CROFT
CROFT
CO-EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
Annie Davey & Cerys Larsen
MANAGING EDITOR
Shayma Al Saraf
CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Anushka Holding
Social Commentary
CO-HEAD EDITORS
Ronnie Sadé
Rosie Moore
Arts & Culture
CO-HEAD EDITORS
Sophie Chin
Erina Mannan
Wellbeing
CO-HEAD EDITORS
Lydia Lewis
Alice Williams
Travel
HEAD EDITOR
Emily Peyton
Fashion
HEAD EDITOR
Siân Clarke
Music
HEAD EDITOR
Iris Eastaugh
Photography
Ned Button
Billy Allen
Anushka Holding
Sophie Chin
Chris Davies
Iris Eastaugh
Ewan Pedder
COPY EDITOR
Ronnie Sadé
SOCIAL MEDIA
Anushka Holding
GRAPHIC DESIGN
Anushka Holding
COVER Anushka Holding
Editor’s Letter
As the leaves fall and the chill sets in, we find ourselves deep in autumn—a season of transition in every sense. Our theme for this issue reflects the season itself: we are in a constant state of change, from campus dynamics to our own identities, and the outside world mirrors this.
For first-year students, the initial whirlwind of Freshers’ Week has calmed, replaced by a steadier rhythm. Second-year students are adjusting to new living arrangements and making themselves at home. Meanwhile, third-year students face the reality of the work, deadlines, and dissertations that now shape so many of their days. No matter where we are in our academic journeys, we are in transition—learning, reshaping, and figuring out what comes next.
Our theme builds on the identity we explored in our last issue. Here at The Croft, we are asking what we do with these new, evolving versions of ourselves. How do we stay authentic when change is constant? Balancing all our demands—academic pressures, social lives, self-care—feels harder than ever as we navigate a culture pushing for relentless productivity, that leaves little room for the slower, seasonal pace our minds crave.
Beyond campus, the world seems to mirror our sense of flux. Trump has been elected president of the U.S, while Project 2025 signals another crossroads for global leadership and policy. Closer to home, the Labour government has introduced new hurdles, with tuition fees soon to increase, and the cost of living continuing to climb. Here in Bristol, we feel it too: new halls are rising, rents are soaring, and beloved venues are closing under financial strain.
As we reflect on these local challenges, we must turn to and acknowledge the tragedies occurring around the world. Currently, ongoing genocides are taking place in Palestine, Yemen, Sudan and the Congo. We refuse to ignore these humanitarian crises. Some of you may have connections to these places, some of you may not, but we each have a responsibility to do what we can within our power to educate, empathise and take action!
This time of year teaches us to savour the small things. There is warmth in community, and learning to care for each other and our own needs brings its own clarity. In our shared routines, we find comfort: the late-night library sessions, the courage to say yes to the house party or even the casual “hello” to a new face in a lecture hall. Even third years are still forming new connections—after all, the four of us on The Croft executive team had not even met until September! We are all reaching out, starting to build the connections that make us feel known, even as we realise that parts of ourselves might still be undiscovered.
This season is as much about light as it is about dark. We may lose track of time as the days grow shorter, but we have gained the extra hour– a small reminder that there is space to pause, breathe, and reflect. Winter might be closing in, but it brings with it a sense that, no matter how much changes, we are growing into who we are meant to be.
In this issue, we hope you find a mirror and a guide for your own transitions.
Lots of love,
Annie, Cerys, Shayma and Anushka from The Croft Executive Team x
by
NAVIGATING SEASONAL SHIFTS
Dby
espite the eternal predictability of the seasons, I manage to be blindsided by them every year. One moment it’s September; the sun is shining, I dress to keep cool, admire all the people congregating in the pub gardens through rosy, sunlight-tinted glasses, and I feel certain that the long days are ripe with possibilities. Slowly the sheen of the new semester wears off, and jackets start to go back on, but this year, I didn’t really notice the shift in seasons until mid-October, when it struck me that I was eating dinner in the dark. The end of daylight savings always comes earlier than I think it will. It feels like a particular insult, robbing me of an hour of evening daylight. I find it difficult to greet these changes enthusiastically, knowing that the short winter days often leave me feeling tired and short of time.
I’m not the only one who feels this way during winter. Low mood and depression are likely to be exacerbated during this time of year: around one in twenty people in the UK are diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, a form of depression associated with seasonal changes, and many more people suspect they have this disorder. The decrease in daylight during the winter also correlates with lower energy levels. This is because your body responds to the darkness by releasing more melatonin, the hormone that makes you want to sleep. The lack of sunlight may also inhibit your body’s ability to produce serotonin, one of the four so-called ‘happy hormones’.
Other events may also coincide with this period exacerbating these effects. Students generally face heavier workloads and more deadlines as the semester progresses. Just as the weather gets colder and I would like to slow down, I have to push myself to be my most productive. Cold weather can mean that people are often less sociable during winter, creating a sense of social isolation for some. The approaching end of the year, with its accompanying reflections, can also leave some feeling panicked about where they are in life.
If like me, you don’t love winter, it’s important to find ways to navigate, and even enjoy this shift. Here are some of the things that I try to do to make the most of winter:
1. Keep doing all the positive things you’re already doing
This may sound obvious, but wintertime can make it harder to maintain the habits you’ve created throughout the year. Less daylight leaves you with a shorter window for exercising outside, whilst colder mornings make getting out of bed unappealing. It’s important to keep doing the things that make you feel good despite the weather. Exercise, eating healthily and sleeping well are just as important for your well-being during the winter months as they are during any other time of the year. You may want to adapt some of these activities to align with the changes
in seasons- swapping salads for soups or finding enjoyable indoor exercises if outdoor activities are starting to become impractical.
2. Maximise the daylight that there is
As tempting as it can seem to hibernate during the winter, the fact that there are fewer hours of sunlight during the winter means that the ones we do have are more precious. I try to make the most of them by enjoying my morning coffee sitting by the window and taking a long walk at lunchtime (even if I’m doing so in the rain). Not only is sunlight essential for your health as it regulates your circadian rhythms, gives you vitamin D and releases endorphins, but I also find that taking this time outside helps me feel more connected to the world around me.
3. Build routines around your natural rhythms
It’s easy to find advice which tells you a single, ‘correct’ way to live, encouraging you to use self-discipline to fit into this mould. But rather than feeling like a failure because you couldn’t wake up at 5 am, isn’t it healthier to reverse this idea and build habits that fit around what feels comfortable to you? Try to observe your energy levels and mood over time. Could you schedule your most challenging studying to the time of day when you have the most energy? If there’s something in your week that drains you, could you avoid it, or schedule some intentional rest just after it? Whilst this isn’t always possible, the more your routines are shaped around your natural habits, the easier and more enjoyable they’ll be to stick to.
4. Find comforting seasonal rituals
Give yourself reasons to feel excited for the winter months. Schedule a seasonal movie night with your friends and treat yourself to a new kind of tea or a pair of fluffy socks. Teach yourself to bake an apple pie. Another way to do this could be to explore seasonal books, films or music. This could mean rewatching your favourite Christmas films, but you could also be more abstract with it, for example, I find listening to folk music comforting during the colder months. Although winter can be bleak, at best it’s a time for cosiness, slowing down, and a bit of self-indulgence.
5. Look for the beauty in nature this winter
When it’s 2 degrees outside, pouring with rain and dark at 4pm, it’s easy for nature to feel like the enemy. But seeing as this enemy is undefeatable, it’s worth finding the beauty in the winter weather. Despite the harshness of the season, I love the way that the morning frost sparkles, the way sunlight is reflected in puddles, even, once I’m out of it, the awesomeness of torrential rain. Stopping to notice these things can be a good step to making peace with the colder months.
6. Practice self-compassion
It’s always important to be kind to yourself and it’s worth particularly keeping this in mind if you struggle with the winter months. Although the world doesn’t slow down because it’s winter, it’s natural that you might want to. Remember to be forgiving towards yourself if you’re not as motivated or energised as you would like to be. Make sure you’re celebrating your wins and making time to rest during this period.
Historically I’ve greeted winter with a sense of helplessness and a frustration that I can’t do the things I normally would. This year though, I will start with acknowledging that winter brings unique challenges and carving out the colder months as a time to particularly focus on my wellbeing and make time for things I enjoy. If you too find this time difficult, I encourage you to do the same and hopefully, we can both find ways to adapt to, and even thrive, in this period. ✴
To Be The Ribbon!
A bath to succumb to September, Let the warm encase my soul. For with haste the cold will come, Enwrapped in uncharted gales. Within such a present I behold!
A towering shadow told by the clouds, As if the sky their paper.
A sight to scare — Allowing our belittled hearts to reside, Unquestioning the cause of the powered darkness. Why Physics! A noble answer.
A constant conveyance is ensued — Our dearest sun is the cause, No! The clouds surely take the blame! Yet how untrue - they are only in passing, like us.
I take the role of the ribbon!
A burnt orange in colour mirroring the now changing leaves. The darkness shall not belittle, From how created I need not know. The rolling clouds will whisper their speak, But upon decision I will whisper back. As the leaves stop placing beside my feet, And witness of snow becomes all the speak, I shall not fear the impending winter, For autumn will come in prior —
A wonder to overcome the dooming bleak.
{words} by Eleanor Gibbs {photography} by Ned Button
The Political Paralysis of Reliving the Past
Oasis is back and Labour sit on the left of the commons, but Starmer’s first 100 days in office have demonstrated how we have not returned to the years of New Labour - and nor will we anytime soon. Political nostalgia is a plague, one with graver consequences than we perhaps realise. The word plague may seem dramatic, and admittedly political nostalgia is not the worst thing we have seen in politics, especially recently. However, we must recognise how political nostalgia can skew our reality and offer us a false sense of security. It is a plague to have politics centred on a time that has come and gone, not the present. If we are to live in functioning, people-focused democracies we cannot look to the past for ideas as to what is to come. We need new means of inspiring excitement; excitement that lasts.
‘Politics of nostalgia’ is often deployed by politicians and popular culture alike to garner support for a particular vision. A vision that, for the most part, is simply unattainable because it is focused on the past. The year 2024 has been rife with political nostalgia, a yearning for a brighter age, and teasing from the media and the Labour party that such yearning will be fulfilled. We cannot deny that the current rhetoric in British politics suggests that yes, we are drowning in nostalgia. Perhaps it is the fault of the dominance of the two-party system in the United Kingdom. When we think of Labour and the Conservatives, we have no choice but to picture an outdated form of both parties. However, we do not envision previous versions of the parties out of necessity alone; we also do so by choice. This, I
believe, is where we go wrong.
The summer elections did not bring the same euphoria that swathed the streets of Britain in 1997, but they did bring hope- and in many ways a dangerous hope: a hope that did not account for our current economic climate, that did not situate itself in remission of a global pandemic, and that ignored a political age stooped in corruption and sleaze. As ‘Things Can Only Get Better’ trended on TikTok and Starmer was pictured kissing his wife, it was only natural that we would allow ourselves to look to the past to feel excited about what was to come. However, the more we compare Starmer to Blair, current Labour to New Labour, and political euphoria to political bleakness, the less we can prioritise meaningful political progress that addresses current pressing issues.
It is not unfounded to suggest that we are so underwhelmed by Labours’ first 100 days in office because we viewed their rise to power through the rose-tinted glasses of 1997. We must ask ourselves whether the current government’s struggles are a consequence of a tumultuous 13 years of Conservative governance or are the electorate blinded by a longing for a bygone era? We were perhaps yearning for the figures of Blair and Brown in their prime. Instead, we have less charismatic, albeit incredibly serious and committed actors in Starmer and Reeves. The current government has to be separated wholly from New Labour, and any previous government. Governments must be viewed in their own context; Labour has emerged from Tory instability with a new recognition of the need for serious governance over political euphoria- one that understands its role in public life is now needed.
This nostalgia is not reserved for Starmer’s Labour government; the Tories also frequently peddle tropes of a previous political era. The Conservative leadership race has seen myriad mentions of times past. Tom Tugendhadt spoke of the need for a Conservative revolution, much like Thatcher had done in the late 1970s. Politicians frequently harken back to old times, however, how does this abet political progress? Promising the public the dawn of a political age that has been and gone will only lead to disappointment. As the world teeters on the edge of mass anti-democratic movements and extremist sympathies, politicians must stop promising to take us back to a brighter time. Instead, they have to be honest and remind us of the role of politics; navigating the present for the good of all.
From Brat Summer to Bridget Jones:
The historical, cultural, and political importance of today’s fashion trends
The almost instantaneous change in the leaves on our walks to campus mirrors an equally immediate shift in our wardrobes. Gone are the baggy jorts, multi-colored Sambas, gingham red boxers, eccentric bubble nails, and neon green hallmarks of our beloved Brat summer. Say hello to mismatched scarves, messy updos, maxi skirts with ripped wool tights, and fashionably ‘uncool’ jackets—the look of the frazzled English woman.
It’s no surprise that as seasons change, so does fashion. Originating—and still rooted—in practicality, even the righteous Romans altered their wardrobes based on climate. Through the ages, lighter, brighter fabrics were swapped for darker, thicker counterparts once the temperature dropped. But it wasn’t until the rise of accessible media that aesthetics could be both crafted and disseminated so readily; and not until social media that seasonal styles became so distinct from each other, giving birth to the micro-trends we love and loathe today. It’s easy to envision early 2000s style as a hegemony of low-rise, bold, and infamous heroin-chic looks. And for good reason—a scan of old magazines reveals the truth: although fashion fluctuated with the seasons, it rarely made complete shifts between them. Today’s trend is unique. The mundane realism of clutching overflowing shopping bags, with hair
threatening to fall into one’s eyes at any moment, can’t be replicated by a fast-fashion skinny scarf from H&M. On one hand, through its association with popular media (à la Bridget Jones), this trend embodies the collective, fantastical escapism these styles offer—inviting wearers to romanticise an often bitter reality. On the other hand, it strips micro-trends back to their core mix of marketability and practicality, ironically contrasting the ethos of characters who embody them. To become a “frazzled English woman” through deliberate choice fuels consumerism at its simplest, favouring aesthetics over genuine practicality. The almost comedic oversaturation of clothes in one’s wardrobe is only amplified by these micro-trends, diminishing the authenticity of one’s style.
The frazzled figure’s entrance onto our screens doesn’t begin with the down-to-earth charm of lovable characters like Bridget Jones. Beyond the hazy rom-coms of the late ’90s and early 2000s, her presentation is more than that of the girl next door. Her style mimics a messier, playfully youthful version of the timeless looks popularised by Hepburn—think practical coats, long scarves, knitted jumpers. Her heritage stretches back even further, with silhouettes that arguably reinterpret women’s fashion of earlier centuries, fulfilling the basic purpose of clothing: to keep
us warm.
The second element of this character is her “English” identity. The unspoken partnership between fashion and identity has existed long before the Bronze Age. Academics often argue that one of civilization’s first signs is the creation of cultural identities, as tribes evolved into societies transcending survivalist social hierarchies. This trend’s embrace of Englishness feels distinctive—not only for its bold claim to nationality but especially given recent right-wing riots across the UK. Fashion trends often mimic global power exchanges; the US and UK regularly reflect each other’s styles. But our chaotic Jones separates herself from American power and politics—a timely distinction given the U.S. presidential election.
As mentioned, embracing this style as an American can offer a safe escape from the country’s troubling political climate. With the possibility of Project 2025 looming larger each day, it’s no wonder the fashion world seeks this degree of separation. Globally, fashion often symbolises freedom—the freedom to express oneself in response to global styles. Yet Trump’s agenda threatens to restrict the fundamental freedoms of American women.
By turning the frazzled English woman into an aesthetic, we risk losing the authenticity that produced her in the first place. So next time you brave the cold with an oversized scarf, messy updo, and worn gloves, embrace it. Women have fought too hard for basic freedoms worldwide for anyone to tell you what to wear.
{models}
the mound
Zahra Stanley
Toya Pauwels
by Alana Levy
Falling Down the Rabbit Hole of My Pre-Uni Home
Iwalk out the door of my two-toned, cartoon house, the steps trailing before me the very same as the ones I once slipped over in the rain and hit my head on when I was three. My walk is hesitant and unsteady now, lugging my oversized suitcase I frantically packed the night before. The edges of my bag dampen with the rain puddles on the steps, each puddle a mirror into a version of myself I imagine I might find at this new home. Each step is wide, uncertain – the open boot of my mum’s car trembling with the weight of my suitcase full of clothes I would later never wear. As I load yet another bag onto the countless stacks, I lean forward and trip over into the boot of the car, my head submerged into the dark tunnel of my frayed suitcases.
I fall and fall and fall as my Ikea uni shop clatters down with me. The tentacles of my blue octopus hanging dryer weave themselves around me, entangling each of my limbs with its small clips. As I gaze wide-eyed at my new kitchen utensils swaying down along the edges of this murky tunnel, my arm is brushed by the corners of my forty-five free prints, embellished with the faces of my school friends, smiling vacantly at me, unable to save me from this great fall. I eventually collapse in a scramble of fake ivy plant pots, filigree fairy lights, various pots and pans and with my free prints scattered everywhere around me. Leaning upwards amidst this mess, I find myself eventually emerging into the bleakness of a greyscale Unite Students corridor. I peer upwards – and find the Ikea pendant lamp hanging above me (you know the one). I pull on its strings and watch as it illuminates the unfamiliarity of this austere room.
Shuddering as I stand, I brush off the remains of my undecorated, fragmented room and gape at the vast, lettered corridor that lies ahead. So cold and uninviting, the corridor intimidates me with its muteness, silently and greedily swallowing me up in its solitude and spitting me back out into an empty kitchen. Looking across the monotonous kitchen, visions of a mild November emerge before me and once again I’m in year 4 and it’s about 8pm on a Monday. I have just been dropped off from a ballet lesson and I’m still wearing my leotard and tights, stumbling eagerly into the warm light of my childhood kitchen to the smell of the spaghetti bolognese my mum has made for dinner. She sweeps me up into a hug when she sees me and spoons out a generous portion of spaghetti into my bowl, smiling as I tell her all about the dance I learnt today. For a moment I’m smiling too, but then I return to today and remember that I’m alone in this kitchen.
Cast down, I leave the kitchen and try to settle down into my new room. I sit at the room’s white desk and feel as it shakes and pulsates with the rhythm and electricity that buzzes from the city in the dark. It’s Saturday night of freshers’ week and I should be so excited. I painstakingly draw an ornate picture of my childhood home and pin it up on my wall so I might remember what it feels like to be known somewhere. I press my face up against the edges of the window, tinged with condensation, attending to the raucous laughter of the tipsy, corset-adorned groups of girls walking to the city centre together. I sink into my phone, allowing its flashing screens to halt the tense strain clutching my head and instead flood it with colours and sounds. I try to ring a few friends, but when I hear them so full of hope in their new cities, I struggle to tell them the extent of my first few days here, I don’t want to ruin the mood.
I spend the entire week trying to find someone, desperately longing to find a home in whoever I encounter. I meet some girl at a common room games night with an unsurprisingly poor turnout. She is softly spoken and feels familiar. I smoke on each word she says, I wish I could be so unbothered. I tell her how grateful I am to have finally met someone as kind as her, and we never speak again. Each person I meet becomes a blank canvas on which I might project my yearning for a new home onto, and I find myself let down.
I sit on the harbourside and swing my legs over the edge, somewhere along the rows of autumnal trees. Sloping into a dejected arch, my hands cradle my face as tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I try to hold them back, feeling the sting on my eyelids and the dampness of my lashes, but it’s no use. I watch as one tear trickles down my face and falls into the quiet harbour, disturbing its stagnant surface and sending out a delicate ripple. That single ripple, at first so slight, like the circle of friends that had once felt so insular, continued to expand upon the water’s still exteriors. If only I could have seen then what I know now, so I could see how much that ripple has grown.
SPACE JAMS
SpaceJams is an ever-growing collective of musicians, singers and MC’s; hosting open jams and other events to cultivate Bristol’s diverse music scene and also showcase the best of the city’s talent within the Jazz, Hip-Hop and Jam subcultures. It is all about creating a space where music feels authentic and community thrives.
If local artists and good vibes are your thing, swing by ‘Analogue Lounge’ - SpaceJams’ monthly night collaborating with Brakery and Lost Horizon, for a night with the house band and special guests, followed by vinyl DJ’s - genuine energy centred around real connections and just enjoying the music. Anushka, our Creative Director, sits down with Dom & Will from the band to talk about their story.
A: Okay, what is ‘SpaceJams’?
Is there some connection to Sun Ra’s Space is the Place or Jordan’s Space Jam?
D: I wish it had something like that behind it but no haha. We started doing jams at Space238, a coffee shop I used to work at. Me, Laurence and Will all lived together with our mate George and we would host little jams with mates in our garden. Eventually, we got an offer from the café’s owner to run Saturday evening Jazz jams. That’s when we had to come up with a name. I think the owner suggested the name and we thought the link to the film was kind of funny.
W: It was definitely an afterthought trying to put some meaning into it later. It was so small, just after Covid, so there were sometimes max 8 people in the cafe.
D: The people who came initially were mostly just musicians who wanted to jam and there was no pressure - just a relaxed atmosphere to create music together.
The place was so small that we had to play in a circle. That’s why we didn’t deep the name too much. W: Those jams definitely helped us establish a vibe that we wanted to bring to Analogue Lounge.
A: What is the vibe you bring to your jams?
D: I used to go to the Jam Jar jam a lot and basically every other jam night in Bristol but was so intimidated by all these sick musicians and too nervous to get involved.
When we started doing jams at other venues and on a bigger scale, I wanted to keep the atmosphere we had at Space - doing it in the round and not on a stage (with the DJs as well), still trying to keep it accessible to everyone around us.
W: It feels like the audience is part of it. There’s no hierarchy between the artists and the audience. So even though we now have a big sound system and a lot more people around us, it still doesn’t feel like too much pressure.
It’s easy to forget that the audience is really there cause we just look at each other which kind of eliminates the need to ‘deliver’ to the crowd. It’s just about making music and enjoying it.
A: Tell me about Analogue Lounge. Why did you create it and how did it come about?
D: When I moved to Bristol as a student, it felt like almost everything was Bassline and DnB but I started discovering another community of musicians
Will, Simon, Seth, Jasper, Dom, Laurence, Lily & Walter
through jam nights like Fruit Machine, Bounce and LeftBank. There’s also this great scene of ‘organic and analogue sounds’ here with people like La Bomba and Worm Discs setting the standard and a sick sound system culture and loads of Dub dances.
When I met the Brakery lot in Brighton, I realised they were attracting a similar audience to ours with SpaceJams and I couldn’t see anything blending these two sides of the scene in Bristol - DJ’s and an Open Jam - in a late-night club setting with a big sound.
So Analogue Lounge was set up to try and fill that gap. Most of the crowd is quite young. It’s cool to see this wave of younger generations wanting to come and listen to Jazz and Samba and all sorts through a big sound system till 2am. We were also trying to bring a bit of what things like Steez brought to London into Bristol.
W: Yeah anywhere you went, it was DnB. But I feel like there’s always some type of countermovement which happens to the dominant genre of a place. And people really appreciate a night where you can dance to Bossa-Nova, Jazz, Highlife, but also Dilla or Badu vibes.
A: That’s what I always liked about your event, the ‘Lounge’, the organic party atmosphere of it.
W: I like that we see a lot of familiar faces come back each month. The community aspect is big for us - people can come and express themselves, whether that’s through instruments, dancing or just socialising. You can come, be sober and have an early night but still have fun. Or you can get a bit crazy, up to you.
D: Yeah word of mouth is the best and most organic way the community keeps growing. Having Cloak jams on Mondays also helped get our name out there.
A: Every time I go I notice the dancing which I’d say is quite rare for the music scene generally in Bristol.
D: That’s the feedback we’ve had from most of the special guests that we’ve had in - how everyone is so open-minded and properly dances. Like Zag (My Analog Journal) told us sometimes he feels like his set brief is inflexible and the crowd isn’t so open-minded to hear whatever you throw at them. There’s not many crowds you can play Afrobeat but then chuck some Free Jazz too and they’re still sending it!
W: I think the jam before the guests’ set helps create a mindset for that as well, cause you don’t know what the music will be for the jam anyway.
A: What are your thoughts on the UK jazz scene, and how do you think Space Jams fits into that?
D: I think we’re living in a really exciting timethere’s been a huge boom in the UK Jazz scene in the last decade, stemming from London mostly; but Bristol is equally special with names popping up like Deems Experiment or Snazzback or Ishmael.
The community is also super close-knit here; the musicians all know each other and loads of bands are just different combinations of the same wider group.
Hopefully SpaceJams is providing a space to help nurture that.
Catch them on December 20th for the next Analogue Lounge and follow @Space_Jams_ on Instagram to stay in the loop with other events they have coming up!
Toby
Lucy
by
From Tourist to Witness:
Uncovering Colonial Footprints in the Pacific
Even at 16, filling out my UCAS form, my choice of degree was sealed by one thing—a year abroad in Australia. I had always dreamed of living there: endless warm, sunny days on the beach, untouched rainforests and deserts to explore, and roos, sharks, and tarantulas that I’d have to convince myself not to fear. It was the perfect fantasy, one built on Instagram posts and my grandparents’ stories.
When I finally arrived, Australia did not disappoint. The beaches were just as golden, the wildlife as unique, and I felt instantly welcomed. The 30-hour journey from Bristol seemed to melt away. However, beneath the surface of shared language and friendly smiles, I quickly learnt that the UK’s colonial presence in Australia wasn’t just a distant memory. It is a living, breathing part of their national identity and something which still casts a long, dark shadow over Australia, particularly for its Indigenous peoples. This realisation shaped my year in ways I hadn’t expected, especially when I later travelled to Fiji, where the shadows of British colonialism took on a different form.
In the UK, we don’t learn the full story. We are taught to view colonisation through a sanitised lens, glossing over the atrocities committed against Indigenous Australians. In Australia, the narrative is different, and it hits hard. I remember hearing for the first time about the Stolen Generations, a systematic policy of forcibly removing Indigenous children from their families to assimilate them into white society. It felt like
a gut punch. No one had ever mentioned this in my history classes at home. The more I learned about land dispossession, massacres, and the ongoing systemic inequalities that still affect Indigenous communities, the more I realised how little I actually knew about my own country’s colonial impact. I felt an immediate sense of guilt. I even found myself apologising in my seminars on behalf of the UK, but the Aussies would just laugh it off. I began questioning how much more of the UK’s colonial history had been swept under the rug in our education system. Suddenly, I felt more disconnected from the UK than ever before.
Australia itself is still deeply divided on its colonial past. It’s not as simple as a national condemnation of British rule. One of the most startling moments came during the lead-up to the Voice to Parliament referendum, which sought to recognise Indigenous Australians as First Nations and increase their representation in Parliament. One former Australian PM, John Howard, dared to claim that colonisation was “the luckiest thing that happened” to Indigenous Australians. That kind of shocking rhetoric was flying around the media, and it contributed to the referendum’s eventual failure last October.
Witnessing this tension firsthand demonstrated just how complex and ongoing the legacy of colonialism is in Australia. It isn’t just history—it is the present, shaping everything from politics to national identity. This forced a transition from a casual visitor to someone who had to engage more deeply with the realities of my new, albeit
temporary, home.
Spending two weeks in Fiji during my summer break felt like stepping into an entirely different world. While Australia had confronted me with its stark colonial history, Fiji welcomed me with warmth and hospitality as a guest. It was easy to fall into the allure of island life, where everything seemed laid-back and granted a break from the political conversations.
Yet, subtle traces of Fiji’s colonial past were still noticeable, though not as intensely as in Australia. British influence was still present in the widespread use of English and the subtle divisions left in Fijian society, from the introduction of indentured labour, which reshaped the social fabric of the country.
Fiji’s colonial history didn’t seem to hang as heavily there, with locals instead sharing stories of their love for British tourists and their admiration for UK culture. Unlike in Australia, where being a student meant that discussions about colonialism were part of daily life, these conversations didn’t happen in Fiji. The locals I met were warm and eager to share their culture, but they avoided engaging with the more complicated aspects of the country’s colonial past. Instead, I heard more about how British influence had been a positive force—a perspective worlds apart from Australia.
As a tourist, it was tempting to see Fiji purely through the lens of paradise, as an island escape marketed to outsiders. They did not want the colonial narrative front and centre; instead, the focus was on its natural beauty and the friendliness of its people. Tourism in Fiji has a way of smoothing over the complexities of history, presenting the islands as a carefree getaway and leaving little room to explore the deeper historical grievances. I didn’t feel the same urgency to confront the past as I had in Australia, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there, simmering below the surface.
My experience in Australia taught me the value of digging deeper to understand how colonial legacies shape the countries we visit, even when
they’re not immediately visible— something the Fijians made it tempting to overlook.
Reflecting on my time in both Australia and Fiji, the contrasting legacies of British colonialism became more apparent. In Australia, the scars of colonisation were stark and deeply ingrained. Indigenous Australians continue to fight for recognition, land rights, and equality. The systemic inequalities and the loss of culture are visible reminders of British control. The Voice to Parliament referendum underscored how unresolved these issues remain, with our King getting a stark reminder from Senator Lidia Thorpe earlier last week. The colonial legacy in Fiji is more subtle, and intertwined with cultural and social structures, but not so immediately visible as in Australia.
My experiences fundamentally changed the way I see travel. Transitioning from tourist to temporary resident in Australia forced me to confront uncomfortable truths about my own country’s colonial past. In Fiji, I learned that while colonial history can be more hidden, it is no less significant. This journey illuminated the value of looking beyond the superficial or idealised, reminding me that the weight of colonial legacies varies from place to place, affecting communities differently and always requiring careful thought and respect. As travellers, it’s easy to get swept up in the allure of new destinations, but we have a responsibility to look deeper. By learning about a country’s past, especially the uncomfortable parts, we become more than just tourists. This awareness allows us to engage more thoughtfully, with greater respect for the people and their histories.
Understanding colonial legacies in places like Australia and Fiji has shaped how I view travel. It’s no longer just an escape but an opportunity to learn, grow, and connect with the world in a more meaningful way. Through this lens, travel becomes not just a journey of discovery, but a journey of responsibility. ✴
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SCAPEGOATS IN TRANSITION:
How Dismissing the EDL Masks Deeper Classism and Protects the Powerful
It’s the 10th of July 2024, and millions of Brits anticipate the score between England and the Netherlands in the European semi-final. A roar erupts inside all the pubs across the country as Ollie Watkins scores in the 90th minute. Beers are being sprayed around as everyone jumps on top of one another, chanting spilling across the streets: “it’s coming home, it’s coming home”. … One month later, the same streets are filled with EDL members chanting “go home”. How did these same white working-class men participate in the EDL riots, whilst supporting a ‘British’ team where 71 per cent of its members were either born abroad or came from immigrant backgrounds? How can such dissonance exist?
The harm of casting working-class individuals as the exclusive antagonists of the riots earlier this year is that they become convenient scapegoats for those pulling the strings. This barrier allows the media to ignore structural racism. As a result, immigrants feel they must compete with the average working-class population to ‘earn their keep’. The potential for Persons of Colour and working-class communities to share mutable alliances has thus weakened. Histories of cooperation such as the ‘original skinhead’ movement adopting the Reggae and Ska music into their punk culture in the 1980s have instead been replaced with narratives that conclude internal fighting in trade unions and racism towards their new ‘competition’ in the workplace.
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The championing of a pluralist nation has shifted to embracing homogeny and ethnic purification in British society. The culprits of this process are not simply the “hooligans” taking the streets, but those in power who define what a nation is. An ‘immigrant excellency complex’ has emerged, creating a retributive gap that has more destructive implications than street riots alone. Are these so-called hooligans a convenient mask for those in power, concealing institutionalised racism inherent in our social structure?
The phenomenon that I have coined as the ‘immigrant excellency complex’ embodies the most damaging effect of xenophobia rhetoric. Such rhetoric engages only a small fraction of people, yet dominates metanarratives in the media. It is deeply ingrained in the psyche and facilitated by the capitalist world we live in. Again and again, immigrants are objectified for capital gain; the more monetary value an immigrant holds, the more they are seen as deserving of a place in British society.
Working-class people are not exceptions to the current political climate; they are subject to it. In August, predominately white, working-class people who participated in the EDL marches were easily dismissed as stupid, ignorant, or a product of poor GCSEs and a lack of dental care. While there may be some truth to these descriptions, journalism focusing on such factors distracts from the greater truth - that racism and xenophobia are most concentrated in positions of power. The behaviours of these people were utilised as scapegoats to hide the ongoing xenophobic political propaganda in the UK’s post-Brexit state.
Headlines over the past years have read as follows:
‘Muslim Schools Ban Our Culture’, ‘BBC Put Muslims Before You’, ‘Migrants Cost Britain 17 Billion a Year’, Illegal Immigrant Flooding Into The EU’, ‘New Jobless Migrant Benefit Scandal’. Yet, in August, the same newspaper read ‘United Britain Stands Firm Against Thugs’.
The diction of ‘thug’ connotes racism as simply nonsensical and uneducated. Meanwhile,
the government’s xenophobic stance on asylum seekers and the slogan “Stop the boats” was adopted for political use. Yet the blame is placed on white working-class individuals with fears of immigrants “taking our jobs”, echoing Enoch Powell’s 1968 ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech and Thatcher’s 1978 warning of Britain being ‘swamped’ by immigrants coming from a foreign land. While it is important not to excuse the racist beliefs which fuelled the riots, a transgression also lies in the media’s hypocritical and contradictory reporting. It is important to critique individuals’ beliefs while acknowledging they are products of the rhetoric of their government. The “Stop the boats” mantra, proudly affiliated with Conservative party values, was chanted by EDL marchers this summer. The UK faces a toxic cycle amid plummeting employment opportunities and rising energy bills. The solution? Provide the working class with a scapegoat—in this instance, immigration—to divert blame away from government policies, then exploit their anger as a justification to further ostracise them from the political sphere.
Repeatedly, there is a disconnect with the working-class struggle in media. Guardian economics editor Larry Elliot described why Labour lost in the 2010 election, noting that working-class people are seen as a problem, “They drink too much, they smoke too much, they don’t look after their kids properly, they’re feckless, they’re work shy. Racist. Essentially that’s how they are seen”. When challenging notions of a homogenous nation, it’s also vital to question how working-class people are portrayed in the media. The ostracization and anger of the working class serve a political purpose beyond their control.
Despite the abhorrent Islamophobia and racism fuelling the riots, it is important to acknowledge it in the wider context of colonial legacy. Understanding that an ‘immigrant excellency complex’ is a by-product of a long-standing colonial structure, one cannot separate oneself through classism because, against the odds, we have managed to defy the nature of a sterile ground. This notion of an ‘immigrant excellency complex’ is perpetuated to an extreme which pressures individuals to serve the oppressive forces of capitalism - a system which was never conceived to facilitate their freedom. Immigrants are forced to navigate a system not designed for their liberation but for their subjugation. They are then pushed to sub-
scribe to a principle reserved especially for themthat one does not belong unless they have worked to prove their worth.
Defending immigrant excellence as a rebuttal to EDL attacks also reflects an ideological issue in the system. Immigration is celebrated only if immigrants achieve excellence, perpetuating the notion that one’s worth depends on hard work and societal contributions. We see this in the way that diversity is celebrated in the Olympics, the music industry, and among high-achieving POC friends and family.
This ‘immigrant excellence complex’ is detrimental to our well-being, creating pressure to excel in academics, careers and ‘making the family proud’ - especially when families have sacrificed so much for better opportunities. Why, however, is this burden so unevenly placed? If accountability were placed on those who uphold these structures, POCs could fulfil their right to exist without the added expectation of “earning” it.
As Labour steps into office, there is an opportunity for transformative change in addressing racial dynamics in the UK. However, the party faces the substantial task of dismantling the entrenched structures of classism and racism that have persistently defined national narratives and shaped discourse. If Labour can go beyond performative inclusivity and implement meaningful reform, they may start bridging historical fractures created by divisive rhetoric. However, without genuine efforts to include immigrant voices, these harmful cycles may simply resurface under a different guise. Stop using racist microaggressions as a defence for unsolicited bigotry and structural racism. We are here; we have a right to be here and we will continue to be here. Simple.
Sophie Chin
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No, You Don’t Need to Glow Up Just Because Social Media Says So
Since the early 2010s, the term “glow up” has spread throughout social media. Originating from AAVE (African-American Vernacular English), it refers to a significant transformation in appearance or personal growth. However, this concept has existed long before social media. In movies and TV shows, for instance, the classic “makeover” trope often involves a girl who is not perceived as conventionally attractive—frequently portrayed as someone who wears glasses, has curly hair, and is somewhat invisible in social settings. As the plot progresses, she undergoes a physical transformation, shedding these “undesirable” traits and suddenly becomes the centre of attention. This transformation is her “glow up,” and her newfound attractiveness becomes the key to her success and acceptance in society.
The idea of the glow-up is similarly mirrored in reality shows like Extreme Makeover or The Biggest Loser, where individuals undergo dramatic changes, transforming their lives through external appearance. The implication in these narratives is clear: becoming more attractive—often by conforming to societal standards—leads to happiness, popularity, and self-worth. However, this narrow view of “self-improvement” perpetuates harmful stereotypes and pressures, particularly when amplified through social media. Social media has taken the traditional idea of the glow-up and magnified its reach and influence. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube are filled with videos and posts that showcase people’s glow-up journeys through side-by-side comparisons of their “before” and “after” selves.
These transformations are often portrayed as rapid and flawless, leaving out the hard work, or even the possibility that these changes may not necessarily lead to personal success. While some may find these posts motivational, others can feel immense pressure to conform to these ideals. Social media fosters an environment where users are constantly bombarded with images of “perfect” bodies, faces, and lifestyles. The curated nature of these platforms—complete with editing, filters, and selective posting—often presents an unrealistic portrayal of what glowing up looks like, leading to feelings of inadequacy. This
emphasis on appearance often overshadows the importance of internal growth, emotional health, and individuality.
One of the more concerning aspects of glowup culture is the consumerist pipeline it creates. Cosmetic and fitness brands often capitalise on the glow-up trend by promoting products that promise transformation. The underlying message is clear: if you want to glow up, you need to buy the right products. There’s an overwhelming sense that glowing up has never been just about making personal changes—it’s about buying into a specific lifestyle and purchasing the right products to get there.
This creates a problematic cycle, where the pressure to glow up is directly tied to consumerism. It encourages people to spend money on products they may not need, reducing personal growth to a transaction and overlooking the more meaningful, internal aspects of self-improvement. The products being marketed often reinforce narrow beauty standards that cater to specific body types, skin tones and facial features, pressuring individuals to conform to these unrealistic ideals.
Despite the pressure created by social media, it’s important to remember that we don’t need to undergo a glow-up, especially one fuelled by consumerism. The idea that external transformation is the key to happiness or self-worth is a harmful perspective as it undermines the value of self-acceptance. Instead of constantly seeking to change or “improve” ourselves to meet social standards, we should celebrate our individuality and embrace who we are, as we are. ✴
BODY HORROR, MATURED in Coralie Fargeat’s ‘The Substance’
Transition remains central to any character arc, with its most theatrical form being transfiguration. Scenes of mutation from human to the other originated in Greek mythology, developed by the Victorian gothic, yet visually defined by the 1980’s body horror genre. The tackiness of the excessive gore became the cause of its demise. The silicon skin and syrup blood are still reappropriated by filmmakers who’ve embraced the innate campness of the genre and pushed it to extremes, repurposing the aesthetic for a cutting satirical effect in contrast to its 80s, gory shock-factor forebearers. No modern film is perhaps more emblematic of this than The Substance, Coralie Fargeat’s new film. It expresses the realities of the cut-throat sexualisation and hyper-sexualization of women in the media industry.
The plot is simple: Elisabeth (Demi Moore), the face of a home-fitness video empire, is retired at age 50 by a gruesome TV executive (Dennis Quaid), who considers her too old and unworthy. After a series of alienating events, Elisabeth seeks out a cartoonishly green serum that promises her a ‘younger, better self’. After a few extraneously long needle-related scenes, her ‘better’ appears as the glossy, pouting Sue (Margaret Qualley). The catch is a rotation between the two women. Both become ‘one’ and must transfer their consciousness between each other and live a week in each body. The result is an insatiable lust for youth that drives both Sue and Elisabeth to morbid ends.
per-sexualised, while those outside it are effectively seen as ‘dead’. Qualley plays the smooth and pouting newbie (even wearing prosthetic breasts), while Moore plays the retired video star, wracked by boredom and a crisis of identity, slowly fading and becoming more haggard in her plush LA apartment. The film’s irony lies in casting Moore, one of the most flawless women today, as ‘undesirable’. As Quaid’s character says, “at fifty, it stops,” highlighting how age still determines a woman’s worth within the beauty industry.
The main character conflict is the internal battle between the two Elisabeth’s’, embodying the sci-fi ‘clone’ trope. Fargeat understands that modern beauty standards are so ingrained that the conflict is within – between self-loathing and the insurmountable desire for perfection. The transition scenes linger and overindulge, forcing us to confront the pain endured for this abstract, idealised beauty. We see needles, tubes and eruptions of blood and flesh; sounds of bones cracking and pus squeezing overwhelm certain scenes. Elisabeth is the victim of a society and industry that places beauty as the ultimate virtue and renders all else unnecessary; forced to glean what value she can at the cost of her destruction. In the end, to be irrelevant and to be dead may as well be the same.
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From the trailer alone, Fargeat’s aesthetic vision is clear. The imagery is bold, striking, and incredibly camp. Filmmaking that could seem excessive or sickly is, in her hands, confident and gripping. Every scene is luscious in its use of colour, composition, and sound, yet it never distracts from the central narrative. At its core, the film is a satire of vanity and its hold on Hollywood – and on us, its hungriest consumers. Fargeat’s interpretation of Hollywood reveals the extent to which women in the industry are hy-
The excessively grotesque nature of her struggle visually represents a broken beauty industry, highlighting the troubled relationship between beauty industry standards and self-worth. Only by embracing the unnatural nature of science fiction can we accurately depict it. In doing so, body horror is maturing. Fargeat skilfully utilises the revisionist format and we hope her film is one of many to modernise the genre and its tropes so successfully. ✴
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William Grant
by Ronnie Sad
Should Celebrities be Endorsing politicans?
Aryana critically examines the deepening intersection between celebrity influence and democracy, questioning whether this transition enhances or erodes the democratic process in an era of increasing political polarisation and media sensationalism.
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We turn to celebrities for inspiration, conversation, and fascination—a voyeuristic love affair. The overlap between celebrities and politics is nothing new, but what is startling is a new expectation. With US elections imminent, I’ve noticed that celebrities are expected to make overt and explicit declarations of whom they vote for. Where is this pressure coming from? Why is it relevant who celebrities are voting for? How does this affect what integrity democratic processes have left? As second-wave feminism taught us, ‘the personal is the political’. Politics exist as the backdrop to every aspect of our lives, whether or not this is willingly acknowledged. Following this line of logic, perhaps there’s a predetermined role for celebrities in the political arena.
I can rationalise the cultural influences of celebrities, they are cultural figures. But when it comes to voting, what matters is the voices you choose
to amplify. I vote to amplify the voices of the informed, the historically silenced, the authentic. In an era of ‘fake news’ and social media, reliable information is crucial. With Trump claiming that ‘in Springfield, they’re eating dogs’ about Haitians, misinformation spreads rapidly—100 million impressions on X from Elon Musk’s post alone. Social media algorithms exploit confirmation biases, sending people down echo chambers without ever having to come across alternative perspectives.
Celebrity voices within this realm can further exacerbate the danger. Influence is power and this should not be taken for granted. The value of celebrity endorsements comes down to reputability and motives; politics should be sincere, not commodified. Celebrities have every right to speak out on politics, but this is assuming they want to. While celebrity engagement helps politics feel relevant and accessible, they
are not political authority figures by default. Their notoriety is not indicative of expertise, and I argue it can be unproductive to overweight their opinion by assuming it is. There’s a unique power with the possession of ‘the platform’. Due to the way history is taught and the media functions, there are some voices you will hear a lot from, certain narratives displayed as facts and other groups intentionally silenced. In turn, using a platform may be powerful in balancing this. However, celebrity endorsements that affirm the status quo do not diversify the debate. I argue that this diverts attention from the voices of those who are often left underrepresented and unheard. I want to hear from the stakeholders in politics - I want my celebrities to elevate their voices, not distract me with an endorsement that fits their brand.
I’m also sceptical of who these endorsements really serve. Celebrity endorsements are attractive until we don’t agree, until they are ‘wrong’. I think that sometimes we aren’t seeking authenticity from an endorsement, but confirmation and validation that they are the right people to reverethat our esteemed famous friends are on the right side of history. Born out of the pervasive pressure of cancel culture, these endorsements are just thinly veiled excuses to cover our own backs. They are meaningless, but with quite serious implications.
What are we even asking for then? I am not inspired by insincere gestures that tick a box. We’ve cultivated a culture whereby we feel entitled to other people’s politics, and I do not believe that we are. Assuming such a position of entitlement onto individuals with whom we hold no personal relationship is unreasonable, and I am uncomfortable with the way celebrity endorsements can interfere with politics. We have become so secure in believing our opinion is indisputably correct, that the nuance of political endorsements is missed, instead of critically engaged with. We’ve normalised performativity, a politics of perception. Power lies in the authenticity and consistency of a celebrity’s engagement, not whether it satisfies public pressure. It’s unsettling when actual political figures cannot be trusted, but it’s on the individual to seek out diverse sources, from journalists, independent media, activists, and teachers. We should be turning to reliable figures for political guidance and be engaging with politics critically. Michael Jordan responded to endorsement pressures with
‘republicans buy sneakers too’. Powerful activism can exist quietly and behind the scenes. Celebrities shouldn’t have to be publicly political to prove themselves. Political expression becomes diluted by Instagram posts crafted by management teams, and we need to be mindful of which voices we are listening to. Endorsements to avoid being cancelled are a red herring, as are the forceful expectations which coerce them.
Therefore, we need to be asking ourselves: Are we cultivating a culture whereby we owe each other our politics? Does celebrity connote credibility? How does this impact informed political engagement and the democratic process?
Who do you trust, and why?
Marked by Light at SERCHIA Gallery
The four artists in SERCHIA gallery’s current exhibition with Bristol Photo Festival appear to have been Marked by Light that is profoundly soft. Working in black and white and exploring personal and creative transitions that have taken place over long periods, their images beckon to us with a tenderness and timelessness that is calming yet affecting, moving yet grounding. To experience this show is to step out of the chaos of the everyday and into a space of slowness and simplicity, and to accept the invitation to connect with the primordial. It is to feel closer to the nature that we do not always see, and to understand its power and its silence.
“I grew up in Boston and travelled to Iceland 25 years ago on a whim.” says Agnieszka Sosnowska, one of the exhibiting artists. “I fell in love and remained. With my Icelandic husband I chose to live in nature, not visit it. This decision has not been without tests. Together we have made a life that I feel we are only beginning.” Her monograph För, published in 2024, brings together photographs taken over the 20 years she has spent in Iceland, with four selected for the exhibition at SERCHIA.
What does it mean to live in nature? We catch a glimpse in her photographs. Vast landscapes, rudimentary buildings, enormous skies, the harsh beauty of the seasons. The whole world has fallen away and this, it feels, is what remains. Above all we sense that this is a life of rawness, of texture, and of tactility. Look closely and you will see the way Sosnowska explores touch. To live in this way is to be a body exposed to the elements in connection with all that is around, marked not just by light but by the eternal transition of the seasons.
Agniezska Sosnowska
In conversation with Agnieszka’s photographs are those by Yana Wernicke, in which two women –who also live in nature – enjoy tender relationships with the animals they save, care for, and cherish. What surfaces is an overwhelming urge to rest. These women – like those in the Sosnowska portrait
– are leaning on nature, taking comfort in the solidity of the ground, in stillness and in harmony. It speaks to a soft and gentle form of time, a transition to a slower, more tactile existence.
Yana Wernicke
In Guilia Vanelli’s work too, “slowness becomes a central element, permeating the atmosphere of the images and prompting the viewer to reflect on the relationship between time and memory,” notes Christine, the owner and gallerist of SERCHIA. In Vanelli’s book, titled The Season, we experience her returning to, and preserving, images of summer in the small seaside village of her childhood. A journey to recollect and remember, before the season falls away and the next begins.
Guilia Vanelli
Marked by light, but made in the shadow of grief, Kiowa Casey’s photographs reflect her transition to
living without her mum after she passed away in May 2023 following a long battle with alcoholism. Close, intimate portraits shot behind glass or veil are placed alongside a quiet garden, surfacing memories of moments that the family shared while exploring their connection to each other. “My photographs honour the distances that are woven into our relationship – distances we overcome in dreams,” she explains. Kiowa Casey
Speaking to a packed out gallery at the opening night of the show, Kiowa noted how, like the other artists in the exhibition, her relationship to nature is profound in its importance to her sense of emotional and artistic rootedness. But she also shared her desire to travel, to shift, to explore. “Do I go, do I stay?” she confessed, noting how, as her grief evolves, her creative outlook is changing and her expressive register is developing. Observing the control in her exhibition photographs, she smiled. “I just want more mess,” she said. A reflection of photography’s power to preserve the beauty of the past and the emotive power of the places we’ve experienced – and in doing so it re-tunes and redirects our feelings and energy. For change, as it is said, is the only constant. ✴
Marked by Light is on view until 20 December 2024
For more exhibitions and events, follow: @serchiagallery @brsphotofest @bylaurensmith
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La Dolce Vita: The Art of Transformational Travel
Picture me, stretched out taught on a polyester sunbed, high-pitched shrieks of satiated children and splashing water ringing in my ears. I knew I was lucky to be on holiday, cruising towards Italy. Yet, for the fifth time that morning, I mentally ran through my To-Do list. I thought about everything I needed to do before moving back for my second year of Uni. I fussed over upcoming internships, then I promptly proceeded to plan the rest of my life. Plugging in an earphone to quiet my resounding thoughts, I clicked on a podcast that I’d saved on a whim: ‘How to Slow Down and Enjoy Life More’ by Carl Honore.
The podcast stressed that the rise in doom scrolling, and a corporate lifestyle focus on maximising productivity, has caused us to rush through our daily routine and struggle to enjoy the present. Honore’s explanation resonated with me, and I mulled over his words until I landed on Italian soil, with a new-found optimism and intent in relaxing into my holiday.
Our first stop was Florence, and we marched along the river and over the Ponte Vecchio in search of the most tourist-y thing we could think of, the ‘Buchetta del Vino’ or wine window. We hunted through the winding streets, with the mantra of slowing down taking a backseat to my desperation to do as much as possible. We glossed past crumbling walls and beautiful street art until we stopped to cross a road, and I landed upon a mural with bold, black lettering under a shuttered window: ‘La Dolce Vita’.
I’d heard this phrase before, ironically, from scrolling on TikTok. I knew it translated to ‘The Sweet Life’, the Italian philosophy of enjoying the simple things and seeking fulfilment in the present moment. Stumbling upon this mural after listening to the podcast felt like a sign, a further push to enjoy the atmosphere rather than arduously ticking off places to see. So that’s what I did in Italy. I spent the rest of the day roaming around the food markets in Florence with no purpose, stopping at every
stall. I basked in the allure of the rich, historical streets and hot Mediterranean sun. At the next stop, Sorrento, I sat in cafes for hours, chatting casually to strangers, and winding down in the evenings, phone away, by watching the glorious sunsets that painted the skies. In Rome I decided to hike the steep road of Villa Borghese Park in the blistering heat. The view at the top was euphoric. Time felt suspended and I felt content and truly relaxed.
My experience in Italy is synonymous with the idea of ‘Transformational Travel’: travelling to learn and grow into a new way of engaging with the world, even unintentionally. I had left England overwhelmed with anxiety and had come home relaxed and fulfilled. The pace of life at home is different, but I have tried to cling on to ‘La Dolce Vita’ and savour the small moments in my days rather than accept the crushing feeling that I am constantly behind. In such a transformative, overwhelming time in our lives, it is important to travel, and refine the art of transformational travel, not only because of the experiences we cultivate but because of the inward reflection and personal guidance that it encourages. ✴
On waiting
A need
To learn to speak but I waited for no one?
I’ve laid down, asleep such a long time Now cries of urgency, for there is so much waiting to be said That sound of cars approaching and I’m up, waiting for no one
Yet in what remains of the night I run backwards, I hear the fall of another’s footsteps inside You know that no one walks here had they not known me
To cross a path and learn to speak Stand still for no one
And so I find time in the street corners, the amber, lush, glaze and light A new time, measured by the course of these clouds, sick with distance They carry the sum of my longing
And me, sick with borders,
Like the soul who smokes, rises, but does not signal Smoke, a call to arms takes the place, of the words that they’ve lost, where shall I meet them? Illness of hope, they go missing, yet wait for no one
Movement sings, the sound here is heavy shift, it becomes light, and you are in it, familiar in the amber With the sound of cars I’m leaving you the headlights my travelling song and I’ve left every responsibility in their glare, haven’t I?
Unable to sleep on my bed of spectacle
So I must take comfort as my own in the unfamiliar Through absence
understand place, leap from gothic stone to the sky, learn to speak But learn to listen, let pass through my hands as it so desires I promise to memorise the book of earth, as you told me, And leave our dyed paper, a return to story
My room is filled with the scent of turpentine unfinished I could’ve waited for no one
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Anushka Holding
by Billy Allen
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How to Build a Wardrobe that Reflects You Whilst at University: A Practical Guide
Finding the time to dress how you want, or even figuring out how you want to dress, can be challenging with the busy lifestyle of university. The transition from carefully curated outfits in the first year to rolling out of bed and into lectures in sweatpants by final year is an undeniably true cliché—one I’ve fallen victim to myself. While it can be difficult to dress how you want, especially on a student budget, I think university can be one of the best times to explore your sense of fashion. After years of wearing a school uniform, dressing to fit in, or feeling nervous about experimenting with fashion, the fresh start and new environment of university is the perfect time to develop your individual style.
This isn’t to say you need to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe to reinvent yourself. While it may be tempting to do a massive haul for a new style you envision, this approach can be detrimental to building a wardrobe you truly love. Through slow fashion, you can build a wardrobe where you genuinely like and regularly wear every piece. This guide will take you through some simple steps to building a wardrobe that reflects you without as much money or effort as you might think.
Step 1: Explore
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Start by exploring to find what you like. Look for inspiration in different places: people-watch and check out their outfits, see which articles of clothing or accessories catch your eye, and note down the things you’re drawn to. Browse Pinterest, of course! Find your style icons—whether they’re celebrities, film characters, people you follow on social media, or just people you know. However, it’s important to prioritise looking introspectively rather than outwardly, as it’s easy to miss tailoring your style to yourself by simply coveting others’ clothes.
Use your style icons for inspiration rather than as a blueprint. Look at outfits and clothes others have worn that you love, and identify what specifically appeals to you: the shape, the textures, the colours? Do you connect with these elements emotionally, rather than just idolising them? This brings us to the next key step, identification.
Step 2: Identification
One of the most important steps in building a wardrobe that reflects you is identifying what you really like—not just what you think you should like. Look at the inspiration you’ve gathered and highlight your favourite things. When I was defining my style, I’d go on a Pinterest spree, save every outfit I liked to a board, and then sort through the board to see which items I saved the most. I realised I was drawn to the colours black and red, paired with silver accessories. Nearly all the outfits I saved featured interesting textures—fur, velvet, lace, leather, etc. I liked deconstructed shapes with layers and rips rather than simple silhouettes. This helped guide me when buying new clothes or altering the ones I already had, and I found that wearing certain pieces in different ways could make them feel brand new. For instance, I realised that dyeing some clothes black, ripping them up, or using them as layers gave me a lot more versatility.
Try doing something similar. Look through your current wardrobe and identify your favourite pieces, then ask yourself: what makes them your favourites? Do they go with everything? Are they super comfortable? Do they fit you just right? Through this process, you can identify what is most important to you in your style, see where you feel there are gaps in your wardrobe, and determine which clothes reflect you best. It’s easy to fall into the trap of relying on others’ approval at this stage, but it’s important to reaffirm that your style is meant to serve you—not anyone else.
Step 3: Experiment
The next step is to experiment. I want to emphasise that it can be hard to find what makes you feel like you without trying new things. Whether you’re starting with a blank page, have some ideas about how you want to dress, or already have a solid sense of style but want a change, experiment with new styles, try modifying old pieces, or borrow others’ clothes. Stepping out of your comfort zone can be intimidating but it will ultimately boost both your confidence and your wardrobe. Finding your individual style requires exploring beyond your comfort zone. Taking risks, even just trying out new looks in the privacy of your bedroom, can lead to discoveries that surprise, empower, and excite you.
So, don’t be afraid to have fun with the wide world of fashion—it’s out there waiting for you!
‘THE DEER MAN’
directed by Chris Davies starring Evan Moynihan, Calum Blackie & Toby Haste
Chris Davies
A story about an intern journalist who has 24 hours to solve the disappearance of “The Deer Man”. Despite finding him and finishing the case, he is too late, therefore quits his job and joins forces with deer man in a new partnership: “The Squirrel Blokes”.
by Alice Williams
From Kitchen to Connection:
How Cooking Together Strengthens Bonds in University Life
We’ve all been there: tucked away in our rooms, patiently waiting for the kitchen to be free to dash in and make the quickest meal possible before anyone else shows up. More often than not, this results in something along the lines of pesto pasta or the simplicity of beans on toast—meals we retreat to our rooms with, to enjoy in peace.
It’s so easy to fall into this habit, and many of us do it, especially at the beginning of first year when you’re in a new environment surrounded by unfamiliar faces. However, this isn’t sustainable—you can’t avoid your kitchen for the whole year! So, the one tip I have for you is to introduce an evening where everyone in your flat gathers together to create one bit meal
This can be planned out the week before to ensure that everyone’s schedules align—I know from my house that this can often be tricky. Once you’ve agreed on a day, decide together what to cook—whether it’s a creative mix of items from everyone’s leftover ingredients or by sending a couple of flatmates on a quick shopping trip. Making one big meal and splitting the amount between everyone is extremely cost-effective, whilst also being great for dividing the labour. This is helpful when you’re exhausted after a full day of university and can’t be bothered to cook (or do the washing up), transforming a burden into a form of entertainment and joy.
One great aspect of communal cooking is the variety it brings to your meals. Each week, a different person can choose what to cook. Everyone in your flat will likely have their own culinary background - whether they’ve learnt different cooking styles from their families or have travelled to different countries and picked up a taste for international cuisine. Embracing these different styles and preferences fosters creativity and makes cooking more enjoyable.
In first year, my flatmates and I decided to cover our kitchen table with foil and have a loaded nacho night—eliminating the hassle of washing up plates. We were easily able to cater to everyone’s dietary preferences, swapping out the beef for beans and loading up on veggies for the non-meat-eaters. Small adjustments like this are simple as long as you’re prepared and aware of everyone’s needs.
Despite the lack of culinary flair or nutritional value in our table full of nachos, the process of making the dish was surprisingly fun. It brought us closer as a group, taking almost no time to make yet leaving us with a sense of connection. Moments like this highlight how food can be much more than just fuel—it can foster bonds and create memories. It doesn’t have to be complicated or fancy; it’s the act of sharing food and space that helps break down the social barriers that often exist at the beginning of university life. It gives people something to talk about, something to collaborate on, and something to enjoy together.
That said, our food choices can have a strong impact on our ability to manage stress, especially during times of transition, like university. In fact, a systematic review found that having a good diet is associated with better mental health in terms of depression, anxiety, stress and general well-being. Don’t worry, this doesn’t mean you have to cut out entire food groups or switch to an entirely plant-based diet. What matters most is maintaining a balanced, peaceful relationship with food,
as well as ensuring we’re getting the nutrition our body needs to function. Amid the whirlwind of university life, setting aside time to make a nutritious meal together, even just once a week, can make all the difference - not just for your health, but for developing connections as a group.
The sharing of food has always had a big impact on human life, it’s central to any celebration, fostering an association of food with love. Psychologist Georgina Strumer states that ‘there’s something so intrinsically human about sitting down and sharing a meal with the people who we live with. Mealtimes offer us an escape from the stress of our everyday lives. When we eat together, we feel more connected and bonded. And when we strengthen our human connections, it can help us to feel more grounded and resilient, and less stressed.’ Cooking together can become a cherished ritual to look forward to, a chance to unwind and chat about how everyone’s day has been. Strumer adds that ‘when eating becomes a special occasion, we often eat more slowly and more mindfully’, giving us all the more reason to make this a regular event.
So, whether you’re trying to break the ice with new flatmates or just looking for a way to bond, cooking together is a simple yet powerful way to connect. You’ll not only improve your cooking skills but also forge lasting relationships with the people around you. So, make a big deal out of it—light some candles, play some music and maybe even get some dinner party games going!
If you are stuck for recipe ideas, try this out:
Burritos
(makes 8)
Ingredients:
· 2 tbsp oil (any will do)
· 1 onion, diced
· 2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
· 1 pepper/any other vegetable you prefer, roughly chopped
· 1 tbsp ground cumin
· 1 tsp mixed herbs
· Small pinch of cayenne pepper (don’t worry if you don’t have all the spices)
· 500g beef mince/ quorn mince
· 400g tin chopped tomatoes
· 400g can black beans or kidney beans, with the can water
· 1 vegetable stock cube
· 8 flour or corn tortillas
· 500g cooked rice
· Selection of sides: lettuce, grated cheese, lime, sour cream
Guacamole:
· 2 avocados
· Handful of tomatoes, quartered
· Half of a red onion, diced
· 1 lime
· Handful of coriander, roughly chopped
· Olive oil
· Pinch of chilli flakes
Method:
1. Heat the oil in a large pan and fry the onions for 8 mins on a medium heat. Then add the garlic, herbs and spices and cook for 1 min.
2. Add the pepper/ any other veg you want to include. Let it cook for 5 minutes on a low-medium heat
3. Next, add the mince and sizzle for 5 mins, stirring, until browned. Pour in the tomatoes and simmer for 5 minutes.
4. Tip in the beans and the water from the can. Crumble over the stock cube, stir and simmer everything for 20 minutes.
5. For the guacamole, mash up the avocados with a fork in a medium sized bowl, until smooth. Add the tomatoes, red onion, coriander and a squeeze of lime and mix. Add a splash of olive oil and season to taste with salt, pepper and chilli flakes. To make the burritos, heat the tortillas according to the pack instructions. Pile some rice and the beef/Quorn mixture along each tortilla, and scatter over your choice of toppings. Fold over the ends and roll up to seal. Secure by wrapping with foil if you want. Eat immediately.
RHYTHMS OF CHANGE:
The Impact of Gentrification on the Music Scenes of Stokes Croft and Friedrichshain
In a recent article published by Time Out Magazine, Bristol’s Stokes Croft was named the sixth coolest neighbourhood in the world. But what does it mean to be “cool”? What criteria does an area need to meet to be deemed worthy of being “cool”? The article describes a perfect day for a visiting tourist, frolicking in the trendiest area of the city, finishing notably with a visit to a nightclub, in this case watching a selection of ‘homegrown DJs at the Crofters Rights’. Sitting eighteenth place on the list behind Stokes Croft is Friedrichshain: ‘the epicentre of Berlin’s ‘poor but sexy’ scene’. You may be acquainted with Berghain, one of the world’s most famous clubs, known for its techno, exclusivity and underground status - it belongs to Friedrichshain. Both neighbourhoods share a key common ground: music. Stokes Croft and Friedrichshain are home to some of their city’s most beloved clubs and event spaces, which evidently boost their reputation among outsiders. This begs the question as to why a city’s depiction as ‘cool’ is so intrinsically linked to and reliant on its flourishing music scene.
Situated next to the dynamic area of St Paul’s, Stokes Croft is characterised by cultural heritage, social activism, and a strong sense of community. For such a short stretch of road, it is jam-
packed with independent bars, cafés, restaurants, street art and nightclubs. Walking up the high street, you’ll likely be met with a bonfire surrounded by a mingling crowd around Turbo Island. If you haven’t already heard of it, Turbo Island is a self-proclaimed “unique, open-air social hub” dating back to the tumultuous years of WWII with a distinct narrative of independence. However, it is currently wrestling with an unknown future, as it was recently sold to an unknown buyer on 16th October 2024. This isn’t the only indicator of redevelopment in the area. Stokes Croft’s quirky vibe paired with cheap rent has attracted a melting pot of hipsters, young professionals and students, but not without its consequences. Forced out of their own homes, local communities are suffering under the burden of gentrification.
Stokes Croft and St Paul’s have been home to migrant communities, predominantly from the Caribbean, since the 1960s. Their arrival introduced the city to their sound system culture alongside reggae, dub and ska, which were fused together in the 1980s with hip hop, punk and electronica to form the ‘Bristol Sound’, aka trip hop, pioneered by the likes of Massive Attack, Portishead and Tricky. Bristol’s music scene has often been praised for its promotion
of multiculturalism and activism to fight for social issues. St Paul’s has historically been a hotspot for social upheaval and was famously at the centre of the 1980 riots, a symbolic moment for black communities in Bristol and across the UK.
Music is a medium used to express the vibrant spirit of the area. Throughout the year, Lakota, one of Bristol’s most renowned clubs situated at the heart of Stokes Croft and St Paul’s, hosts numerous events, such as Stokes Croft Block Party and annual celebrations for St Paul’s Carnival, to celebrate the area’s cultural heritage. Pop up raves and secret sets are no novelty in the area. Remember when Nia Archives played a secret set under The Arches last April or when Overmono threw a party in the Bearpit the year before that? DJs clearly mirror that same sense of attachment to Stokes Croft as the locals do. The local music scene is, however, fighting the sheer force of gentrification. If you’ve wandered along Stokes Croft recently, you may have noticed that the beloved Crofters Rights is completely boarded up.
The venue announced that it would close its doors for August 2024, unable to keep afloat due to the cost-of-living crisis, and it still remains shut to this day. This is not the only case like this: back in 2020, Blue Mountain, a club that adjoined the Moon and Attic Bar for 28 years, announced it was to be replaced with student flats, office space and commercial units. The long-running club The Basement also met the same fate back in 2022 following new development plans from the landlord. The closure of independent venues threatens access and growth of smaller, upcoming bands and artists, so the current climate clearly calls for a solution.
In some ways, Berlin can be seen as a role model for Bristol in this sense, since more importance is laid on the creative classes in the local economy and music is a great source of cultural capital for the city. For more deprived districts situated in the former Eastern half of Berlin, such as Friedrichshain, techno music developed into a release from existing social barriers and this inclusivity is what made Berlin’s nightlife so renowned. But on the flipside of this, fame runs the risk of excluding rather than including. Marketing, as seen in Time Out’s article, can be a factor to blame for the gentrification of music scenes. Friedrichshain is now known as the trendy area to visit, consequently attracting tourists all over the world to get a taste of
its edginess and experience living it rough in their AirBnBs. High rent prices are displacing long-term residents as well as nightclubs. Watergate, located on the riverside of Kreuzberg, is closing this coming December due to inflation and financial difficulty and Berghain’s entry fees havebeen rising exponentially in recent years with the current tariff sitting at a hefty €30.
And is it even worth going to Berghain if you’re just dancing next to tourists? Can Berlin clubs still be applauded for providing space for those on the margins if those on the margins can’t even afford to go anymore? But then on the flipside of this, do they then simply risk permanent closure if they stick to their values? Luckily, this year Germany added Berlin’s techno scene onto the UNESCO cultural heritage list, a major step that will hopefully ensure the longevity of clubs and cultural institutions for the future. Perhaps there is a call for Bristol to mirror Berlin’s strategic move; for Stokes Croft to be placed on the UNESCO cultural heritage site list to protect both its music scene and local community.
The relationship between music, identity and community is evident in both Berlin and Bristol, but it remains to be seen what will happen to their struggling music venues in the face of gentrification. The most important thing we can therefore do, as students, is to seek out and support our favourite local venues to ensure their survival and preserve Bristol’s cultural treasure. ✴
EDITORIAL TEAM RECS
PaulineBlack
Iris from Music
✴ Beginner DJ workshops with Harmonia!
✴ Give it a go with bouldering @ TCA the Mothership Ronnie & Rosie from Social Commentary
✴ Pauline Black: A 2 Tone Story, Film & Q&A @ The Cube
✴ Friendly Records Presents Floating World Pictures @ The Louisiana
Sophie & Erina from Arts & Visual Culture
✴ Glenn’s Kitchen - community-centre led Jamaican food shak
✴After-gig karaoke sesh at The Lanes
Siân from Fashion
✴ Woodes Cafe on Park Street
✴ The Green Man Pub - complementary curry with any pint on Mondays!
Cerys
✴ Prior in City Centre - non-profit, independent shop and gallery space
✴ Spicer + Cole @ RWA Shayma
✴ Badger and Squirrel’s takeaway roast on a Sunday
✴ Lost Horizon (Void Radio’s shows in the Yard Bar)
Annie
✴ Collector Cave Record Shop on Cheltenham road
✴ Posh by Bristol Dramsoc @ Loco Klub, 2-4th Dec
Alice & Lydia from Well-being
✴ Bath Christmas market
✴ St Werburghs City Farm & Cafe
Anushka
✴ Bristol Palestine Film Festival, 30th Nov-8th Dec
✴ East Bristol books on Old Market road
MUSIC: WHAT’S ON
12.11.24 - Infinity Song @ Bristol Beacon
15.11.24 - Rejjie Snow @ SWX
15.11.24 - Jamie Cullum @ Bristol Beacon
16.11.24 - K.O.G. (Kweku of Ghana) @ Bristol Beacon
17.11.24 - Asha Puthli @ Bristol Beacon
21.11.24 - English Teacher @ SWX
24.11.24 - Sports Team @ Trinity Arts Centre
25.11.24 - Kofi Stone @ Thekla
26.11.24 - KOKOROKO @ O2 academy
27.11.24 - Palace @ O2 academy
02.12.24 - Nilüfer Yanya @ The Fleece
11/12.12.24 - The Chats @ Marble factory
13.12.24 - Kishi Bashi @ Thekla
13.12.24 - Afriquoi @ The Lantern
19.12.24 - Mala & Joe Armon Jones @ Trinity Centre
KikoBun
CLUB NIGHTS
16.11.24 - En Masse 2024: The Islnd w/ Steevio+Suzybee & more @ The Island
16.11.24 - The Jam Jar Reggae Bash w/ Friendly Fire Band @ The Jam Jar
22.11.24 - space • lab: Objekt + Bambi @ Strange Brew
23.11.24 - Rigs Out For Gaza @ The Boxing Gym
23.11.24 - Dimension @ Document
23.11.24 - Rising Youth @ Kuumba Centre
29.11.24 - South Raw presents Ogazón & Danielle @ Strange Brew
07.12.24 - Boiler Room: Bristol @ TBA
07.12.24 - Danny Howard: All Together Everywhere @ Clock Factory
13.12.24 - Kiko Bun with Run Come Down @ The Jam Jar
13.12.24 - Critical Sound System @ Lakota
19.12.24 - Mala & Joe Armon Jones: A Way Back + LIVE band @ The Trinity Centre
06.12.24 - fish86octagon @ Motion
07.12.24 - Accidental Meetings X Nyege Nyege: Part 3 @ Strange Brew
14.12.24 - SB present: Jack J band (Mood Hut), Laura Groves, ddwy @ Strange Brew
Asha Puthli
CROFT
19th Nov 7.30pm 11.30pm
zed alley
autumn issue launch party