Why you don’t need a “winter arc”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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