Many Oxford narratives have been told time and again, but the story of the chronically-ill overachieving student is one which has more fruit to bear. The experience of such an intense, fast-paced university inside a slow, self-destructive body is a poetic oxymoron worthy of exploration.
I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Disease at eight years old, and so have come to accept it as a very mundane aspect of my day-to-day life. To the outside world, this manifests itself as daily medication, avoiding certain foods, going to bed a little earlier than most, and being very upset when my ankles get cold. Much of the time, I believe this is how it is – no different in any great capacity from everyone else. Yet in the brief moments of pause within the frenetic pace of Oxford life, I am reminded that I do, in fact, struggle with things that many of my peers have never even considered, big and small.
Particularly as the winter months draw closer, I become wary of spending too much time outside lest my bones ache unbearably. I lose a night’s sleep, and am too exhausted to keep my eyes open to get through the four readings required of me the next day. The same is true of the weeknight clubbers, whose squeals echo around my central Oxford bedroom in the small hours. A chronically-ill friend of mine joked about taking extra sleeping pills to combat this issue. This lack of sleep causes a hefty flare of symptoms – aches, pains, fatigue, brain fog – all unfortunate afflictions when trying to keep up the academic excellence most of us aspire to achieve.
There is a quiet sense of shame that comes with many of my symptoms. In particular, I suffer with leg pains which can sometimes stop me from walking. This is a harsh fact of late-night trips home from a ball at the Isis Farmhouse – the irony of the beautiful gown floating around my weak ankles as I insist to my friends that I can absolutely make it home. I throw around jokes about being the grandma of the group as I slip on my compression socks, or my fingerless gloves, which I can’t attend a choir rehearsal without, as my hands will lose circulation and I won’t be able to turn pages. But these measures aren’t a panacea, and as much as I would prefer to hide them away underneath a respectable healthy exterior, I now realise that my time at university is too limited to spend concealing the less aesthetic parts of myself. The public spectacle I produced by fainting in the city centre might have made me wish the ground would open up and swallow me, but at the end of the day, visibility is not a curse. These physical reminders aren’t just for myself, but others around me who might suffer and experience similar things.
Most people can easily understand the physical symptoms like fatigue and pain. But the mental aspects are a bit more of a grey area. Brain fog, concentration, and memory problems are particularly prevalent for me, unfortunate in an environment like Oxford where academic work plays a huge role in day-to-day life. While my tutors have been accommodating, I continue to struggle with the unpredictability of my condition. Because of the nature of autoimmune diseases, it can be near impossible to plan out a week, or even a day. Having to take each day as it comes, even at the detriment of mental goals, is something I am learning to embrace throughout my experience of university. Worries about unexplained symptoms, remembering to schedule a multitude of doctors’ appointments and collect medications monopolise my time. All these aspects contribute to the perpetual uncertainty which characterises the lives of chronically ill students, inevitably exacerbated by the intensity of the Oxford environment.
During my time at university, I’ve spoken to quite a few fellow chronically-ill students about their experiences, and I’ve found comfort in our shared feelings. Besides fatigue, the common theme is frustration and isolation. There is a quiet tendency to convince yourself that “everything is fine, I’m just like anybody else, I don’t need help”. But the reality for these students is that most days can’t be predicted. Some days are more normal than others, and other days remind us why we were diagnosed. But what keeps me going is the desire to thrive and make the most of my time at Oxford, in spite of the unique challenges it throws up. Normality can’t be straightforwardly quantified, and the muted struggles and triumphs of chronically-ill students ultimately enrich the variety of perspectives that make up the Oxford experience.
Maybe it’s the American in me but when I think of an investigation, or at the very least an arrest, my mind flashes to the Miranda Rights. I’m sure you can think of a scene in a movie or TV show – “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” It’s a famous script, one that we could all probably parrot, and I’ve perhaps naively believed the same right existed here. There does not exist a true equivalent here in England, as “police caution” suggests that staying silent, though one may choose to do so, can harm your defence. Looking into the new Statute XI policies, which deal with student misconduct and discipline in the 2025/2026 Oxford Student Handbook, this pattern is echoed here: “You have the right to not answer any question, but such silence will be taken into consideration in any subsequent disciplinary hearing.”
Talk about damning. Or, at the very least, confusing. Regardless, this is just one aspect of the Statute XI changes instituted by the University. Others include newly established jurisdiction for the University to conduct independent investigations – without having to wait for the police to conclude its own investigation first – if there is belief that misconduct has occurred or an individual is “likely” to cause harm. At first glance, these changes may be a push towards greater accountability, but in truth, they blur the line between protection and punishment, instead encouraging an overreach of institutional power. In a time when universities worldwide are grappling with the implications of campus safety and freedom of speech, Statute XI’s latest amendments do more harm than good.
Research published in 2023 suggests that over half of Oxford students experienced some form of sexual harassment or misconduct within a single year. This is a massive issue. The University knows this; there exists a dedicated research study, OUR SPACE (Oxford Understanding Relationships, Sex, Power, Abuse, and Consent Experiences), to investigate the numbers, experiences, and impacts of sexual misconduct and harassment on campus. The Office of Students (OfS) is even running a 2025 local parallel survey to the National Student Survey (NSS) on sexual misconduct, and an independent research agency is overseeing the data collection and governance. These are serious efforts to create accountability and change and, as a researcher myself, I commend their prioritisation of safety, privacy, and anonymity.
But it’s no longer just about data collection and survey design. By expanding Statute XI to enable the University to initiate more internal investigations without a police complaint being filed, institutional power is now imbued with quasi-judicial power – leaving a system that can be unchecked, unbalanced, and unaccountable. Universities were never supposed to function as courts, and doing so runs the risk of turning justice into an arbitrary process.
Currently, the updates to Statute XI suggest that any alleged breach in conduct will be investigated by the Proctor’s Office, who hold the power to summon individuals, interview, gather evidence, and call upon witnesses as needed. Proctors act like officers, and misconduct can thus be defined as academic or non-academic in nature. Escalations to this protocol would then be taken to either the Proctors’ Disciplinary Hearing (PDH) or to the Student Disciplinary Panel (SDP), with PDH hearings only occurring if the student consents. The policy states that in “serious cases”, PDH options will not be offered, and instead, the Proctor investigation will be escalated directly to the SDP.
Proctors also have the wherewithal to impose “precautionary measures” on students during an ongoing investigation, such as preventing someone from entering a specific building. Whilst those who have restrictions placed on them can appeal, these new powers set the worrying precedent that proctors can take measures against students, not on the basis of what they have done, but what they might do.
Now, let’s think about this together. On what grounds can the University determine if someone is “likely” to cause harm? Or that certain precautionary measures are necessary? What kind of hops, skips, and jumps does someone need to make to arrive at such an assessment? Can you really tell me this is some sort of objective science? (It’s not, dear reader.)
This notion of “likelihood of harm”, that is, the risk of X happening when applied in this way, can only lead to one thing: subjective bias. Disparities in disciplinary action do exist, and the data shows that this type of bias can disproportionately affect black students.
Masquerading as a judicial system, too, does little to help the University handle its sexual misconduct problem. If anything, we get much closer to administrative paternalism, where judgement becomes the currency, and decisions are now being made on perceived risk and likelihood of crime. This results in some being considered as worthy of protection and others being labelled as a threat, which all becomes even more concerning when considering the recent influx of protests and debates on freedom of speech on campuses worldwide. Encouraging this type of judicial overreach begs the question: will students now have to self-censor for fear of being perceived as “likely” to cause harm?
Murky investigation procedures, in the name of justice, have already shown to be ineffective at Cambridge, where new procedures for sexual misconduct were to follow civil (“balance of probabilities”) as opposed to criminal (“beyond a reasonable doubt”) standards of proof. But there is no real definitive approach to these “investigations”, ranging from email exchanges to actual evidence-gathering pursuits.
Though these Statute XI updates may have been intended to increase accountability, safety – and perhaps even protect victims from potentially retraumatising police investigation procedures – the University is now at a concerning crossroads. Safety becomes more about compliance, rather than community, wellbeing, and genuine support, with little transparency in procedure and a high likelihood for mislabelling a “threat”.
By, in some instances, allowing proctors to both prosecute the case and sit as judge, Statute XI warps administrative power, confusing justice with jurisdiction. The goal is to educate, not to adjudicate, and so if the University really is hellbent on dabbling in the art of jurisprudence, then we really do have a problem.
Editors note: This article reflects the opinion of the author, and not the editorial position of Cherwell. When contacted for comment, a University spokesperson said: “The changes to Statute XI, approved by Congregation, are designed to make disciplinary processes clearer, accessible and more effective. They were introduced to ensure that the University meets the appropriate regulatory requirements on harassment and sexual misconduct outlined by the Office for Students in Condition E6 – a condition of registration for higher education providers. The changes enhance the University’s ability to investigate serious misconduct and follow extensive consultation across the collegiate University, including with students via the Oxford SU. They also bring the University into alignment with many colleges as well as sector good practice guidance, including that set out by the Office for the Independent Adjudicator.”
Sometimes you want more than just a meal, to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, a graduation. You want somewhere that feels like it appreciates the occasion, with delicious food, unrushed service – a restaurant with atmosphere. I was chatting with my college dad about the best restaurant in Oxford, and he insisted that the title belonged to the Parsonage Grill, which has certainly priced itself into that category of special occasion meal. A friend and I, both curious and hungry, set out to see if it lived up its lofty reputation.
The Parsonage Grill can be found in the Old Parsonage Hotel, a charming period building neighbouring St Giles’ church. The reception has a crackling fire in a hefty stone hearth – much appreciated on a chilly afternoon. We are received quickly and sat in the main dining room. The dark walls are decorated with a menagerie of portraits – superficially tasteful, but their curation feels artificial and self-conscious.
Looking over the menu, a consistent theme emerges; this is simple, elevated British food, with some creeping French influence, served at an elevated price point. The wine list, though short, is considered, and, comparatively, priced very reasonably. We started with some fresh sourdough and butter, which although not baked in-house, was divine – incredibly soft, and a generous portion. For our first course we decide on the steak tartare, the twice-baked goat’s cheese and thyme souffle, and one oyster each. To drink, I had a dirty martini. The steak tartare was seasoned thoroughly, mixed in with diced sweet pickle (rather than the typical, more acidic cornichon), garnished with a raw egg yolk, and served with potato crisps. It was serviceable, but for £17.95, I would expect more creativity, or at least a larger portion. The souffle, however, was the star of the show. It was perfectly light, with a moreish tang from the goat’s cheese, complemented beautifully by the thyme. Unfortunately, the oysters were watery, far from the briny intensity we were looking for.
For our mains, my friend ordered the venison loin, which came with a celeriac puree, salsify, shallots, and a juniper berry jus; I picked the wild mushroom risotto, served with pickled red onion and rocket. Much like the steak tartare, the venison was respectable. It was cooked well, and the simple accompanying vegetables worked nicely, particularly the creamy celeriac puree. But for £38, its price invites comparison to top London restaurants that deliver more ambitious and creative dishes, and therefore it fell short of my expectations. Risotto can often be at the risk of being a bit one note, particularly texturally, however I can confidently say that this was not the case. The rice was silky and parmesan-forward, balanced by the meaty chunks of mushroom; there was a refreshing piquant snap of the pickled onion, and the peppery kick of rocket. Whilst £25 is still not cheap for a main, the portion was generous, and the flavours assured.
For dessert, we opted to share a fig pavlova, which was largely unexceptional. Yet the inclusion of basil added an interesting herbaceous note, boldly complimenting the whipped cream and meringue – it is this sort of flair that I would’ve liked to see more of. Fundamentally, I fail to buy into the major selling points of the Parsonage. If I can see any great strength of this restaurant, it is consistency. The food is simple, well-executed, and competent. It’s a restaurant for relaxed conversation where the food isn’t a focal point. Though I went in with high expectations, I don’t think the Parsonage quite lives up to them.
Cherwell‘s current fashion inspiration is Isabel (Iggy) Clarke, a third-year English Literature student at Trinity College. You might remember her dazzling dress from the Oxford Fashion Gala last Trinity (more on that later), or you may have seen her about Oxford in her signature cowboy boots. She shared her fashion secrets with me last week over coffee at the Lamb and Flag.
Cherwell: What are you wearing right now?
Iggy: So, going from bottom to top, I’ve got my favourite cowboy boots on – they’re blue with this gold pattern on top. The dress – white, floaty, and with a drop waist – was given to me by the costume department when I played Daisy (in the Trinity Garden Play TT25, The Great Gatsby). The jumper is a navy knit with a built-in cravat on the neckline, and then my brown check blazer was my grandfather’s.
Cherwell:So how would you describe your personal style?
Iggy: I actually don’t know, quite frankly! It differs from day to day. I flip between trying to do something classic, like Audrey Hepburn, or I can do the opposite and channel Brigitte Bardot. Some days, I’m neither. I think my style at the moment is just a matter of me picking clothes that I like and wearing them.
Cherwell:Has Oxford affected your personal style?
Iggy: I think I dress smarter now. I’ve always had a penchant for long coats, but I’m from Shrewsbury and nobody really wears them there. When I came to Oxford, I realised that everyone dressed like me, so I felt like I had to differentiate somehow. I think I’ve had to become bolder in what I wear.
Cherwell: What is your go-to library outfit?
Iggy: If I’m just going to go to a library, then my basic outfit would be a knitted jumper and flared jeans, with either trainers (if I’m really on an essay grind) or my trusty cowboy boots. If I’m seeing a friend, I will put in a bit more effort and wear something exciting. I don’t like to waste a good outfit on a day where I’m not seeing anyone!
Cherwell: What is your favourite item in your wardrobe?
Iggy: My lovely cowboy boots. I found them on Depop, and they’re just me as a shoe. I wear them to death – I’ve had to get them resoled three times! That, or my vintage Burberry trench coat. They’re probably my two most well-worn pieces.
Image Credit: Isabel Clarke with permission
Cherwell: What is your best vintage find?
Iggy: The boots, obviously! I did find a gorgeous suede leather jacket from Burberry in a consignment shop in Berlin though.
Iggy’s big fashion tip: Find a trusted drycleaners (the suede jacket has been a victim of a bad one).
Cherwell: What’s your biggest fashion faux pas?
Iggy: When I was quite a bit younger, I went through a brief Superdry phase, which is so out of character now. I had biker boots, a hoodie, and one of those coats everyone had. I would never wear that now, but it was an era. I just wanted everything from Superdry!
Cherwell: What is one item of clothing you would never wear, and why?
Iggy: I don’t do logos as much anymore – I want the clothes to speak for themselves. I genuinely adore big designers like Dior, but when they have the monogram logo all over, I think it’s just a bit too much. Although, you could probably get around anything if you style it well. Also, I don’t think I’d wear sweatpants outside of the house. I’ve always said that if I can do one thing right, it’s dress. So, if I’m going out of the house, I’ll make sure I’m wearing something that looks like I’ve put more effort in. The very act of getting ready makes me feel like I’ve started the day. I don’t think my sweatpants with ‘Trinity’ across the bum are going to see the light of Broad Street!
Cherwell: What are the clothing items you think everyone should have in their wardrobe?
Iggy: A long coat and a good pair of boots. You need clothes that you can pull out at any time, that make you happy. Or something which has a fun story. I recently brought two jumpers off a man who came in a van to where I was staying in Scotland. Apparently, he comes once a year with a collection of Persian rugs and cashmere jumpers, so I had to buy some – just for the sake of the story, really! Everyone needs fun clothes that have good stories and just make you very happy.
Cherwell: Where are you shopping right now?
Iggy: I do a lot of my shopping from Vinted or Depop. I do browse a lot, but most of the time I will see one item and become obsessed with it. If you see something and still think about it afterwards, that’s a purchase you need to make.
Cherwell: What is your favourite place to shop in Oxford?
Iggy: Oxford does have a lot of good vintage shops. I will be a fan of Ballroom Emporium until I die. I’ve got a silk dressing gown from there that I wear to death. I’ve even worn it to the club – apparently it makes hangovers look fashionable! Also, What Alice Wore (@whataliceworeoxford), who we had at the Gala.
Image Credit: Olivia Cho with permission
Cherwell: You were president of the2025 Oxford Fashion Gala. Can you give a brief description of what the Oxford Fashion Gala is and your role?
Iggy: The Oxford Fashion Gala is a yearly event which happens in Trinity term. We call it a gala because aside from just being a fashion show, it is also a chance for artistic creatives in Oxford to showcase something. It raises money for Oxford Mutual Aid, so it’s a charity event – we raised around £1000 last year. The Gala is a chance for everyone to come together and really appreciate the creativity of Oxford’s students – it astounds me every time how impressive the designs are, especially with the workload that they have alongside!
Cherwell: Do you have a favourite piece that you still think about?
Iggy: Axel Roy has done a lot of the designs in the past, and I loved his dress with the koi fish at the bottom. He explained toCherwell, I think, about the symbolism behind the dress – it really was beautiful.
Image credit: Fynn Hyde with permission
Cherwell: Anyone who went would have remembered your dress – can you tell us about it?
Iggy: It makes me so happy when people say I dress well, because it is always the best compliment! The dress was from a small brand I found on Instagram, called Into Gaia. It has a sequined butterfly on the front and back of the dress, so I thought it was quite apt for the Metamorphosis theme. I also wanted an excuse to wear the dress – there’s not many occasions you can wear a full-length sheer, sparkly dress!
Cherwell: What advice would you give to someone trying to get involved in the Fashion Gala?
Iggy: Just apply – we’ll be doing applications this term. We really want people involved, especially if you can design, but also if you have any other talents – just let us know! In terms of filling out the forms, my advice would be to say any ideas you have, because that’s what things like this need, new ideas.
Cherwell: Do you have a fashion icon or designer that inspires you?
Iggy: This is a hard question because I don’t really know what my personal style is. I don’t have anyone I follow religiously, but I love looking through the ‘90s Ralph Lauren catalogues and the recent runways. I really liked the recent Chanel Spring/Summer 2026 show, especially all the drop waist designs and long, floaty fabrics. I think Pinterest is probably, if I’m being honest, my main fashion inspiration. Sometimes, if I’m really struggling to work out what to wear that day, I’ll open Pinterest and go through my meticulously curated boards!
Cherwell: Who in Oxford do you see as a fashion icon?
Iggy: Honestly, my friends. There will be different aspects of all their outfits, and I’ll almost just pick and choose what I like for myself!
Searching ‘Oxford’ on YouTube brings up what you might expect. One thumbnail invites the viewer to “Study With Me”, the title superimposed over the Radcliffe Camera. Another recounts “a week in my life at Oxford”, complete with “dorm tour, high table dinner, [and] studying”. The status of Oxford online is almost mythological. Polished lawns and gothic spires have brought the University from a solely academic arena to an idol of dark academia aesthetics. Study influencers have eagerly engaged in this reverence, and have not halted at distant adoration. Most popular are a slightly different type of videos: “How I got my offer”.
The popularity of study influencers reflect a generation concerned about work prospects and looking for some stability. Short-form videos bragging about UCAS results respond to contemporary anxieties about the precarious job markets. They mirror popular perceptions of Oxford not just as a place of learning, but an antique idol of security. At a time when the future of work is increasingly unclear, the rigid routines of study influencers provide some ritualistic certainty. The rise of study influencers seem to emerge between the two intersection of work-market anxiety and academic fetishism.
However, the lives these influencers present, and the version of Oxford that they create, are beyond idealised. Waking up at 5, taking no breaks while studying, and maintaining a constant posting schedule are beyond almost anyone’s abilities. For pre-uni viewers, study influencers seem to suggest that Oxford provides a perfect study routine the same way it does accommodation. But for Oxford students, the videos about their own university can end up fuelling even more anxiety.
The rise of the study influencer
Study influencers have been a mainstay of social media, with informality and relatability some of their main attractions. Like many online spaces, the isolation of COVID exploded the study influencers out of their niche corner of social media. The companionship offered by study influencers became doubly comforting with the social alienation forced upon students by the pandemic, particularly with schools and universities closed, and exam results uncertain. Live, multi-hour study livestreams on YouTube and TikTok became a psychological anchor for many students at home. Unlike the 2010s StudyTube creators, pandemic-era study influencers appealed mainly to companionship, not aspirational performance. As the pandemic faded away, the COVID-era casual intimacy of the study influencer swung in the opposite direction.
Economic instability during COVID revealed uncertainty in the job market, changing the way people work and increasing remote work at a time where in-person positions are increasingly scarce. AI as a competitor to humans has become a major concern, particularly for entry-level jobs. 2023 represented one of the worst years for the banking sector since the 2007-2008 financial crisis. The Financial Times recorded over 62,000 job cuts across major banking companies such as UBS, Wells Fargo, and Morgan Stanley. In an increasingly difficult market for graduates, top institutions like Oxford, Cambridge, and Harvard can provide certainty to those looking at university.
Study influencers became sources of reassurance, highlighting that academic strength was the solution to professional insecurity. It seems that the raw companionship of pandemic study influencers has vanished.Their content has returned to tours of ‘elite’ universities and intensely disciplined daily routines, capitalising on the youth’s dependency on secure institutions.
The myth of Oxford
In the study influencer world, Oxford is such a draw that creators can capitalise despite not actually studying at the University. David Cai can be seen as a representative of the contemporary era. His Instagram account boasts 108,000 followers, and on TikTok 27,700 followers. He has been posting study content since the beginning of sixth form. His Instagram reel on receiving his Oxford offer was reposted by the Oxford University Instagram page. However, Cai is a first-year student at UCL. He missed his Oxford offer. Up until his recent entrance into university, his content focused mainly on sharing his own sixth form experience through tips and advice.
Some of his projects seem to lean towards an authoritative stance. In September 2025, Cai held paid webinar sessions with the title ‘Oxbridge Application: Everything You Need to Know’, offering ‘every little trick that helped us get our offers’. The intention is admirable; Cai’s description talks of increasing accessibility about information surrounding the applications. At the same time, it is hard to ignore that this authority comes from only two sources of credibility: an Oxford offer, and posting study content. Merely by making videos on the topic, Cai has transcended from a fellow student passing around helpful study experience, to a gospel of university admissions – an Oxford idol in himself.
There is an element of blindness from the study influencer’s perspective. I interviewed Cai, who acknowledged that he has no concept of the tangible impact he has on his audience. From his side, his viewers are merely ‘numbers’. No matter what he says about accessibility and genuine human engagement, he is unable to control how his viewers actually perceive his content. His viewers might be truly drawn in by study tips and relatability. But it might equally be the aesthetics and status of universities Cai has come to embody.
The content he creates is equally for himself: Cai says that the work that performs the best is when he is “talking to myself”. Content creation is a sort of therapeutic, self-assuring process for Cai. Despite his extraordinary success in his admissions journey, he is ultimately just another student. By his own words, Cai’s motivation in his content was to reassure other sixth form students that he’s “struggling as well”. Yet through the title of study influencer, as well as his Oxford offer, he has become perceived as a figure of authority.
Even as part of one of the ‘stable’ institutions, Oxford students are not immune to job anxieties. Terms are packed with essays, and working a job is banned, so hopes of employment seem to rest on the vacation periods. Instead of sustained employment, most Oxford students’ main exposure to the job market will be through spring weeks and summer internships, notoriously competitive and incredibly opaque. To drudge through the specialised application process of each individual company is a ruthless task alongside the frenetic workload of the Oxford student.
Often, it’s difficult to know what you are doing wrong. Was it the application, the grades, the extra-curriculars – or did you simply not know the right person? The study influencer provides some hope here. Their polished ‘day in the life as an Oxford student’ advertises that academic rigour translates into stable prospects. But there is a bitter contradiction that, whilst Oxford students may be realising the limits of their university, the same prestigious name draws in viewers for the study influencer. In a city that practically breathes imposter syndrome, study influencers are a constant reminder that you could be doing more. With their perfect study locations, immaculate morning routines, and superhuman work ethic, they seem like ‘real’ Oxford students. But this is nothing but detrimental for those who work differently, and idealises overworking.
Reassurance or insecurity?
I spoke to one first-year student at Oxford, whose immediate reaction to ‘study with me’ short videos was to “scroll past that”. On one hand, this distaste stemmed from an awareness of artifice. Post-COVID, the oversaturated arena of study influencers means intense competition with one another to wake up the earliest, to study the longest, most continuous period. Mia Yilin’s ‘4AM Stanford Student Morning Routine’ is commonplace amongst a sea of supposedly early risers. Whilst it is unfair to accuse all study influencers of portraying a false image online to promote their content, the student argued that these routines were unsustainable, and unproductive to their own motivation.
On the other hand, despite acknowledging the unrealistic nature of extremist routines, he accepted that the main reason for avoidance was guilt. There is something ironic about viewing study content on Instagram and TikTok – these platforms are primarily a medium of guilty procrastination. Study influencers only seem to exacerbate this guilt, as their curated snippets of perfections become reminders of academic inadequacy. During the A-Level revision period, which he characterised as a time of constantly worrying that “what you’ve done is not enough”, the study influencer’s videos fuelled only stress, rather than competition. A half-minute video from a dubious source undermines all the reassurance of an Oxford offer and personal academic success.
The short video format has exacerbated all of this. Speaking to Cherwell about his Instagram and TikTok, his two main platforms, Cai is clear that he disagrees with the short video format. He considers that “social media is a terrible thing … it is terribly addictive”, especially to sixth-form students vulnerable to stress and distractions. Similar to the sentiment of guilty procrastination, there is a reductive contradiction in the medium of study influencer content. Engaging in addictive reels-scrolling is undeniably detrimental to studying, yet the authority of the study influencer seems to persuade the viewer that scrolling is somehow productive.
The curt nature of short videos means that the information conveyed is brief and simplistic: advice becomes imperative, where an Instagram reel on the Pomodoro technique declares it to be the only method of effective study. The medium itself is damagingly addictive. Even if you study ‘correctly’, the constant comparison and the unsustainable study habits and routines impressed by ‘study with me at Oxford University’ videos are equally insecurity-fuelling. Even as a then-prospective student at Oxford, the student I spoke to described the “shame spiral” this drove him into.
From the study influencer’s perspective, Cai states that the algorithm is a “difficult one to cater to”; to balance genuine personal content with content that performs well is a struggle. The equal desires to perform well online, and to provide the most genuine personal stories thus compete within the study influencer. For both viewer and creator, the short-form video medium can often be a source of distress.
The more accessible Oxford is online, the more distant it becomes. Antiquity and prestige establishes Oxford as a stabilising symbol; Oxford is desired for its aesthetic glamour and the job security it seems to promise. The study influencer, in the present day, reflects an anxiety-fuelled fetishism of established institutions, and presents ‘foolproof’ ways to get good grades
Besides the intentions of individual influencers, the perception of study influencers by their viewers is one of stressful competition. The viewer engages in addictive, superficially comforting reels, well aware that they should be studying, while the creator, for all their good intentions, loses any pretence of nuance in short video formats, leading to the impression of unsustainable study habits. The study influencer, and the Oxford study influencer in particular, is a paradox: when you’re on the outside, they give you a way in. But once you’re in, they might make you feel like you shouldn’t be.
Over the past year, I’ve spent more time in male-dominated spaces than I ever had before. Growing up with a sister, attending an all-girls’ school, and moving in the art, theatre, and music scenes of South London, my world was shaped mostly by women.
My first year of university brought a whole new set of dynamics to navigate – shifting friendships, uncertain first impressions, the trial and error of finding my place. Some of the men I’ve met are now among my closest friends, while others have made me more cautious about taking certain claims at face value. From the latter, I learned something else entirely: you cannot trust a man just because he calls himself a feminist.
At first, this felt like a personal lesson about who I could and couldn’t rely on. But the more time I spent in these circles, the more I realised it was part of something bigger: the way words like feminism can be emptied out when they’re too easy to claim. Of course, this isn’t new – a list as long as my arm of ‘60s activists accused of sexual abuse would say otherwise — but it feels particularly pressing now.
As social media has turned identity into aesthetics and trends, calling yourself a feminist has become less about conviction and more about appearance. This is especially the case in communities where the term is taken as the default. The label works like social camouflage – a quick signal of belonging that shields men from scrutiny, even when their behaviour tells another story.
I began to notice it most in smaller moments – the offhand jokes and comments that hang in the air longer than they should. I initially protested their words through pointed silence, and, when the guilt of my non-confrontation finally forced me to call them out, I would be brushed aside, accused of not understanding the laddish culture of his rougher hometown. As if a postcode could launder the meaning out of the words. As if the fact of his self-proclaimed feminism erases the very real discomfort they are meant to provoke.
And it’s not just the words. It’s hidden in the Instagram account where his grid slips in a corner of a Simone de Beauvoir cover, carefully annotated and underlined. But he still follows a rapper with domestic abuse allegations, Andrew Tate, or a string of bikini models he’d never admit to liking in front of you. It’s the friend who insists he “hates toxic masculinity,” yet calls his ex-girlfriend “psycho” the minute her name comes up. Or the subtle drop in enthusiasm when you’re talking and another man enters the conversation, suddenly the real audience he wants to impress. None of these moments are catastrophic on their own, but together they form a pattern that speaks louder than the label he’s chosen for himself.
The rest is aesthetics. The chivalry in holding doors open or extreme politeness that abruptly vanishes the moment sexual interest is off the table or the ego is bruised. The cigarette, lit just long enough to suggest a pitiable tortured edge, carefully obscuring the comfortable stability of a middle-class upbringing. The sudden, almost indulgent flare of paper-cut anger, sharpened against another man’s misogyny – a release that flatters his feminist credentials even as the violence of the gesture lingers, unsettling, for a more critical eye. These aren’t random quirks; they’re part of a curated brand designed to be read as safe, progressive, and desirable.
But a performance only holds until it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s a flicker – a smile snagging sharp when you tease out a contradiction. Other times it’s a full unravelling: the frantic defensiveness, the voice pitching up like cheap fabric under strain. That reaction isn’t about protecting feminism; it’s about protecting himself, the fast-fashion facade that was always going to fray.
And the truth is, there’s no cost to this label of allyship – at least not in my small social bubble at university. I’m glad, genuinely, that there’s been an increase in discussion and a reduction of stigma around the term “feminist”. That’s not something to be undervalued, especially in the face of rising red-pill and anti-feminist rhetoric. But alongside this comes a troubling ease: men can take on the label without ever having to grapple with what it means, or risk anything by using it. That lack of cost – even the presence of incentives – creates a gap between the safety women are induced to feel around a ‘feminist’ man and the actions those same men sometimes take. And it’s in that gap that the danger lies.
And here’s what I’ve learned most clearly: the moments when a man’s feminism really matters aren’t the ones lit up for display. They’re not in the loud declarations or the carefully crafted performances. They’re in the private spaces – in the dark, where intimacy makes a moment both beautiful and vulnerable. That’s where trust is tested, where instincts and intuition are all you have to go on. And it’s in those spaces that the gap between words and actions shows itself most vividly. Too many of us know what it feels like when the man who called himself a feminist still crosses the line, still ignores a “no”, still believes his desire matters more than your safety. That’s the place where the slogans can’t reach, where the mask slips, and where the cost of misplacing trust becomes something you carry with you. That is why I will never give away that trust freely again. The benefit of hindsight revealed the hollowness behind his words I couldn’t see before.
So, when I say I no longer trust men who call themselves feminists, I don’t mean that there are no men who use this label and truly mean it. Instead, I mean that I have been reminded that trust has to be earned, and as always, actions speak louder than words.
The University of Oxford prides itself on high ethical and reputational standards for its donors and funding. The list of scholarships offered at the University is long and comprehensive, but how transparent is it who the people behind them are? Alastair Tulloch, the trustee of Hill Foundation which supports a scholarship at University of Oxford, has managed to balance his role with running a firm that set up and managed offshore companies for sanctioned Russian officials and businessmen.
The Hill Foundation Scholarship is a programme that supports Russian nationals and residents pursuing a second bachelor’s degree, full-time master’s or DPhil. Since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, around ten scholarships per year have been awarded to students.
The scholarship fully covers fees and also provides a grant towards living costs. It has supported 56 graduate scholars over the past 5 years. One of the scholarship’s eligibility criteria is that students should intend to leave the UK upon completing their degree. Whether this means that students would have to return to Russia is unclear.
One of the three named trustees of the Hill Foundation is Alastair Tulloch, a lawyer who has reportedly been involved in multiple financial schemes, such as the purchase of Whitehall flats for Igor Shuvalov, former First Deputy Prime Minister of Russia. He is also the only trustee listed in the contacts section of the Foundation’s website. Cherwell discovered that a range of companies linked to Russian oligarchs with minimal online presence have Tulloch as one of their directors and share the address with the Hill Foundation.
University and ethical donorship
More than three years have passed since Russia launched a full-scale invasion on Ukraine. There have been over 40,000 civilian casualties, and 3.7 million people are internally displaced with 6.9 million fleeing Ukraine. Many countries including the UK, US, and EU have imposed sanctions on Russian gas and oil, but also personally on individuals who support the war.
According to the register of charities, Tulloch is the oldest standing trustee for the foundation, having been appointed in May 2007. As a trustee, he is partially responsible for awarding the scholarships to the candidates “who demonstrate extremely high academic ability and personal and social qualities of a high order”, according to the University website.
The other two trustees are Professor John Nightingale at Magdalen College, appointed in February 2022, and Professor Catriona Kelly at Trinity College, Cambridge, appointed in May 2008.
The University Freedom of Information (FOI) Officer told Cherwell: “We have not discovered any correspondence concerning UK sanctions against Russia and the appearance of Alistair Tulloch in the Pandora files or other investigations.”
Graph Credit: Oscar Reynolds
Other scholarships supporting Russian students have been under pressure since the beginning of the war. The Chevening Scholarship, a fully-funded UK government programme priding itself in supporting “emerging leaders”, was suspended for Russian residents in 2022. The decision to reinstate it for Russian students received backlash due to concerns that such education benefits Vladimir Putin’s regime.
Meanwhile, the absence of communication regarding the sanctions, as FOI’s show, between the University and Hill Foundation means the reassessment of compliance to the University’s policy on ethical donorship has not been conducted.
Better Call Tulloch
Tulloch is a founding partner of TGW Law, a firm focusing on corporate transactions and reorganisations, investment funds, and UK charities. TGW Law and its address frequently appear in the financial paper trail of Russian investments with links to government officials and oligarchs.
Tulloch is a director of at least 5 companies and has been a secretary or a director of more than 50 companies and charities in the past. A significant number of these companies have minimal online presence and share the same office and communications address as the Hill Foundation and Tulloch’s law firm.
TGW Law appears in a leak of over 6.4 million documents, around three million images, over a million emails and almost half-a-million spreadsheets obtained by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ) – the Pandora Papers. These revealed numerous international networks of companies set up across borders and hiding ownership of assets.
According to the leaks, TGW Law firm assisted with the management of offshore companies for former Russian Deputy Finance Minister Andrey Vavilov who served under former Russian President Boris Yeltsin, and Vitaly Zhogin, a banker wanted in Russia for alleged fraud. His firm also structured a network of companies for Alexander Mamut, a Russian billionaire who was included in the ‘Putin List’, a US Treasury Department list of 210 Russian political and business figures and has faced US sanctions since 2018.
Tulloch was also linked to Igor Shuvalov’s real estate purchases. Igor Shuvalov served as the First Deputy Prime Minister in both Putin’s and Medvedev’s administrations and is currently the Chair of the Russian state development corporation VEB.RF. He has been sanctioned by the US, EU, Australia, Canada, Japan, New Zealand, Switzerland, and Ukraine since the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine.
The University spokesperson responded to the questions about Alastair Tulloch’s position in the Foundation to Cherwell: “All donors are subject to our policies on the acceptance of gifts, and all significant donors and funders must be approved by the University’s Committee to Review Donations and Research Funding, which is a robust, independent system taking legal, ethical and reputational issues into consideration.”
Cozy offices in Mayfair town house
Two addresses keep appearing in the records of a number of foundations linked to Russian businessmen, 4 Hill Street and 46 Laurier Road. For over 60 companies, they are listed as either correspondence addresses or registered offices. Cherwell has independently verified that the buildings at those addresses appear to be small London town houses, and unlikely to be large enough to headquarter that number of separate offices.
Tulloch’s firm TGW Law is also registered at 4 Hill Street, and so is the Hill Foundation. Cherwell understands that the foundation which supports the Oxford scholarship takes its name from this address.
Many of the companies that Tulloch was a director of have minimal online presence. A number of them are connected to Russian businessmen such as Alexander Mamut, Evgeny Lebedev, or Yury Milner. There is no public information regarding who the donors of Hill Foundation are. This absence of transparency raises many questions about the people behind the scholarship.
A humble flat for Shuvalov
Shuvalov, Putin’s former Deputy Prime Minister, was the richest member of the government in 2012, according to government records owning a house in Austria, seven cars, and a number of flats in Russia. In 2018 Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation revealed that Shuvalov used a £38 million secret private jet to fly his wife’s Corgis to the UK.
In 2018 Alexei Navalny, Russian political activist and head of the Anti-Corruption Foundation, uncovered Shuvalov’s 483m2 flat worth £11.4 million in Whitehall Court, a 19th century Westminster luxury apartment block. The records, such as applications for listed building consent, show the flat was owned by a number of different offshore companies, including Central Cove Ltd. Central Cove Ltd. also shared the address with Hill Foundation and Tulloch’s law firm.
This, however, was not the end of Tulloch’s law firm involvement in “fixing” the housing for Shuvalov. In 2014 the flat was bought by Sova Real Estate LLC, a company owned by Shuvalov and his wife Olga. During registration of the company, the due diligence was conducted by none other than Tulloch & Co (now known as TGW law) and the person with overall responsibility was Alastair Tulloch.
Ex-KGB Spy and Boris Johnson’s friend
Cherwell has also found that Tulloch was one of the directors of the Lebedev Foundation, before the company dissolved. However, the 14 years at Lebedev Foundation does not conclude Tulloch’s business relationship with the Russian-British businessman. Tulloch was a director of the Journalism Foundation together with Evgeny Lebedev from 2011 to 2013. Finally, Tulloch was a secretary of an obscure company El Private Office Limited, which was directed by Evgeny Lebedev.
Evgeny Lebedev is an investor in The Independent, and the owner of The Evening Standard. He received life peerage from Boris Johnson, which received criticism considering Lebedev’s father, Alexander Lebedev’s past as a KGB agent. According to the chair of the House of Lords, Lebedev’s nomination for peerage was paused after MI5 advice, but approved with a note that the appointment would be controversial. Channel 4’s documentary has alleged that government officials asked Queen Elizabeth to block Evgeny Lebedev’s peerage.
Evgeny Lebedev’s influence on the UK government and particularly Boris Johnson was a subject for concern of many. Boris Johnson was criticised for meeting in private with the businessmen and his father, an ex-KGB agent. However, Lebedev himself denies there was “security risk” to the meeting. Tulloch’s professional relationship with the Lebedev family seems all too similar to his other relationships with Russian businessmen close to power.
Matryoshka of shell companies
Trustees of Hill Foundation Scholarship have the say in who receives the financial awards. Connections to a range of Russian officials and businessmen and a track record of involvement of his company in setting up shell companies to conceal identity of the owners of assets reflect the deeper link of Tulloch to the so-called world of ‘Londongrad’.
The scholarships support the education of people who, as Hill Foundation website puts it, will “work for the betterment of Russian life and culture”. What kind of ‘betterment’ do the trustees with links to sanctioned officials and shady businessmen have in mind?
The paper trail of a number of charities and companies leading to 4 Hill Street highlights the strong connection between Tulloch and Russian oligarchs in London. It is unclear who the key donors for the foundation are, as neither the website is transparent on whose donation established the foundation nor is the University. Whether the University will conduct a reassessment of the ethical and reputational standards following a range of investigations in Tulloch’s operations remains unclear as well.
The University receiving funds from reputationally dubious donors and foundations has raised concerns in the past. Cherwellreported on Potanin, Russian oligarch and Putin’s ‘hockey buddy’, donating $150,000 to the Said Business School in 2017 for a fellowship.
According to the press release provided by Alastair Tulloch:”The Hill Foundation, a UK registered charity, was founded in 2001 under the chairmanship of Anthony Smith, the then president of Magdalen College, Oxford and at the instigation of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, a longtime critic of the Putin regime who was recognized by Amnesty International as a prisoner of conscience in 2011 during his unlawful and unfair prosecution by the Kremlin.
“The Hill Foundation has in the past been funded by the Khodorkovsky Foundation, then a related party, but funding ceased upon the Khodorkovsky Foundation and the Oxford Russia Fund (also a related party and now called the New Eurasia Strategies Centre) being designated as undesirable organisations by the Russian Government in 2021. The Hill Foundation’s continued grant giving activity relies on its 2001 GBP13.5m [sic.] endowment. The Russian Government has not designated the Hill Foundation as an undesirable organisation (which would adversely affect its ability to provide scholarship funding utilized by Russian nationals) and Russian students have not been prevented from taking up scholarship funded courses at Oxford.
“The current trustees of the Hill Foundation are John Nightingale, a fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, Catriona Kelly, a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge and Alastair Tulloch, a graduate of Magdalen College, a trustee of the Khodorkovsky Foundation and the New Eurasia Strategies Centre and whose law firm, TGW Law, provides the day to day administration for the Hill Foundation.
“The Hill Foundation has provided scholarship funding to Oxford University since 2001 enabling over 200 students from Russia to undertake post graduate courses at Oxford University. Scholars are selected on a competitive basis by a selection committee composed of Oxford University academics. Scholars are expected to confirm their intention to return, at some stage, to Russia after the end of their UK academic studies. The intention is not a legally enforceable obligation. It is the intention of the trustees that graduates of the programme make a meaningful contribution to the development of Russia and promote east/west understanding [sic.]. In the past, graduates have returned to Russia to make their contribution directly in the country and it is hoped that in the future this will be possible again.”
Walking around Oxford you often feel like you’re part of the city’s tourist attraction. The long walk up to the Radcliffe Camera entrance, pushing the heavy door to enter your college: there’s always an eerie feeling of being watched. The feeling is right, you are always observed. Not necessarily by other people, but certainly by the myriad of statues, gargoyles, and grotesques throughout Oxford’s architecture. Many statues represent benefactors or founders of colleges, like in the case of The Queen’s College. Other common symbols are saints, like St. John in the tower of St John’s College. Oxford’s architecture is a controversial part of student life, considering the protests against Oriel College’s Rhodes Statue in 2020, or the architectural inequalities between ancient and modern colleges.
Modern perceptions of such decorations as wasteful expense ignores their important influence on college culture as well as identity. Sometimes looking up at new figures, ideas and bizarre statues can change our perspective on our environment. As we oppose statues that do not represent our values as an academic community–it can also be a fun exercise to examine what other figures dot our college rooftops.
If you’ve ever gone to the fifth floor of the Weston Library, or looked up during Matriculation, you’ll spot the statues atop the Clarendon Building. With some of them under maintenance, the building usually features the nine muses. A glance up when walking down Broad Street introduces you to the particularly striking Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, holding out her mask in a foreboding sign of how you’re about to do in your exams if you haven’t been revising.
For a more shocking experience, don’t miss Antony Gormley’s Another Time II of a nude man atop Blackwell’s gazing down on the tourist packed Broad Street. Its near human silhouette often catches the unaware mind. Exeter College seemingly prides itself on its unique acquisition that contrasts the classical sculptures atop Trinity College across the street. What’s better than a bit of college rivalry expressed through statues?
Oxford’s tradition of the bizarre figures continues further down Broad Street. Right beside the nude man, you have the mysterious Sheldonian Emperors, always a favourite for a bizarre tourist photo. They are centuries old with little documented reason for their creation.
To move from their gigantism to the miniature, St John’s boasts an impressive collection of grotesques (small figures without a drainage or water use) in its baroque Canterbury Quad. With each new President being given the right to choose a figure of their choice, it features depictions of the Green Man, eagles, lizards, Kings, dragons, and a variety of crest-bearing angels. It also boasts some rare gargoyles on its neo-Gothic walls.
Oxford rooftops are a place for colleges to show off their learning and development. Trinity College chapel has four women, each representing Astronomy, Theology, Medicine, and Geometry. St John’s similarly features busts of the seven liberal arts alongside the seven virtues on either side of its quad.
Looking up reminds us that these are not simply pretty constructions for colleges, but they are sets of symbols and messages to undergraduates. Statues are not just entertainment, they have always been created with key values. The gothic and neo-gothic styles emphasised instruction as well as decoration. Magdalen’s medieval cloisters feature an eclectic set of imagery with statues representing everything from drunkenness to lust. In each corner there are the four medieval professions for graduates: a priest, a teacher, a doctor, and a lawyer. There are also statues of greed and fraud, warning undergraduates what to avoid, while also informing them of their ideals and future. Always ask yourself, what are you looking up to? Literally and metaphorically.
Many of these statues and figures will become staples of your college tours, or photos. Learning your surroundings, what they represent, and what their intention was, is always a fruitful way of understanding the past.
