Icon of the Week: ‘Disgusted of Christ Church’
If you’ve ever been cornered by someone really Isis-pilled— an Editor-in-Chief, perhaps, or the Dept. Ed. in charge of the cult that is Features, you’ll know that This Magazine is no stranger to the public eye. Anyone who’s ever been trapped in an unbearably self-referential conversation at
Greetings from the exit row
Anyone who knows me can tell you that travel is not something I’m fond of. Every term around week six, I start to curse myself for not being a minimalist, the prospect of having to wear the unfoldable free pink cowboy hat I acquired during Chappell Roan night at Bridge to the airport sudden
A review of DEPOT ‘25
‘Fusion Arts connects artists with communities promoting dynamic creative projects that drive social justice and celebrate diversity. Fusion Arts is a catalyst for creativity in Oxford and beyond.’ – The Fusion Arts brochure I’m no stranger to the pretensions of the Art World. My
Greetings from Texas
America, the first postcolonial nation, is made of squares. It’s among the angular continents, with fake borders, straight lines, someone else’s perfect shapes. And every postcolonial state from Kenya to Kansas must question: what is our culture? We have a name, a group of people, some lines on
Greetings from Depoe Bay
To my retroactive dismay, I believe I’ve had a nihilistic summer. With what felt like endless time spent languishing in my own solitude, spinning out over the impossible quagmires of love, career, and selfhood, I managed to whittle my beliefs to a single point. The Answer, if you will. The intangi
Greetings from Cairo
After about a week in Cairo, my host, and by that point friend, Walid, asked me if the city matched my expectations. ‘It’s hard to say,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t really have a clear picture in my head before I arrived.’ Yes, I had skimmed through a travel book and looked a few things up, [&h
Greetings from Woking
Greetings from Woking! Whilst some students sunbathe in far-off lands and others spend eight weeks completing gruelling internships, I spend my nights under strobing lights, shoes sticky with beer, with shrieks, music and laughter ringing in my ears. It could almost be mistaken for Ibiza. Almost. &n
Smoking. Hot?
The slim tube of paper rests elegantly between my fingers—I can almost inhale a swirl of smoke emerging from it. ‘Are you going to eat that lollipop?’ my mother asks. I gingerly turn the sweet the right way round and suck on sugar instead of fictional nicotine (not that I am awa
Greetings from Cotonou, Benin
Editor’s Note: the author has used a number of French words throughout the text. These are denoted by an asterisk, which corresponds to an explanatory footnote at the bottom of the page. Like all language students, I began my second year at Oxford by attending an informational sessio