ago, robed in tradition and surrounded by crests. In Examination Schools, where portraits loom large above rows of anxious undergraduates, one might look up in search of inspiration (or distraction) and meet a face from centuries past.
These portraits have, perhaps unsurprisingly, become the subject of intense debate. Who deserves to be hanging on Oxford’s walls? Who no longer belongs? Do these figures reflect the values we seek to uphold today? These are essential questions, but not ones I seek to answer here. Instead, I want to question something more aesthetic than political: can we momentarily set aside the subject and simply appreciate the portrait as art?
To be clear, these works do reflect the hierarchies, values, and exclusions of their time. A portrait which was deemed suitable in the 17th Century might not pass the same test today. Even so, there remains a case for preservation, not as an endorsement, but as a record of change. In fact, it’s fun to consider who from today’s cohort would be immortalised in oil. Cherwell BNOCs, top-class academics, Blues athletes, Union hacks, thespians? Perhaps such a list would best elucidate how our standards and symbols of success have shifted. In any case, I believe it’s important to preserve historical portraits; it reflects the evolution of an institution.
But perhaps we’ve become over-accustomed to viewing this art predominantly through a political or institutional lens when it’s also about aesthetics. Could we adopt a different approach? That is, could we momentarily focus on Oxford’s portraits not for who they represent, but for how – the brushwork, light, colour, and form?
This is the approach of aesthetic formalism: a way of seeing which values composition over content. Could portraits be appreciated purely as a study in tone, mood, or technique?
Some argue no. They maintain an art’s subject is intrinsically linked to its essence. In his work Art and Illusion, art historian Sir Ernst Gombrich suggested that our appreciation of art is deeply rooted in psychological and cultural context. When viewing a painting, we bring knowledge and expectations with us. Extrapolating from this theory, understanding who the sitter is and what they represent is inseparable from how we experience the work.
Yet is this truly the case? In Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Judgement, he emphasises the idea that beauty can be experienced disinterestedly, without needing to understand the subject. In this sense, perhaps a portrait could be appreciated in the same way we admire a flower. Not because we know its history or symbolism, but due to its visual appearance. When we look at a flower, we do not necessarily appreciate the beauty in it due to its complex biological makeup. It is simply… beautiful.
In the same way, could Oxford’s art not simply be… art? We can appreciate the portraiture for its artistic merit and what it tells us about the evolution of portraiture itself. L’art pour l’art – art for art’s sake.
Yet, a flower is not a former benefactor. Portraits, unlike flowers, were made to honour individuals with particular legacies. So, while formalism does offer one valuable method of seeing, it cannot be the only one.
I do agree with the viewpoint that new art can be valuable to the current collections. In particular, I value the importance of representing a diverse range of what success can look like. Above all, one notes the underrepresentation of women and ethnic minorities on college walls when compared with today’s student composition. Juxtaposing old portraits with more modern ones can be beneficial to showcase current, or more recent, leadership, benefactors, or prominent alumnae. Such contributions can deepen – not dilute – Oxford’s traditions. This combination does not offer erasure, but dialogue. Contextualisation, where necessary, can help viewers reckon with history without discarding it.
Ultimately, then, perhaps it is not a question of choosing between the who and the how. Rather, it is about learning to see both. But sometimes, just sometimes, we might let ourselves forget the biography and focus on the brushstrokes.
Oxford’s political societies cultivated generations of MPs and PMs. In an era of rising populism, a tour of their drinking events finds a drifting elite with few ideas.
It’s a well-worn cliché that Oxford is the place where future politicians are made. The student party societies here are where Prime Ministers-to-be from Margaret Thatcher to Liz Truss first cut their teeth. But as the size of party memberships continue to fall and a populist surge increases the currency of being an ‘outsider’, what is the role of Oxford’s political societies in shaping British politics? Are these societies ready to grapple with modern politics or are they just another antiquated Oxford tradition? To find out, I spent four evenings this Trinity term drinking with the University’s wannabe politicians.
Beer and Bickering – Oxford Labour Club (OLC)
On a Saturday evening in early May I walked into St Anne’s JCR to a gathering of no more than 20 people. I’m starting with the party in power as I want to see how they react to the numerous announcements from the government over the Easter vacation. From the decision to slash Universal Benefit rates to Keir Starmer’s new conviction that trans women are not women – coinciding with recent interpretation of the Equalities Act by the Supreme Court – are student Labourites joining the government as it shifts to the right?
One quick notice is made before we get going. The welfare secretary stands up and implores
us to avoid discussions of controversial ‘foreign affairs’ (translation: for the love of God don’t start talking about Israel-Palestine). One can understand why they are apprehensive, given Labour’s history of antisemitism controversies. But it also establishes that there will be strict parameters on tonight’s conversation.
There is a distinctly dour mood this evening and the cause becomes clear once the discussion of the first motion (‘this house would deprioritize economic growth’) gets going. Speaker after speaker gets up and expresses their despair with the economic policy of Starmer and Co. From the obsession with growth (“or whatever it is we’re doing,” as one man puts it), to the scrapping of the winter fuel payment (since reversed), Starmer’s decisions have distinctly dampened the excitement OLC members no doubt had this time last year.
As for what they would do differently? It’s less clear, but the need to reign in inequality and tax wealth are met with nods of approval. During the break I point out to one member that the arguments made sound a lot like the Greens’ positions, and ask why he doesn’t support them instead? “Ah well, I’m in too deep for that now,” he tells me.
During the discussion of the second motion, I’m less taken by the content of the arguments (the consensus is pretty clear that there shouldn’t be ‘a national religion’) than by who is doing the arguing. The speakers are almost all men. I point this out to a member, and he grimaces, explaining that it’s long been an issue for OLC. Although the social secretary and both co-chairs this Trinity are women, he tells me that Beer and Bickering remains “a sausage-fest”.
The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. The final motion (‘this house, as the Labour Party, would encourage strikes’) was again met with consensus: strikes are an essential tool but a last resort. As I walk home past drunken May Ball goers, I can’t help feeling that the lack of discord is somewhat by design. There’s clearly a lot of discontent with the Starmerite project, but OLC’s only response is apparently to gather once a week to collectively agree on uncontroversial principles. A lack of imagination, or more likely an eye on an internship in the party, seems to nip in the bud any interesting and (God forbid) controversial discussion of real policy alternatives.
“There’s clearly a lot of discontent with the Starmerite project, but OLC’s only response is apparently to gather once a week to collectively agree on uncontroversial principles.
Port and Policy – Oxford University Conservative Association (OUCA)
A week later, I made an uncertain attempt at putting together a ‘lounge suit’ as per the Oxford University Conservative Association’s dress code. This feels like an unnecessary extravagance, given the venue: a dilapidated scout hut in New Marston.
I’m greeted by an American post-grad in an expensive looking three-piece suit who proudly explains that he will be ‘speaker of the house’ for tonight’s discussion and promptly returns to doing his ‘vocal warm ups’ (“BA – BA- BA!”). I shuffle over to the side of the room, picking up a flimsy plastic port glass as I go, and watch as the OUCA regulars trickle in. The men are all strikingly similar: under 6 foot tall, dressed in chinos, blazers and trainers and with precisely combed hair. More interesting, though, is the fact that they don’t dominate the makeup of attendees: the room is far more diverse in gender and ethnicity than OLC. It’s also substantially better attended, which is impressive for a party with the worst national polling in its history, and given how far out of the town centre we are.
I get to chatting with attendees. They quickly suss out that I’m new and I have bought membership (as I will for all the societies I visit) which lands me on the receiving end of some concerted networking efforts. Whereas with Beer and Bickering the conversation was pretty laid back, here I’m constantly asked for what my Instagram handle is and whether they’ve seen me before at the Oxford Union (they haven’t). It’s like everyone has just finished How to Win Friends and Influence People and is keen to put it into practice: “So tell me, Stanley, what EXACTLY is it that makes the food at Teddy Hall so great?”
I’m relieved, then, when the ‘speaker’ bellows out that the first motion of the night will begin. I look around, waiting for the room to fall quiet, but the conversation continues as if nothing had happened. Instead, the participants in the debate begin screaming their arguments at the top of their lungs to a room which is evidently not listening. I move closer, trying to make out what they are saying, but I can’t for the noise of conversation. The three debaters resemble the street preachers on Cornmarket Street, shouting at distinctly uninterested passersby.
“What I witnessed was a small elite jostling for an inheritance that’s long been spent.
Unable to glean anything from the participants, I begin asking questions of those around me. How do they feel about the recent local elections, in which the Conservatives lost 674 councillors? “I don’t think people here realise that Reform is an existential threat,” one member tells me once it’s just the two of us. It’s hard not to agree with his assessment. In all the conversations I have, the national party – or indeed politics – is hardly mentioned. When I ask people why they are here, they often appear a bit sheepish. They claim that they just fell into it, that it’s quite addictive, that it’s for the social side of things. Even at OUCA, being a Tory isn’t particularly cool.
This is with the exception of one man, who points proudly to his tie displaying the emblem of the Heritage Foundation – the think tank central to Donald Trump’s election victories and behind the controversial Project 2025. I ask how he feels about the current ‘DOGE’ federal spending slashes, in particular on USAID. He has mixed feelings, there are some things he wishes they’d keep, “but others I’m happy to see go, like trying to get rid of HIV”. I wonder if I misheard him over all the shouting: “sorry, did you say you don’t want them to fund AIDs treatment?” He gives me a confused look: “Of course”.
Before I have time to ask further questions, the debate, occurring primarily between two blokes (one of whom is brandishing a large stick that makes him resemble a Tory Gandalf) finishes. The members gather for a rendition of ‘God Save the King’ (they all know the second verse), followed by an equally boisterous recital of ‘Jerusalem’, and leave to clamber into Ubers.
I walk back to Cowley, lost as to what to make of the evening. I would comment on the motions chosen, the arguments made, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. If the voters went to the polls tomorrow, all evidence suggests that the Tories, already much reduced, would be decimated and it seems that the OUCA members wouldn’t bat an eye. Instead, the whole thing is just another fixture in the Oxford Union social scene: a rite of passage for ambitious Christ Church freshers and a place for forming useful connections. The state of the Conservative Party, currently barrelling towards irrelevancy, is merely an afterthought.
Rum and Revolution – The October Club
The following Friday I join my proletarian brothers (it’s all men) at a gathering of the communist October Club hosted in Magdalen, one of Oxford’s richest colleges. The stately Oscar Wilde Room is quite the contrast from the rundown scout hut where the Conservatives mustered. I’m handed a Guiness (I’m enjoying the communal spirit already) and we get cracking with the first motion: ‘do we have freedom of speech in modern Britain?’
The formula, in which we chat first in little ‘breakout groups’ before sharing our thoughts with everyone, works well. There’s none of the showmanship that comes with addressing a large crowd, so we’re actually able to have a normal conversation. We discuss incitement to violence, no-platforming on campuses, Kathleen Stock and the recent terror charges against a member of the Irish hip hop group Kneecap.
Image Credit: Stanley Smith (for Cherwell)
Next up, ‘what would education look like under communism?’. At this point, it quickly becomes clear that there are very few actual communists in attendance. In our group is myself, an OLC committee member, and several Australian post-grads with distinctly liberal politics. The one actual October Club regular gets us started by voicing his objection to the “authoritarian power of the teacher” and advocating for a decentralised, communal approach to education: although he declines to flesh out what this would actually look like. The conversation is quickly steered to more ‘realistic’ aims, such as reducing the cost of higher education. During the whole group discussion, the faces of the committee members become increasingly downcast as they realise they are playing host to what is essentially left-leaning liberal chit chat, rather than real talk of revolution.
This divide comes to the forefront with the self referential motion ‘is Rum and Revolution counter-revolutionary?’ The Aussies, pretty inebriated at this point, are full of praise for the evening: “this is what we need, coming together to find common ground!” The communists are unimpressed, pointing out that sitting around talking placates us from taking real action. We might have affirmed our lefty values, but will we take part in any protests? Will we go down to the pro-Palestine encampment set up in the Angel and Greyhound Meadow? The fact that the room is entirely white and entirely male is raised, something that everyone agrees is a problem, but no one is quite sure how to address. The evening ends with this tension unresolved.
Out of all the parties I visit, the society most anxious to stop talking and start doing, through its lack of careerism and its well-structured format, is actually the best conduit for a good discourse. Unfortunately for the organisers, the conversation doesn’t always go in the direction they would like.
Liquor and Liberalism – Oxford Students Liberal Association
The following Wednesday, I stand outside of the venue in New College. I pause before entering, mentally preparing for another evening of endlessly introducing myself. When I walk in, however, I realise I won’t have to. Inside is every white man from Port and Policy, and one or two from Beer and Bickering as well.
The setup is two long tables positioned so that, when we sit down, the sides are facing each other. This gives the room a distinctly House of Commons feel, a vibe that is bolstered by the conduct of the members. As the ‘speaker’ for the evening walks to the centre there are cheers, banging of tables, and shouts of ‘resign!’
The first motion? ‘This house believes that Britain was ‘“freest” between 1832 and 1918’. A person I recognise from OLC kicks off proceedings by pointing out the obvious: no, Britain wasn’t “freest” when women and working-class men couldn’t vote. “Point of information” interrupts the guy sitting next to them, with a big grin on his face. “Wouldn’t you say that everything was just so much better then?” Roars of laughter.
I realise now what I’m in for. Each speaker offers their own brand of edgy humour (Get the kids back in the mines! Rebuild the British Empire!) “It’s basically just a stand up comedy club,” the bloke I’m sitting next to takes it upon himself to explain. This isn’t eminently apparent to me as we endure a five minute speech given in all sincerity about how the decimation of the “British officer class” during World War I put Britain on a path of terminal decline. As for the ‘comedy’, many of the speakers don’t quite have the charisma to pull it off, nervously looking around the room and stumbling over their words as they quote a brain rot meme from TikTok.
During the second motion (‘this house would cut the foreign aid budget’), there are a few more serious speakers. An ex-president gives an impassioned defence of foreign aid, while a committee member rails against it as an enormous waste before she is informed that we have, in fact, already slashed our spending. One member goes on a jingoistic tirade declaring that bombs, not nappies and bandages, are the way to assert Britain’s power on the world stage. I’m sitting next to her, so I can see the faces of the guys opposite as they light up with admiration.
The evening continues in this manner, three silly speeches for every serious one. I feel increasingly awkward being there in my capacity ‘as a journalist’. This doesn’t feel like a public political meeting of people brought together by shared values, certainly not by a commitment to the Liberal Democrats. Instead, I’m observing the goings on of a small friend group which just so happens to revolve around the Oxford political scene. In the same way I wouldn’t sit on the sofa with a group of friends I don’t know and stick everything they say in Cherwell, my presence feels like an unwanted intrusion.
“Across the board, these gatherings are not even pretending to have carefully-considered solutions to the very serious public policy issues facing the British people.
Oxford politics: an increasing irrelevancy?
As with the national level, politics in Oxford seems more fixated with personality than party. Both Port and Policy and Liquor and Liberalism feel like another forum for aspiring BNOCs to mingle, rather than groupings with any sense of party identity. Beer and Bickering, on the other hand, seems to be suffering from the opposite problem. It’s so hamstrung by its commitment to the national party that it dares not voice alternatives to the policies of a government it’s clearly thoroughly disappointed in. Across the board, these gatherings are not even pretending to have carefully-considered solutions to the very serious public policy issues facing the British people.
So what about the alternative parties? If you’re looking for a good discussion, I’m tempted to recommend the October Club, but they’re not always so welcoming to those less enlightened than themselves. There are also clear gaps in the political landscape. Both of the insurgent parties, Greens and Reform, have next to no presence, although many members of OUCA expressed their belief that it won’t be long before a ‘Stella and Stop the Boats’ is created.
Ultimately, the innovation which will shape tomorrow’s politics isn’t happening in Oxford anymore. British politics is no longer dominated by the friendships made by undergrads ready to take the reigns of powerful party machines. What I witnessed was a small elite jostling for an inheritance that’s long been spent. Far more important in the politics of today are social media algorithms, fury at living standards that haven’t improved since 2008, and a popular hatred of politicians. Wherever the politics of the future is, it’s surely very far from here.
Editor’s note: An earlier version of this article, as well as the print edition, incorrectly claimed that there were eight male speakers in a row during Beer and Bickering, and referred to one of the speakers in Liquor and Liberalism as a man, who is in fact non-binary.
Whether you love them, hate them, or have no idea who they are, these are the names that people are talking about. If the past is any indication, some may go on to be the movers and shakers of our generation. Of course, a dictionary-definition BNOC usually operates in a few realms of student politics. But this list also has actors, DJs, writers, athletes, social media personalities, and even frogs. We hope that we have captured something of Oxford in all its strange, brilliant, sometimes chaotic variety. You can see more commentary from us below, but without further ado, here are Oxford’s most famous – and infamous – characters of 2025.
1. Shermar Pryce
3rd Year, Univ
In last year’s list, he told us “here for at least another year – watch this space”. That prediction turned out to be correct for the admin of some prominent Instagram accounts, SU President (or wait…?), and professional Malta-trip-hater.
2. Anita Okunde
3rd Year, Magdalen
Union president this Trinity, Anita describes herself as “full-time wokerati” thanks to The Telegraph and additional reporting by a certain someone. She also enjoys photographing “Oxford’s coolest events”.
3. Israr Khan
DPhil, Regent’s Park
Israr admits he’s probably a BNOC (because we weren’t sure) as he’s done “everything at Oxford” except his DPhil. That includes being Union President in Hilary.
4. Oxford Kermit
MSt, Wolfson
Also known as Josh Nguyen, Oxford Kermit runs an incredibly successful Instagram page. He shares relatable updates of his daily life around Oxford, seemingly never free of his situationship.
5. George Abaraonye
2nd Year, Univ
Described by one voter as “the only genuine hack”, George is probably best known for ACS, HipHopsoc, and the Union. You might also recongnise him as ‘headphone guy’.
6. Catty Claire
2nd Year, Christ Church
Known for her many OUDS appearances, Catty has made it her mission to be in as many plays as possible until they kick her out of her degree. You may know her from Dangerous Liaisons, Closer, or just the show posters pinned up everywhere around Oxford.
7. Moosa Harraj
MPhil, Balliol
Moosa was elected to be the next president of the Union, but with the current chaos at Frewin Court he might be there sooner than expected. We can only hope that he will be a #bridge to fiscal solvency.
8. Anya Trofimova
2nd Year, St John’s
Current Union Librarian (vice president, vice president!) and a competitive debater who’s also been involved in student media, one nomination said that Anya “follows everyone, including on LinkedIn. Congrats on the training contract btw”.
9. Samyul Ashik
1st Year, Balliol
Samyul claims to be well-known for running the freshers group chat, but our sources tell us that he is primarily known for spamming that chat asking people to nominate him for this list. Fair play, Samyul, BNOC behaviour indeed.
10. NightSchool
2nd years, Worcester
Ethan Penny and Nahom Lemma have taken the Oxford music scene by storm, and can be found DJing bops, club nights, and events all over the city. In their own words: ‘We just put on great nights at Bully’
11. Harry Aldridge
1st Year, New
One nominator called him a “working class hero” for his work as the president of the 93% Club. You’ll probably know him for being everywhere, including on right-wing television.
12. Selina Chen
2nd Year, Corpus Christi
A former Cherwell editor who knows too many OUCA people, Selina has been the driving force behind the paper’s recent success. We also felt obliged to put her on here as she did the illustration for this article.
13. Reuben Meller
2nd Year, LMH
Most recently seen doing a backflip off a bridge (we’re not quite clear why), AI aficionado Reuben is the man behind the notoriously humble Presidents Summit. He also claims to own the film rights for Peter Mandelson’s Chancellor campaign. We know that ended well.
14. Susie Weidmann
3rd Year, Brasenose
Susie is best known for her OUDS appearances and student journalism. Although, she told us that her biggest achievement was winning ‘Most BDE’ at Finalist Drinks.
15. Brayden Lee
1st Year, Christ Church
First elected member of TSC in his first year, Brayden is surely a Union rising star. One source tells us that while he is a hack, he also “sends weirdly intimate voice notes instead of messages”. Hot.
16. Benedict Masters
2nd Year, New
One nominator called him a “socially accaptable Boris Johnson” [sic]. We’re not quite sure on his views of Balkan geopolitics, but whatever they are, they are held with great conviction. We hope to see more from a classic Tory BNOC.
17. Chris Collins
4th Year, Corpus Christi
OUCA pres last term, Chris has also featured in Union presidential elections. A finalist, we just wonder where he finds the time, and wish him the best of luck with his Classics exams.
18. Darcey McAllister
1st Year, St Hilda’s
Darcey is best known as president of Oxford’s LGBTQ+ Society. “More importantly” (her words, not ours), she’ll be running the Hilda’s bar. She made us promise we’d mention that she will be found with a double pink gin in said bar, never in a lecture hall.
19. Chloe Pomfret
2nd Year, St Catz
Chloe is perhaps best known for her TikTok, where she discusses her Oxford experience as a working class and care experienced student. She has also been involved in cheerleading, Class Act, and the 93% club.
20. Edmund Smith
2nd Year, Corpus Christi
Corpus organ scholar and OUCA guy, Edmund told us: “people have probably met me at P&P or the Union bar and then received a very nice message from me later in the term”. With the number of views on that Lord Dominic Johnston Instagram reel, he’s one of the most famous on the list.
21. Olivia Cho
3rd Year, Keble
Olivia is a photographer, probably best known for hiding in the corner of balls, society events, and launches getting amazing pics.
22. Connie Hilton
2nd Year, Keble
Connie is a Park End rep, meaning you probably will see her sporting their massive sunglasses, waving their infamous flag, or all over their Instagram page.
23. Bee Barnett
2nd Year, St Hilda’s
Bee Barnett is known for their alternative fashion videos and Oxford content, amassing a massive 693.4k followers on TikTok. Bee has also written for various student publications, and religiously attends Oxford’s goth and emo nights.
24. Luca Burgess
3rd Year, LMH
Luca is best known for Martian Moves, the largest student-run electronic music night, Oxford’s very own ‘Intergalactic Boogie Service’. He has also launched a career in graphic design, photography, and DJing.
25. Ella Bolland
3rd Year, Trinity
Ella is the ex-entz rep for Trinity, fondly known as ‘loud American’. You can always spot this short queen with her 6’8 boyfriend.
26. Roxana Rusu
2nd Year, St Anne’s
JCR president, keen rower, and RoSOC VP, Roxi sent in her submission late due to “rent negotiations” and “dj-ing latin party at Bridge”. Adhering to a self-described “intense” lifestyle, she told Cherwell: “in the words of Shakira, TRY EVERYTHING”.
27. Michael Leslie
2nd Year, Corpus Christi
A self-described “washed OUCA and Union hack searching for a grade above a 2.2” and Corpus JCR pres, Michael is just trying to live a quiet life with his lover Edmund Smith (see 20).
28. Matchbox Productions
4th Years, Exeter
Sonya Luchanskaya and Vasco Faria have set a new bar for OUDS productions. Staging 6 sell out shows, they continuously foreground fresh student writing and experimental techniques. Outside of theatre, Sonya spends her time DJing. Vasco also acts, and finds time to be a double rugby blue.
29. Cherwell Editors-in-Chief
2nd Years, Balliol and St John’s
Taking Cherwell by storm, Phoebe and Laurence have brought unprecedented success to the paper. In their own words, “Cherwell has never had it so good”. In the words of their underling, “Well, BNOChood is all about tooting your own horn, isn’t it?”
30. The Isis Editors-in-Chief
2nd Years, Balliol and New
Bound together unwillingly by our parent company, we present our awkward artsy cousin, The Isis. We’re sure with their obsession with being “cool and indie”, Joseph and Lina are outraged at being included. But, as we all know, there is nothing The Isis loves more than attention.
Some humble conclusions
Behold, the highest fliers of our generation
Allen Ginsberg worried that the best minds of his generation were ruined by madness. If anything, Gen Z might have the opposite problem. Many of our most ambitious people cluster in a couple of societies, and then a couple of industries, that may not make as much of a difference to the world as we think. Of course, any ranking of BNOCs at Oxford that contains a kernel of truth will have lots of people from the most high-profile societies. I am pleased, though, that there is some diversity among this year’s BNOCs: writers and rowers; entz reps who aspire to better parties, and those who aspire to lead political parties.
As with all high-fliers, the line between their sincere commitments and their personal ambitions can be blurry. Their impenetrably complex Union fights and sometimes eye-roll-inducing Instagram stories might seem silly now, but the great and the good listed here will have real power as taste-setters and change-makers. In a recently published article, I reflect more on Gen Z’s top talent, and how the privilege of education conveys responsibility to use it for the public good. May all of us – BNOC or not – use our time and talents well.
–Satchel Walton, Deputy Editor-in-Chief, Features
Actors, photographers, frogs
Before the responses started to flow in, I was ready to grit my teeth and include masses of Union hacks, who have undoubtedly been dreaming about BNOChood since the day their offer came in. It is true that, as ever, the hacks make up a large section of the list. In fairness, they are some of the most well-known people in Oxford. However, what’s exciting is how many names made the final list for reasons far beyond student politics. There are actors, DJs, writers, athletes, social media personalities, and even frogs. Yes, frogs. Sifting through nearly 2,500 nominations, I quickly realised how few people in Oxford I actually know (turns out spending all my time editing Cherwell hasn’t done wonders for my wider social life). Still, we hope that this list captures something of Oxford in all its strange, brilliant, sometimes chaotic variety.
–Phoebe Davies, Editor-in-Chief
Let’s talk logistics
Above all, the BNOC list is actually a tiring logistical operation. A huge amount of longlisting emails were sent, numbers were crunched, more ‘serious’ editorial responsibilities ignored, until we arrived here. Whether you agree or disagree with this year’s ordering, just know that we’ve basically been guided by two principles: i). democracy (the more nominations, the higher you placed) and ii). not making the list entirely Union people. With 23% of nominations coming in for people whose main claim to fame was the Union, and a further 28% from the ‘Other’ category (which seems to have been used for ‘Union + other things’), we’ve tried to reflect the profile of nominations as accurately as possible in our final list.
It isn’t easy, though, especially when you have to sift real nominations from spam. Spam entries were present in most of the top ten, so it’s safe to assume either they themselves were desperate to be on the list, or they have very enthusiastic friends.
Last night the Oxford Union passed the motion “This House believes that no one can be illegal on stolen land”, with 98 members voting in favour and 82 members voting against.
It was preceded by the emergency debate on the motion “This House believes that nothing ever happens”. With a close split, the chamber decided that something sometimes does happen.
Opening for the proposition was the President of the Union, Anita Okunde. She argued that “every single border was drawn with nothing…but blood”, pointing to examples ranging from New Zealand and Palestine to the US and African countries. This, she contended, means that borders and citizenships are arbitrary. She also maintained that “the global war on migrants” is a continuation of the colonial legacy and entails a “war on indigenous people”. Speaking of the opposition speakers the President noted an interesting coincidence: all of them were white men.
The first opposition speaker was Victor Marroquin-Merino, a standing committee member. He was surprised to see the President arguing for the motion, considering she passed the motion banning the ex-president from the Union premises. Marroquin-Merino argued that the motion is a “slogan” and the propositions’ argument is unrealistic. He called the motion a luxury belief, “idea that signals virtue without any of the costs” and “crashes and burns” when faced with reality. He noted that by this logic no law on stolen land would hold, causing “the state of nature”. “The questions of legitimacy cannot depend on questions of origins”, he concluded.
Then, Yeji Kim, Director of Media and a scholar of forced migration, spoke arguing that historical justice demands “visas as reparations”. She argued that colonial powers bear responsibility for the consequences of them creating artificial borders, and without it they would commit “moral betrayal”. To exemplify this, she spoke of cases like those of Chagos Islands, Hong Kong, and Gaza, where colonial rule triggered displacement of the indigenous people, who then did not receive consideration for visas in the UK. “Justice is…a passport in a pocket”, Kim concluded.
Up next was Andrew Arthur, resident fellow in Law and Policy for the Centre for Immigration Studies. He argued that people hardly ever lived on land that was not stolen. He asserted that the current system is “generous”, but “you gotta [sic.] play by the rules”. He argued that unfiltered immigration would make the assimilation of migrants in society impossible and have a negative impact on social services and working conditions. He ended the speech by saying, “if you support immigration as I do…you must be against this motion.”
He was followed by Aviva Chomsky, an American professor specialising in Latin history and immigration. Her first claim was that the “term illegal is illegitimate when applied to human beings” and this “colonial term” is used to justify exclusion and legal inequality. Further, she argued that defining immigrant workers, whom Western economies depend on, as illegal justifies their exploitation and a refusal to grant them citizenship. She also maintained that many immigrants are indigenous people who have been forced to migrate, so colonial history must be reckoned with.
The next speaker, RJ Hauman, President of the National Immigration Centre for Enforcement (which eerily abbreviates to NICE), said the motion was personal to him considering years of “advising the White House”. He spoke of how abandoning tight immigration control causes the exploitation of social benefits, the destruction of patriotism, and many other detrimental effects. “The virus then consumes its host”, as he put it. Hauman then declared that “Western people are under siege” and face displacement by illegal immigrants that “wanna possess [sic]” the US. He then said that even if the land was taken in a “harsh way”, the dwellers of it should not bear the consequences. Hauman spoke out against Biden’s administration saying that under their rule “borders became suggestions”. “My duty is to preserve, not to apologise to oblivion”, he rounded up.
The final speaker for the proposition, Senator Mehreen Faruqi, the first Muslim woman in Australian Parliament, paid respect to the aboriginal land that is Australia and lamented its “grievous immigration regime”. She argued that instead of acknowledging the colonial legacy and injustices against the indigenous people, Australia “doubled down”. Senator Farqui contended that the system is still racist and colonial, and is used to maintain white nationalism, of which she remarked that “the speaker before me made the case better than I could have” (Hauman seemed to have a very intense internal monologue at these words). She concluded by calling for racial justice, which can only be achieved by the motion.
The debate was concluded by Deputy Prime Minister of New Zealand David Seymour. He made a few concessions to the proposition, agreeing that every border is drawn in blood. However, he believes that drawing a line in history of where the “stealing” began would be arbitrary and would only “reinforce prejudices”. Seymour claimed that improving the state is only possible if the state is able to set their own laws. He concluded by saying that the opposition also wants to improve the well-being of citizens, but “[w]e just have a more critical, not idealistic way of doing it”.
Emma Nihill Alcorta is the director of a new adaptation of the Spanish masterpiece Blood Wedding, running at the Oxford Playhouse.
With flamenco rhythms and Spanish soul, our passionate ensemble and live, onstage band are bringing a bold new adaptation of Federico García Lorca’s Spanish tragedy, Blood Wedding (Bodas de Sangre), to the Oxford Playhouse.
We started with a fresh translation of the text. There are many beautiful translations of Blood Wedding, but I was determined to develop something tailor-made which celebrated the melding of twentieth-century Andalucía with twenty-first century Oxford, preserving sections of Lorca’s original Spanish poetry (accompanied by surtitles), whilst radically reimagining certain characters and sections of dialogue. I was also resolved to make the English text sing on its own terms with its own voice.
Alongside this translation, Elsa Vass-de-Zomba has created a transcendent, flamenco-inspired score. Combined with fiery choreography by Carlos Araujo and Lucy Williams, we’ve made a Blood Wedding that dives into the rich sound and movement of Lorca’s Andalucía. As much about joy as it is about tragedy, our production is a celebration of cultural exchange. Blending radically adapted, contemporary English dialogue with Spanish folklore, song, and flashes of Lorca’s verse, our band and 22-strong ensemble delve into the endlessly relevant themes of love in the face of hate, and courage in the face of violence; they speak as urgently to us as they did to Federico García Lorca.
As a half-Spanish, half-Australian actor, I’ve been thrilled by the amount of enthusiasm I’ve encountered for bilingual, cross-cultural theatre here in Oxford. When I hear English and Spanish intermingling in rehearsals and meetings, or listen to drafts of Elsa’s score, I’m overjoyed that this kind of storytelling is not only possible, but emphatically welcomed by so many people. Our ensemble and creative team represent an incredible blend of Hispanophone and Anglophone perspectives that have combined to make this production powerful and truly beautiful.
A 20th century Romeo and Juliet, Lorca’s masterpiece asks what it means to love dangerously and deeply, and what it takes to defy tradition. Presented with lyricism and love, this is a production for our times:
Andalucía. Summer. 1932.
Under the burning Andalusian sun, a woman is set to marry a man she does not love. Tables are laid, vows are spoken, and the woman condemns herself to a traditional life walled inside a house of stone. But another man has been riding to her window in the dead of night, calling her name on the wind, and she begins to wonder if the burden of tradition might be too heavy to bear. If passion drove you mad, would you risk it all?
Written in the summer of 1932, Lorca’s acclaimed rural tragedy is a story of arid land and tough people, where societal expectations are rigidly defined and hidden yearnings simmer under the surface of convention. From the pen of an internationally revered Spanish playwright, Blood Wedding is a masterpiece of exquisite poetry and raw human longing.
Our brand-new companyFull Moon Theatre is shaking things up with a razor-sharp adaptation of a Spanish masterpiece that demands to be staged again and again.
Come join the dance. We’ll see you at the Playhouse!
The final performances of Blood Weddingwill be at 14:30 and 19:30 on Saturday 7th June at the Oxford Playhouse.
You don’t think it will happen to you until it does. In fact, you don’t think of it at all, because you aren’t one of the men who are losing their hair. Then, one day, suddenly, you are. It’s the summer vac and you’re sitting on the sofa with the sun shining in. Your girlfriend comes in and says something to you about lunch. As you reply, you notice her looking at you with a frown that turns into a grimace. She points to a small area near your left temple where the sun is reflecting off your head in a way she swears it’s never done before. You tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But she comes closer and starts inspecting your head like if she was looking for lice. I think you’re losing your hair, she says. You’re going mad, you say. I’ve only just finished prelims – I’m in the prime of my life! Go and look in the mirror, she says.
From that day on, you can’t walk past a mirror without stopping and inspecting your head. You borrow your mum’s handheld mirror and hold it at different angles above your head whilst standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to get a direct look at that one little spot of thinning. Sometimes, during these mirror sessions, you convince yourself that it’s not true – your girlfriend made a mistake, it was just a trick of the light, or maybe it’s grown back. But in the end you always find that one angle that shows you it definitely is true. There’s no two ways about it: you are a man who is losing his hair.
Eventually you take the plunge and start googling hair loss. Quickly you find out it has a name: male pattern baldness. Instead of reassuring you, this only makes you feel worse. Male. Pattern. Baldness. You officially have a condition.
Google research leads you to a plethora of hair-loss clinics, which do transplants. You spend some time looking at these. Some of them have websites that look like they were designed by small children, with weird fonts and spelling mistakes. Others look shiny and professional, with pictures of smiling male doctors wearing lab coats and holding clipboards as they talk to hopeful-looking men without a hair on their head. You go to a part of the house where nobody can hear you, and dial the number. A woman with a kind voice picks up. You introduce yourself and blurt out, sounding way more upset than you intended, that you’re losing your hair. In her now-sympathetic voice the woman says she’s sorry to hear that, and asks if she can take some details before talking you through possible treatments. But there is something about the word treatments that makes you recoil. Hang on a minute, you say, treatments? But I’m not ill – in fact I hardly have a problem at all — it was only a tiny spot on the side of my head, it’ll probably just grow back. You tell the woman about the boy at school who had large clumps of his hair fall out only for it all to grow back a few months later. I understand, the woman says, unable to mask her scepticism. Why don’t I just send you our brochure and you can have a think about it? You hang up.
Denial fully sets in. One evening, you go upstairs and scour the internet, looking for the perfect hairstyle that, you’ve decided, will mark a new beginning in your life. Eventually you come across a picture of Ryan Gosling. Here is Ryan, standing on the beach, his muscular torso exposed, his thick blonde-brown hair swept over in a stylish side-parting. This one is perfect, you say. You print the image, fold it up, and put it in your wallet, ready for your appointment at the hairdressers the next day.
The hairdresser welcomes you with her usual smiles and friendliness. She sits you in the chair and drapes the apron over you. You take out the photo of Ryan and give it to her. She looks at it, smiles oddly, looks back at you, then back at the photo. You see her face falling. That’s not going to be possible, she says. She shakes her head as if to say it’s not worth protesting. No point denying it anymore.
When Michaelmas begins, you have a shaved head. Better to cut it off than to let it fall off, you tell yourself. You’re nervous about the comments, but, to your surprise, people are complimentary. A shaved head suits you, they say, you have the right head shape for it – maybe even you look better without hair than with. These all make you feel somewhat better. Still, you miss having hair.
And so the denial creeps back in. One day, you decide to start growing it back again. Maybe it wasn’t really that bad – after all, it was only a tiny spot that was pretty much invisible unless the sun was shining directly on your head. You let it grow. Three weeks later, you have what looks like patches of moss growing over your head. It’s not a good look. People start frowning. Why don’t you shave it all off again, someone says. Or why don’t you go to Turkey, somebody else says, I hear they do good hair transplants. Laughing it off, you tell them no, you’d rather accept your condition than fight it: there are only two types of men in this world, those who accept their hair loss and those who don’t. You shave your hair off again. Life goes on. But every couple of weeks or so, you look at flights to Turkey.
