The Skinny Student Guide 2023

Food For All

While delicious, there’s only so long you can survive on baked beans on toast. We chat to some of our favourite Glasgow food organisations about getting all the good stuff on your plate – community, sustainability, and intimacy (on a budget)

Words: Lara Delmage

Illustration: Zofia Chamienia

Food can often be a bit of an afterthought when focusing on not completely humiliating yourself during those crucial first impressions; daunting, especially if you’re not armed with some recipes and skills in your arsenal. Even if you have been shadowing your mum for years, committing all her best recipes to memory (I’m a Virgo, don’t judge me), cooking in a kitchen shared with a bunch of strangers can still be unnerving. I was terrified of using the kitchen in student halls, never knowing if a flatmate is going to come in and ask, “What the hell are you cooking?” Cheeks burned red at the prospect because what’s more intimate than what you choose to put in your body?

This is what makes it all the more powerful when you share this intimate act with others because food is an opportunity to make connections with people and place, fostering belonging. By all means, scoff down the occasional chip butty because you’ve got pre-drinks in 15 and you promised the flat downstairs you’d do their makeup. But there are also some brilliant food orgs to check out to immerse yourself, belly first, into the community.

First, Food Not Bombs Glasgow (@glasgowfoodnotbombs) – plus Dundee, Edinburgh, Aberdeen and Inverness iterations – make a community meal every weekend from leftover food from local businesses. The meals are always vegan, halal, and most importantly, free for anyone.

When asked about how to live sustainably and affordably as a student, they mused on the

individualism inherent in making these choices, and how this concept is actually a trap, because, under capitalism, “the awful grind people experience just trying to eke out a few wee minutes of joy or calm, means they don’t have time or energy to make ‘better’ choices.” Instead, they advocate that we “build community, spread solidarity, smash capitalism and the state. Don’t fix it for yourself, fix it for everyone.” And food is a great place to start.

And what else of eating out? Parveen’s, a Pakistani-inspired vegan canteen run by two sisters at Civic House has a nourishing daily lunch service (with a new menu every day), plus unmissable supper clubs, and their menus are concise (almost poetically so) to be as waste-conscious as possible.

As far as sustainability goes, we recommend getting your hands dirty, and The Hidden Gardens, a community-centred urban oasis in Glasgow’s Southside, provides ample opportunity. When asked how students can live sustainably, they immediately advocated for gardening, praising its physical, psychological, spiritual, and environmental benefits. After all, as Braiding Sweetgrass author Robin Wall Kimmerer su ests, the first way to nurture a reciprocal, respectful relationship with the Earth is to get your paws in the soil.

As a beginner’s guide to growing in a tiny flat, they su est that you grow on your window-ledge. “Chives, mint and parsley are some great choices for growing in dreich weather, as they don’t need

much sunlight,” they say. Pot marigolds are also a great staple, because “they not only brighten your room, but the petals are edible, and mixing this with lemon and hot water makes for a lovely herbal infusion for the cold days, and a sleep remedy.”

There’s also nasturtiums (which do need to hang out in a sunny spot) whose zingy petals can be eaten raw in salads, while the leaves can make a fantastic pesto with a spicy twist. The seeds can be pickled and taste like capers, or can easily be collected and sowed to give another batch of healthy plants next season.

To return to Robin Wall Kimmerer, in Braiding Sweetgrass she writes, “We don’t have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us. Imagine how much less lonely the world would be.” This is an excellent summation of the effects of engaging with growing; it can make us feel less alone and rejects the notion that not knowing is a shameful thing. It is silly to be embarrassed for not knowing how to cook, how to grow, and how to live in ways that resist the pulls of capitalism because we are all students, learning should never cease, and it is a privilege to learn. No graduation here – sorry, babes.

So, while connecting with plants in this way may seem out of your reach without gardening experience, The Hidden Gardens runs regular volunteering programmes, community events, and are passionate about passing the… trowel. If you’re concerned about your cooking skills, there’s The Hidden Garden’s community kitchen initiative Hidden Kitchen. Nutritionist Donna Borokinni prepares amazing weekly ve ie dishes with the help of volunteers for the People’s Pantry foodbank and it’s a wonderful opportunity to pick up some skills, support the community, and eat beautifully. In terms of basic day-to-day tips, batch cooking is your pal. Double your recipe and nab yourself some sealable containers so you can freeze your leftovers or have them for lunch the next day. Doing this with flatmates is a wonderful way to share skills and save time and money, so you can go for a dish that’s a little more sexy. Keep the onion skins and have a silly time dying your clothes the same colour to cement your bond, while you’re at it.

So students, go forth and live deliciously! Enjoy each meal – from the bland to the brilliant – and ensure you nurture both yourself and the community you’re entering into.

Image: courtesy of The Hidden Gardens

Parveen’s Cardamom & Clove Rice

Makes 2-3 portions

Ingredients:

1 cup white basmati rice

1.5 cups water

50ml rapeseed or vegetable oil

1/2 brown onion sliced thinly

3 cloves

4 cardamom pods

0.5 tsp black mustard seeds

1 tsp cumin seeds

0.5 tsp black peppercorns

1 cinnamon stick

1 bay leaf

1 tsp salt

Lemon juice to taste

Coriander and mint to garnish

Method:

This rice dish is a great accompaniment to many curries, particularly the Masoor daal. We use a rice cooker because it’s perfection every time but you can use the traditional stove pot method just as well.

We always wash our rice thoroughly: rinse around 3 times and leave it to soak for about 20-30 minutes. The more rice you cook, the longer the soak. While the rice is soaking, cook off the onions in oil on a low heat until nicely browned. In the same pan add all the spices and fry for a few minutes (don’t let them burn!), then take off the heat.

Once the rice has soaked enough, add the rice and 1.5 cups of water to the rice cooker or pot along with the onion, spice mixture, and salt, and cook for around 15-20 minutes or until the rice has soaked up all the water and is fluffy. All the grains should be separate from one another. Our mum would pick up a spoonful and throw it on the counter, if the grains separated she knew it was perfectly cooked. It’s a hard test to pass! Once ready, remove the cinnamon sticks and bay leaves, mix well and add some lemon juice, coriander and mint to garnish.

Parveen’s Masoor daal

Makes around 4 portions

Ingredients:

100g red lentils, washed

1 onion, chopped

1 medium tomato, blitzed

2 garlic cloves, blitzed

1 inch ginger, blitzed

1.5 green chillies, blitzed

1.5 tsp cumin seeds

1.5 tsp coriander seeds

1/4 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp chilli powder

2 dried round chillies

1/2 tsp garam masala

1.5 tsp salt

Coriander to garnish

Method:

This is a super simple yet extremely rewarding daal to rustle up. Make sure you wash the red lentils ahead of time, no need to soak! Add all of the ingredients apart from cumin, garlic, ginger and dried chillies to a large pot with the lentils and enough water to cover them by a few inches. Cook on a medium heat for about 30 minutes to an hour. After the lentils are cooked (they should feel soft), blend them with a stick blender to a smooth texture. Add more water to loosen up the consistency if it’s too thick. Then move on to making the tarka. Fry the rest of the ingredients – cumin, garlic, ginger and dried chillies – in a small frying pan and when you can smell the aromas mix them into the lentils. This should bring your daal to life. You can adjust the seasoning and spice level as you prefer. Add chopped coriander to garnish.

Hidden Gardens’

Simple Nasturtium Pesto Recipe

Ingredients:

4 handfuls of nasturtium leaves

2 handfuls of nasturtium flowers

1 1/2 cups olive oil

4 large cloves of garlic

1 1/2 cups grated Parmesan cheese

1 cup of pine nuts or other nuts you have at home

Salt and pepper

Method:

Wash your ingredients and place them all in a food processor. Add water from your pasta to adjust the consistency. Blend well, and your pesto is ready to serve.

“It is silly to be embarrassed for not knowing how to cook, how to grow, and how to live in ways that resist the pulls of capitalism because we are all students, learning should never cease, and it is a privilege to learn.”

Image: courtesy of The Hidden Gardens

House Mates

Landlords (still) suck. But what if there’s another way? We speak to the Edinburgh Student Housing Co-op about how people need people and the empowerment found in communal, DIY living

Words: Paula Lacey

Illustration: Zofia Chamienia

Students are often charged with exacerbating housing crises in university towns, but in truth predatory private landlords, dodgy letting agencies and exploitative university accommodation services take advantage of first-time renters. However, small pockets of students across the UK are organising to imagine, and practise, a better way of living. Overlooking the Bruntsfield Links, sandwiching the Golf Tavern, the Edinburgh Student Housing Co-op appears unassuming from the outside. Yet inside, students have built a thriving community founded on autonomy, collaboration, and care.

“In Edinburgh, rent has increased 68% in the last decade and yet wages and even student loans have completely failed to increase to anywhere near that,” says Aditi Jehangir, Secretary of Scotland’s Tenants Union, Living Rent. “The rent freeze and subsequent rent caps also do not apply to purpose-built student accommodation (PBSA), so students are being hit with increases more frequently than the rest of the population.”

While student housing co-ops have existed in the US since the 1930s, the first in the UK were set

up in 2014 by national organisation Student Co-Op Homes (SCH). Of the four pioneers, Edinburgh is the largest; 106 members live in 26 flats, while those in Brighton, Sheffield and Birmingham are single houses. The ESHC site was once an Edinburgh Napier accommodation, vacated in 2014 in favour of more modern (and expensive) halls. With the support of the SCH, and a Scotmid loan, a group of dedicated students leased the property from a housing association, cutting costs by taking on the renovation themselves.

Today, the co-op continues to be an autonomous space, owned and run democratically by its members who contribute to the day-to-day running of the building. Roles are available in maintenance and repairs, welfare outreach, budgeting and bills, as well as more creative jobs like Community Librarian, Events Co-ordinator, or Documentarian. The DIY nature of the co-operative structure means that most repairs and renovation is done in-house, allowing members to develop practical skills. Alex, the former ESHC Policy Manager, says, “After two years of living there I’d relaid multiple floors, built beds and benches, and learned how to install a new shower.”

This self-sufficient approach, combined with the not-for-profit ethos behind its establishment, allows the ESHC to keep rent low, despite slight increases in line with inflation. From September 2023 it will cost £374 pcm to live in the ESHC, a stark contrast to the skyrocketing rents of the surrounding area. This monthly contribution covers WiFi, energy, insurance, as well as shared necessities like toilet paper, soap, detergent and washing up liquid and any maintenance costs. “In my time, about two thirds of the rent went towards paying off our original lease, rather than lining landlords’ pockets,” says Alex. “There was never any fear about unexpected cleaning fees, jacked up rents, withheld deposits.” This low cost is a huge factor in why people choose a co-operative lifestyle; by saving hundreds a month, members can focus on their studies without the added stress of working to make rent.

Over the past few years, ESHC members renovated their basement into

a multi-purpose social space, which houses a 4000+ book donated library of antiquarian and radical literature. This space is used as a meeting space for activist groups, in-house community events such as club nights, study sessions, drag performances, art exhibitions, and a queer film society. There are also designated quiet parts of the building. The majority of co-op socialising, however, takes place over the dinner table, in brightly-painted corridors, and cosy communal spaces.

“Everybody that lives [here] has become disillusioned by this neoliberal, individualist and atomised version of society, in which people don’t know their neighbours and don’t get involved with helping other people,” the Co-op Librarian, Jas, says. “It’s clichéd to say that humans are social animals, but having friends on multiple floors, knowing that I can stay in my own flat or go upstairs for dinner – it’s a wonderful way to live.”

“Co-operatives won’t solve the housing crisis, but for those who are fortunate to have the opportunity, they can prove an oasis in the desert,” says Alex. Indeed, the ESHC receives hundreds of applications per year, and, due to the limited space, many are left disappointed. The ESHC is campaigning Scottish universities and city councils for an increase in housing co-ops to deal with the student housing crisis, and they urge students to contact their local councillors and MSPs. In Glasgow, a group dedicated to acquiring property for a co-op has been active since 2016, but needs the continuing support of students and locals to establish their vision.

As Jehangir puts it, “Co-ops might have a positive impact on a few tenants, but we need systemic change for all [... ] this government needs to build more social housing and to lower rents through rent controls to ensure everyone has access to safe, secure, affordable housing.”

“There was never any fear about unexpected cleaning fees, jacked up rents, withheld deposits”

Alex, former ESHC Policy Manager

Seasonal Survival

University is tough: your flat is probably cold, meeting new people is scary, and you have an actual degree to get. One writer reflects on keeping your mental health in check year-round – through the dark times, and the light

Words: Rory Doherty

Illustration: Zofia Chamienia

Something they leave out of the open days is that, despite university offering tremendous excitement and inspiration, experiencing all this is reliant on the cooperation of the world around you. If you explode with enthusiasm with some of your reading, you might resent the limitations of the course’s scope. If you fall in love with a sport or creative activity, you may stru le with the many social demands that come with it.

And if you want to throw yourself into a new city, you’ll have to deal with the inhospitality of its climate. It seems like a tired cliché, but the fluctuations of weather in Scottish cities could be responsible for not feeling like your university experience is working.

Once you get over the buzz of freshers, or the stress of midterms clashing with your first university Halloween, you get hit by a climate that promises only to worsen the closer you get to the year’s end. November, without Christmas cheer or the panic of December exams, can stretch on in an endless grey fog; less light and warmth and outdoor activities severely limits socialising, and going to and from places after 4pm suddenly becomes less viable or safe.

Saying to watch out for feeling sad when the weather gets bad does sound like it misses the nuance of mental health issues at university. But like many things in student life (or adult life, full stop) it’s just another uncontrollable thing affecting your wellbeing.

When you’re in high school, control doesn’t really factor into your mindset. You’re more or less

railroaded, told where to be for each hour of the day, offered a selective number of options, and funnelled towards a nebulous goal of further education. When the seasons changed in school, you didn’t have to worry about motivation – you still had to turn up at 9am and perform the same tasks. At university, no-one has a go at you if you don’t.

In the autumn and winter months at university, you feel more fatigued, unmotivated, isolated, all of which can contribute to a disaffection with student life – it’s a powerlessness that freshers are more likely to blame on their own worth and abilities. Can we really blame first years for staying within the confines of their recognisable, temperamentally heated room in student halls rather than out in dreich evenings and premature darkness for social or sporting events that may just compound how ill-at-ease they feel at university?

After moving to Glasgow eight years ago, I initially tricked myself into thinking I had instantly, perfectly adjusted to my new environment. I was putting on a good show, insisting I made appearances at auditions, workshops, and 9am lectures (that, in retrospect, deserved to be ruthlessly avoided). To me, showing up for university life in all its shades meant I would get the most from it, proving that student fulfilment was something I could exercise complete control over.

When those dreaded Glasgow Novembers rolled around, the pilgrimage back to my Maryhill student halls started earlier and earlier in the evening, and I could feel my enthusiasm for making appearances on campus draining by the hour. I was gradually giving up on my confident, outward performance. It may have felt like the bad weather was provoking my disaffection, but in reality it was also mirroring it – a few months was just enough time to notice all the ways I felt out of place as a student, the rain washing away my eager facade.

My method of relentless activity wasn’t the key to feeling immediately settled: as winter approached, I quickly learned how short-sighted this plan was. I had not put the effort into creating a private space that felt truly my own, or even one I felt at home with. I had relied on external spaces to ground me after the bi est relocation in my life, and when those spaces became more punishing to reach, I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me.

Some version of this emotional dip into darkness happened in each of my four years at uni; there wasn’t a bedroom I lived in where I didn’t become intimately acquainted with the feeling of my face pressed up against the carpet. Is that because of the inherent design of an academic year? It might look like that initially, but with every successive year I realised it’s not structured as a descent into isolation, but an invitation to climb out of it.

January and February are definitely harsh months, but returning to university in the New Year already sets you up for a fresh start. The hold of winter – and the potential dread of returning that can fester in the winter holidays – is already weakened by the time you move back into your shabby accommodation. The cold months that kick off your second term are no longer a test of your resilience but a trajectory towards bright, open fulfilment.

The days get longer, the rain falls less fiercely, and you find there are more spaces that feel yours and that welcome you. But even if the malcontent conjured by an ugly climate results in isolation, it’s a condition that everyone new to this place is subject to. In the face of bleakness, it’s necessary to foster connections to keep you warm – they’ll prove more rewarding when the sun comes back around.

“It may have felt like the bad weather was provoking my disaffection, but in reality it was also mirroring it – a few months was just enough time to notice all the ways I felt out of place as a student, the rain washing away my eager facade”

Arts Access

Your university years are a great time to explore the arts and figure out your tastes. But let’s be honest: the arts can be pretty expensive. We’ve collated our fave budget-friendly arts offers for your enjoyment (and peace of mind)

Theatre & Comedy

Edinburgh’s Traverse Theatre (10 Cambridge St) have concession tickets for students so be sure to have your student card at the ready. For those under 25 or receiving any low-income benefits, they’re also currently running a £1 ticket scheme, offering a limited number of (you guessed it) £1 tickets for selected shows and performances. Pretty ideal. Over at the Lyceum (30b Grindlay St), tickets are £10 for students, under 18s, and Young Scots – again, a solid deal.

If you’re keen to think theatrically yourself, we’d recommend checking out Glasgow-based Tron Theatre’s Play Group (63 Trongate), a free monthly book group for drama lovers. The theatre also offers a range of one-off workshops on a Pay-WhatYou-Want basis.

Comedy-wise, Edinburgh obviously boasts a little-known festival called the Fringe. But year round, we’d recommend checking out The Stand in Edinburgh (5 York Pl) and Glasgow (333 Woodlands Rd), with £5 tickets on their Red Raw nights.

Art

Most art galleries across Scotland are free to enter, most of the time. In Glasgow, you’ll often find us either at the CCA (350 Sauchiehall St) or the Tramway (25 Albert Dr). With mostly free exhibitions, they’re laid back yet exciting places to start figuring out the art you like and the art you don’t.

With a very cool (and very temporary) approach, Dundeebased Woosh Gallery (Miller’s Wynd Carpark) have regular exhibitions and installations that are entirely free for all. The gallery seeks to offer opportunities to new artists and graduates. They’re a lovely crowd and we only wish there were more galleries like them.

Similarly, you ought to get acquainted with Embassy Gallery (10B Broughton St Ln) in Edinburgh. Along with hosting a range of exhibitions, talks, and workshops, their membership is open to all artists and students in the UK, offering access to their bookable Members Project Space if you’re feeling a bit experimental.

For something hands-on in Glasgow, Rumpus Room (Langside Ln) and Glasgow Zine Library (32-34 Albert Rd) run a number of arts workshops, usually on a sliding scale. They’re a great opportunity to pick up a new skill and get out of the uni bubble, just a little.

Film

Edinburgh’s Cameo (38 Home St) boasts U25 – £4.99 tickets for anyone aged 16 to 25, all day Monday to Thursday. A post-lecture 35mm arthouse film, midday & mid-week, is not to be snubbed. Similarly, in Glasgow, our friends over at Glasgow Film Theatre (12 Rose St) have their 15-25 card – £6 tickets to any standard screening. It’s something of an iconic building and

you’d be missing out if you didn’t spend many a student day in their Art Deco theatres. An 18-25 Membership is also on offer at Dundee Contemporary Arts’s cinema – £5 per year for £5 cinema tickets year-round is pretty good (152 Nethergate).

If you can get your hands on one, we’d recommend getting an at-home projector. It’s nothing fancy but having the option for friends to come round to watch a film (on something that’s not a tiny laptop screen) is always nice.

Music

Concert ticket prices for major international artists can be eye-watering so smaller, indie venues are where it’s at. For a chill jazz vibe (we’re talking cushions on the floor), LayLow nights at The Rum Shack (657-659 Pollokshaws Rd) offer £6 student tickets. Glasgow is also home to a fantastic DIY music scene – you won’t have to look far for something affordable and cool.

We’re going to be honest with you: studenthood involves attending a lot of open-mic nights. They’re usually free, good vibes, and a nice chance to meet others in a chilled setting. The Leith Arches (6 Manderston St) Hump-Day Hootenanny takes place every Wednesday, welcoming music, comedy, and spoken word. In Dundee, The Art Bar (140 Perth Rd) is home to openmic nights as well as some more laid-back DJ sets.

Words

For book lovers in Edinburgh, you can’t go wrong with Lighthouse Bookshop (43-45 W Nicolson St). Their programme is packed with all the radical goodness you could hope for, with events on a sliding scale basis and often livestreamed.

In Glasgow, Category Is Books (34 Allison St) and Mount Florida Books (1069 Cathcart Rd) are your go-to for brilliant literature events. Over in the West End, Poetry at Inn Deep (445 Great Western Rd) is a student right of passage; get familiar with spending every second Tuesday evening listening to some of the city’s leading poets & spoken word artists. Forgive us, but, we’d also recommend signing up to your local library – for free literature events but, also, free books. Quite simply, there’s going to come a time when you want to read something that you don’t have to write an essay on.

Travel

Don’t make us remind you: if you’re under 22, bus travel in Scotland is free. It’s the perfect excuse for a late-night bus home, the odd day trip to the countryside, or to simply boast your youth. We’re also big fans of nextbike UK, with bikes available to rent in Glasgow and Stirling. With pretty low fees –and sometimes free for students of partner universities – they’re perfect if you don’t want to commit to a bike, just yet.

Category Is Books

Rum Shack Rumpus Room

Photo: Rob Reid

A Dry Night

There’s more to university life than hangovers and tequila shots. Trust us. We pull together our top tips for a good night out (that also happens to be a sober one)

Words: Graham Peacock

Ican’t smell rum and coke without being hurled back to my first year at uni. In the final hours of the 2010s, when I first became a student, it was my drink of choice. It’s a smell that brings back the sticky bar floors and questionable club basements that littered my stint at academia. At university, drinking invades almost every space, and it often feels like making friends mandates a questionable pint at the pub, or an over-caffeinated Four Loco downed in the back of an Uber.

It’s something I wasn’t always into, but I’d feel obligated to partake in. An empty hand on a night out is usually met with an earnest look of concern and a plastic cup thrust in to fill the gap. Looking back, I wish I’d been more upfront about when I wanted to drink, and when I wasn’t interested.

Whether you’re fully sober, or just want to avoid weekday hangovers in your 9am lectures, there’s ways to make sure you have the formative experiences that matter without a drink.

Most importantly, don’t miss out I don’t smoke, but I’m a firm believer that the smoking area isn’t so much a communal activity as it is a shared mindset. The same goes for clubs in general. Even though it’s an environment that seemingly revolves around alcohol, as long as you feel comfortable, you shouldn’t feel unwelcome if you’re sober. You’re just as entitled to be there as the guy up against the DJ booth, seven cans deep. When you’ve had enough techno, remember to grab chips on your way home with everyone else – it’s all part of the experience.

Actual sober nights out are an option

If you’d rather not be around alcohol or drugs at all, there’s places that seek to create sober environments for all guests. One such place is Good Clean Fun – a Glasgow-based, alcohol-free club night. It’s a space which removes the challenges of being surrounded by alcohol, while providing the freedom to enjoy music and clubbing. If you’re sober, or dislike how intertwined clubs are with drinking, it’s a great place to meet like-minded people.

Timing is everything

If you know you’re going out in a group where most people will be drinking or taking drugs, don’t try to match their speed. You’re going to have to take things at your own pace. Establish a pre-night-out ritual. Get plenty of rest. Have a Red Bull. Listen to Soundcloud remixes at an unreasonable volume. And, remember, you also don’t have to stay till the end of the night. Know your limits – if you’re getting too tired or feel uncomfortable, just leave.

Relax – you’re all good

When people say they can’t go on a night out without drinking, they mean they can’t let loose without feeling self-conscious. Alcohol or drugs can be more of a placebo to help people feel at ease. To enjoy a night out sober you need to get out of the mindset that alcohol equals fun and sobriety equals boredom. Alcohol is an inhibition killer, but you can do that independently by focusing on yourself and your own fun rather than everyone else in the room. Surround yourself with good people and, eventually, it’ll come easily.

Diversify the plans

When you’re a student, between working and studying, the imagination takes a hit. Drinks at the nearest pub or a night at whichever club has free entry can become the go-to. These are spaces where alcohol and drugs are pretty standard. There’s a lot more you can do though if you look for it. Check out which gallery spaces have evening exhibitions on, what restaurants do cheap weekday deals, or revive the lost art of a flat dinner party. It comes as a shock to us all but it’s true – you can

actually hang out with people during the day, whether that’s for a hike, a coffee, or a rollerskate. Make the most of your student weekdays – you’ll miss them when the 9 to 5 comes.

Whether you’re going into first year or you’ve been a student for a while, being upfront about what you’re comfortable with can be intimidating. But setting your boundaries when it comes to drinking is essential – even if it’s just for the night. Any awkwardness is probably one-sided, and you’ll get used to it fast. It’s also important to remember that it’s not that serious. No one actually cares if you have the vodka soda lime or not.

‘An empty hand on a night out is usually met with an earnest look of concern and a plastic cup’

Our resident agony aunt and PhD survivor tackles some students’ concerns

Words: Anahit Behrooz

Hi! I’m about to start a PhD and I’m already regretting it. Should I pre-emptively drop out? I feel stupider and more delusional than ever :))

Oh, my sweet summer child. Firstly, the fact you feel this way shows that you are neither stupid nor delusional, but in fact cleverer than 98% of academics out there. A PhD would be a huge undertaking even if the industry weren’t an apocalyptical wasteland but given that it is – well, you are basically taking the ring to Mordor. Except the ring is your crumbling mental health and waning resources and Mordor is the University of ******. (I’m not going to tell you what my PhD was on but in the light of the last sentence let’s just say I never recovered from it.)

I can’t tell you if you should drop out. What I can tell you are my experiences, because I hope they will be helpful, and because I am one of those people the TikTok kids complain relate everything to themselves. But I, personally, don’t regret doing a PhD. I liked not having to lie to get discounts. I liked the gift of time it gave me – an extra four years before adulthood really kicked in, where I could write and travel and figure out what I wanted, both from intellectual labour and life. I adored (some of) the people I met.

But I never, ever expected anything else out of it, and that was what kept me sane. I think if you take on a PhD expecting some kind of validation of your intellectual capacities or, God forbid, a job, you will have the worst time of your fucking life. I truly saw some of the best minds of my generation destroyed by looking into postdoc funding. Academia is an exploitative and failing industry, and it can so easily turn you into a weird little guy telling shit jokes in a cave (again, I never recovered). Get in, get what you can out of it, and then bounce.

How do I make new friends in my home city?

I left my home city as soon as I could, leaving a Looney Tunes cloud of dust behind me, so I am resisting the urge to be like, move city. But if I stop and think about it, there is something really beautiful about reforming your life around you rather than hitting the refresh button every time. Could not be me, but good for you.

I remember this genre of question would come up in teen magazines when I was younger and the answer was invariably do a sport, which felt like frankly deranged advice that I obviously ignored. But there is maybe a kernel of truth there – what are the things you love, like really, really deep down, and can you be involved in a way that isn’t just going to a meeting? Are you into music? Apply to start a show on EHFM or Clydebuilt Radio! Politically very motivated? Join an organising community or tenants’ union. Head to where the community you want to be part of is – arts venues, poetry readings, sports…clubs…?? Idk, that bit is very foreign to me.

And then, and this bit is crucial, ask everyone you think is cool out. Not in a sexy way (although! If that’s the vibe!) but like you are the Julia Roberts of platonic romance. Friends of friends, colleagues, that one girl you had a very sweet drunk conversation with at a gig. I am truly abysmal at romantic dating and if left to my own devices would be alone forever but friend dating? Baby, I am Hitch. I am Alfie. I am… running out of people who fuck in movies. But you get the picture! It’s really the same mechanism as romantic dating, except way lower stakes because people (me) aren’t behaving like lunatics. You think someone is cool and you want to get to know them? Ask them out!

What do you do when one of your pals is nice with you but always seems to bring demon chaos energy when dealing with others?

Honestly I have more questions than answers lol. What does demon chaos energy mean? Is it with everyone?? Why are you the exception?? What are we talking, on a scale from Paris Geller in Gilmore Girls to say, Faust bringing Mephisto to house parties?

Without knowing the particulars, it’s kind of hard to say what kind of behaviour you’re putting up with. But the very fact you’re asking this question means you’re probably worried about how it is affecting your social environment. You are in no way responsible for someone else’s behaviour and I would hope the other people around you would understand that, but if this friend knows their behaviour makes you uncomfortable – both in how they’re treating people you care about and how you see them treating people they ostensibly care about – and does nothing about it, that maybe warrants a conversation.

Let me put it like this. There is a time in your life, when you are young and full of energy and haven’t had to pay taxes yet, when chaos seems like a fun and sexy thing. There’s a definitive appeal to this kind of instability: it makes life feel unpredictable and novel, and like anything can happen. And that is so exciting! And then you grow a bit older, and you realise the full scale of what ‘anything’ can mean, and it feels, honestly, just a bit exhausting to live in a constant state of unpredictability.

In short, it doesn’t make you boring or a bad friend to not want to be constantly worrying about someone else’s behaviour. And if you are close enough to be able to have that conversation, and explain your concerns, then you should do that. And if you’re not… well, would that friendship drifting be such a bad thing?

How do you know when you are writing something good? Are you always just guessing as you go?

I have started and deleted a response to this 12 times and we go to print tomorrow, which is an appropriately meta response to this question. I don’t know if you ever know, to be honest. As in, I think so much of writing is about the process, and it is so difficult to wade through the mess of it – the half-formed clay and pencil guidelines and before the paint is blended and it just sits harsh against the canvas – and know whether you have said what you’re trying to say. Because you need to go back and resculpt and redraw and re… paint? I don’t know. And make something appear out of the mess.

I think when you are writing, there is the question of whether the thing you are writing is good, and there is the question of whether the writing is good. And those are two related but very different things. For me, I only know if I’ve done the first if I feel I’ve said something. And that doesn’t have to be some grand universal truth or ground-breaking idea, but it has to be something that has been wearing away inside me, that I am trying to communicate across some kind of divide between my internal and external self. And that, I suppose, is what makes it ‘good’, in that it feels like you’ve turned something ephemeral into something tangible.

As for the second, that’s anyone’s guess lmao. I tend to reread and rewrite what I’ve written so many times that I can feel out its rhythms and textures, and the prose is so intensely fine-tuned that I can finally let it go. I think as a method it is effective but it is also, let’s be honest, deranged, and I am regularly having little breakdowns that everyone around me has to deal with. So. Do with that what you will.