What the hell is a trigger warning?: article

There’s a lot of uncomfortable content on the internet, let’s be honest, and it’s often hard to get away from it. Lately, I’ve seen the words “trigger warning” and “content warning” cropping up over and over on articles concerning controversial or “touchy” topics. Given the talk surrounding mental health in Ireland of late, this is something that should be taken notice off – anxiety amongst our nation is on the rise, something trigger warnings aim to alleviate. It’s not just the internet -- in the U.S., there has been a call for college courses to indicate when material in a certain textbook has been deemed triggering for those suffering from trauma. Despite all this, many people still don’t understand what exactly trigger warnings are, or what they are used for. Trigger warnings are nothing new for tumblr bloggers ; “#TW” has been around on feminist and LGBTQ blogs for years. But lately the trigger warning has found its way onto Facebook, Twitter and even bigger news websites like TIME.  So are trigger warnings the easily offended of the internet run amok, or are they genuinely helpful?

First, a definition: a “trigger warning” or “content warning” is a label that flags content in an article or video that may be distressing to certain viewers. Essentially, it’s the internet equivalent of a rollercoaster sign that says “do not ride if you are of a nervous disposition”. As someone who always, always listens to those signs, I will openly admit that I appreciate the idea of trigger warnings. I cannot imagine anything worse than clicking open a link that reminds me of a traumatic event – be it abuse, mental illness or self-harm – and spiralling into a panic attack. Surely anything that makes the internet a safer place is by no means a bad thing? As a friend said to me ““[they’re] easy to do and so beneficial” to those who suffer from mental health issues. Tagging a post takes less than a minute to do.

So far, so justified. However, it’s not just my opinion that counts, so I took to Twitter to get some opinion on the ground. The results were interesting. One user made the eloquent and relevant point that they are complicated, because it’s difficult to draw a line as to when a warning is “reasonable.”  Another strongly praised the practice, saying that “they let people make an informed decision and curate an online safe space for themselves”, something that is often badly needed for those suffering with anxiety or PTSD. However, others had different opinions: only certain things warrant the warnings, and to tag everything and anything belittles the importance of the tag to those who really need it. Interestingly, responses came out at around 50-50 pro and anti-trigger warnings. I also spoke to TCD’s Gender Equality society, who informed me that “it was a controversial topic…that [they] were in favour of if necessary”.

To complicate things further: in May, Santa Barbara’s student union called for trigger warnings to be placed on books on the college’s syllabi. So, for example, a book like “Mrs Dalloway” by renowned author Virginia Woolf became a time bomb for those sensitive to suicide or depression. The request was met with some controversy, with many academics considering it a denial of their freedom; why shouldn’t they place a classic novel that deals with a difficult theme on their course? I spoke to a student working with LGBTQ groups in New York and he said that “nobody's calling for professors not to be allowed teach certain material, just that students have a right to have advance warning when particularly heavy topics come up in class.” Both are compelling arguments, so do we have a duty to make the lives of people easier, or is it better to expose a student to the issue, in the manner of a vaccination? The latter was advocated by Prof Metin Basoglu, a trauma specialist who recently spoke out on this very issue. He makes the compelling argument that one simply cannot avoid “triggering” material in day to day life; in fact, it’s simply impossible. Given the wealth of content at our disposal in 2014, I’m inclined to agree with him. But looking around me and seeing a generation growing up either de- or overly-sensitised to violence and horror, I wonder if something has to be done somewhere. Maybe pandering won’t help our anxiety-ridden society, but neither will ignoring the problem and allowing it to fester.

Between “drawing the line” with regard to trigger warnings and the wider implications of them for mental health, it is clear that there’s no straight answer with regard to this new approach to content. Furthermore, there are no guidelines: if I suffer panic attacks when faced with a small space, then, is that less reasonable to tag than a warning against something more typically serious? There’s the rub, it seems; no-one is sure just when to “draw the line” of securing a space, with many who step “over the line” labelled as whiny and overly-sensitive. Dismiss it if you may, but many feminist and LGBT rights groups of our generation are lobbying for “safer spaces” for those who suffer from anxiety and PTSD. It seems that regardless of your opinion on the matter, this article won’t be the last you see of the polemical #tw. 

Why I'm Done With Dunham: article

If you’re in and around my age, you’ll remember when “Girls” first burst onto our screens in 2012. You’ll remember the quirky edginess of the show on the whole, and relating to the tribulations of the twenty somethings of it all. You’ll remember chats with your friends debating if you were a Hannah or a Marnie, and getting angry when they said the former. You’ll remember coming to terms with being a Hannah. Embracing it. Finding Lena Dunham’s Twitter and thinking “YES, this girl is chubby, and funny, and cool -- she’s who I want to be!”

You’ll remember becoming increasingly critical until you, like me, are done with Dunham. The creator of “Girls” has become increasingly more controversial in the past year or so and less relevant for it. Far from the mousy-haired, dry-humoured 23 year old I knew and loved, Dunham is now a figure of…well, pity, to be honest.

When did my love for Dunham go sour? Well, it started with a blogpost that detailed some criticisms of “Girls” – its lack of diversity, it’s “poor little rich girl” philosophy and it’s heavy-handed dealings with mental, sexual and physical health issues. Now, I’m no social justice warrior but elements of the show had started to make me uncomfortable – if Dunham was the so-called “voice of a generation”, then why did she cling to so many stereotypes in her work? With “Girls”, Dunham has expressed a desire to normalise the female experience; but massively expensive apartments and poorly-sketched “issues” weren’t doing it for me, So I stopped watching “Girls”, but continued to follow Dunham’s musings on Twitter. After all, it’s not fair to judge the artist on the art.

I stuck by Dunham through silly comments on feminism and LGBT issues: while Dunham is a staunch supporter of marriage equality, tweets like “I’m gonna be the first straight women to French kiss the first openly gay NBA player” leave a bad taste in my mouth. Her feminism is the same brand peddled by many a celebrity: it’s light-hearted, it advocates empowerment through sexuality, and more often than not, it misses the point. Dunham says in a recent interview “I just think feminism is my work. Everything I do, I do because I was told that as a woman, my voice deserves to heard, my rights are to be respected, and my job was to make that possible for others”. The issue is that we can hear her voice and it’s drowning out the marginalised voices; the voices that don’t have a TV show, a book and a mega-famous name to help them along.

Last month, Lena Dunham released the aforementioned book “Not That Kind of Girl”. It’s entered book charts across Ireland, Britain and America in the top ten. It’s garnered it’s fair share of criticism – from oversharing (not so bad) to slander against a man she claimed sexually assaulted her. Most oddly, she has recently been accused by a right-wing website of child abuse as detailed in her book. She took to Twitter to defend herself and as of November second, has cancelled her European leg of her book tour, presumably to work out what to do next. Whether the abuse allegations will stick or not, only time will tell. What I do know, however, is that this is the final straw. I haven’t watched “Girls” in a long time, but regardless, Dunham peppers my Twitter and Facebook timelines like nobody’s business. There’s no escaping her, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of her faux-feminism, silly comments and incessant fame mongering. If there’s an add-on that allows me to blacklist her name, do let me know. 

Rocky Horror Picture Show: article

It’s spooky movie season but for some of us, though, scary movies are just too much. I, for one, am still not over a particularly harrowing screening of a made-for-TV horror called Beneath back in 2009. So, for the faint-hearted out there, know that you are not alone, and there are plenty of films suitable for viewing if you choose to do a Hallowe’en movie night. For me, however, there is only one film worth viewing next Friday evening, surrounded by popcorn, toffee apples and overly sugared Hallowe’en sweets. The Rocky Horror  Picture Show.

My love for “Rocky Horror” started several years ago, when I learned “The Time Warp” dance at summer camp. On a whim that summer, I bought a DVD copy of the 1970’s cult classic, and a mild obsession was born. It has all the elements of what I love in a film: it’s comedic in a sarcastic sort of way, it holds just enough tension in its plot to keep you hooked, it’s got songs, and it’s stark raving mad. My sixteen year old self was utterly captivated by the sordid household of Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Having grown up on a diet of Disney films and rom-coms, this was an eye-opener for me. When the stage version came to the Bord Gais Energy Theatre in 2010, I missed my opportunity to go, and I’ve been kicking myself since. Last year I attended a group screening of the film in college, complete with props to throw at the screen and sing-alongs. This year, I may well organise my own late screening and slices of toast to throw around.

            What makes Rocky Horror so unique? Made in the late 1970’s, the film stars Tim Curry in women’s clothing, for a start. It’s a loving, ridiculous ode to the B-movie classics of the decades before it, revelling in silly plot twists, over-theatrical dialogue and casual corruption of its innocent protagonists. It’s a melting pot of every clichéd horror film you’ve ever seen: mad scientists, aliens and monsters abound. It makes no apologies for this; the opening theme literally references a dozen schlocky horrors from the 1950’s “at the late night/double feature/picture show”.  Take all this and add to it a singing British transvestite, Meatloaf, more than a little sexual tension and some of the finest songs ever written for a musical, and you’ve got what should be a mess. What makes “the strangest film phenomenon in history” work is its sense of inclusion – it’s no coincidence that the film is revered among the LGBTQ+ community. It’s a film about social exclusion; a seemingly normal couple are dropped into the crazy world of the Transylvanians, where, it seems, anything goes. It’s a film, ultimately, about liberation from a repressive society. It’s a film that encourages you to “don’t dream it, be it”. An awesome message and a deadly soundtrack? Sure what else would you be watching this Hallowe’en night? 

A students' guide to Paris: article

Generally, life as a student means a fair bit of free time, and we’re (usually) at the perfect age for some adventure. J1-ing and interrailing are commonly taken up by students in their second, third and final years of college, but for some of us, they are just slightly out of our price range. I am one such student – though I do still manage to travel quite a bit. I’m recently back from a  week in Paris, which is generally considered to be one of the world’s most expensive cities, but IS easy enough to do on a budget…provided you accept that you won’t be eating in too many famous French restaurants!

Accommodation – For students, hotels in Paris are out of the question. From extensive Googling, I discovered that it’s impossible to find anything less for about one hundred euro a night…so what alternatives are there? Paris has a thriving hostel culture, with many situated right in the heart of the city. These offer dorms for next to nothing per head, and private rooms (for those on romantic breaks!) for about thirty five. Not feeling the idea of a hostel? I love Airbnb, a service which allows homeowners to rent out their spare rooms or apartments to holidaymakers. The upside of Airbnb is the option to self-cater, and it’s often much cheaper (and nicer!) than a hostel. Keep an eye on reviews on TripAdvisor, Airbnb itself and places like hostelbookers.com -- it’s well worth it!

Food – eating will be the dearest part of the Parisian experience. Go to a supermarket and stock up, and stick to set menus and early birds if you’re eating out. Many restaurants in the city are expensive – but lunch is generally reasonable. So if you want to get a meal out, make it lunch and stick a pot of spaghetti on if you can at home! If not, go for pizza and pasta places, as many restaurants expect you to order a three course meal. Coffee, much as it is part of the French experience, is deathly expensive, especially if you want milk, as I discovered to my horror…

Sightseeing – for members of the EU under 26, many of the most interesting Parisian experiences are free, or heavily discounted. The Louvre, Invalides museum and Versailles are all free, as well as many other museums around the city. Places like the catacombs and the Monteparnasse and Eiffel towers are heavily discounted. So keep your Garda ID or passport on you at all times! In terms of other discounts, bus tours around the city are very expensive, around 30 euro for a one day ticket. However, it’s about 35 for a two day one, so if you’re keen on bus tours, it’s much better value to buy a two day one! For those of you less enamoured with them but still desirous to see the city, boat tours are about ten euro for those under 25. You won’t get the same views, but who’s going to turn down a guided river cruise on the Seine for a tenner?!

Getting around – Paris relies pretty heavily on the metro, an underground transport system. It’s pretty good value for money – a single trip will set you back the princely sum of €1.70. However, for a 3 day pass, it’s about twenty five euro – perfect if you want to explore the city quickly and easily. The tickets are consecutive but they’re valid for the first three Parisian “zones”, where the vast majority of the tourist attractions are. Definitely worth it, the metro is fast, reliable and goes literally everywhere. And it’s so much more exotic than the bus!

These are just a few starter ideas for how to do Paris on a budget. Got any more tips? Give us a shout below! 

Brushing up on the politics of makeup: article

Like a lot of people my age, I wear makeup. And like a lot of people my age, I have a complicated relationship with my face. You know that Sylvia Plath poem, “Mirror”, where she examines her face in a lake, “searching the reaches for what she really is”? Yeah, same, but instead of a lake, I have a dusty Ikea thing that tends to fall off my dressing-table late at night. It may sound narcissistic, but I spend a lot of time looking into the mirror – are my eyebrows wonky? Is one eye bigger than another? IS THAT A HAIR ON MY UPPER LIP? The struggle to be pretty usually involves getting up much earlier than my flatmate and setting to work on my pale, blotchy, tired-looking visage.

But now, the caveat to the expected rant about how “pretty hurts”: I LOVE makeup. I love matt foundation, blacker-than-black eyeliner flicks, red lipstick, pink lipstick... ok, any lipstick really. I love applying makeup and turning myself into someone glamorous and high powered. When I do my makeup properly, I like to think I give out serious “This lipstick was eighteen euro, don’t mess with me!” vibes. So it’s a complicated relationship I have with something that is, of course, an instrument of patriarchy -- a billion-dollar industry that thrives on insecurity. The roots of the cosmetics industry are steeped in sexism; when we are told a new eyebrow pencil is a “must have”, the implication is that our own eyebrows are unseemly and somehow wrong. So we buy into this; of course we do. I buy into it too - but not comfortably.

I’m not sure how many people share my feelings – for many people, it is simply a part of their daily lives to varying degrees. I have friends whom I’ve never seen without makeup – and friends who look alien-like to me with even a hint of mascara. I’m somewhere in between – there are days where I simply am not bothered with the routine, and head to college bare-faced. But those days are numbered.

The trouble with makeup (aside from the whole capitalist patriarchy thing) is it’s addictive. In my first and second years of college, I regularly barrelled in to class, uncaring that I looked not unlike a zombie. This is, amazingly, de rigeur; recent campaigns for girls to “go natural” can be seen flying around Facebook every so often, from the #NoMakeupSelfie to Lydia Bright’s recently launched campaign. We are bombarded with article about how young women are ruining their skin/self-esteem/chance to find a man by wearing too much makeup. It’s confusing enough: makeup is bad…but not-makeup is also bad? After much consideration, I have decided that I don’t care.  And I believe we, as a society, shouldn’t care who “applies their makeup with a trowel” or who doesn’t know which end of an eyeliner pen is up. God forbid a woman should do something to make her feel good about herself… It’s not a key issue in feminist discourse, but all the same, it’s important to remember the positive impact make-up has on women’s self-worth. Yes, it stems from patriarchy and YES, it’s an evil global industry. But is your mascara-obsessed friend going to listen to this? Nope, because she likes looking awake at 9am. Am I harming my chances of the ride because I ignore the “lips or eyes” rule? Possibly: but I’d rather not be involved with someone that shallow anyway. While I’m uncomfortable with the background and reasoning behind the cosmetics industry, I nonetheless will continue to reach for my powder and eyeliner each morning: because it feels good, dammit.  

How to survive glandular fever: article

Among the phrases students don’t want to hear “your blood test indicates that you have glandular fever” is one of the most common. The so-called kissing disease is hugely prevalent in 10-25 year olds. We are, in fact, the group most likely to get it. Taking into account the student lifestyle of not enough food and a lot of kissing, it’s something more than a few of us have been struck down with. As a Glandular Fever Survivor, I’ve googled the disease extensively in the last few weeks, and here’s what I’ve discovered…

1.    Got the glange? Kiss goodbye to any makeout sessions. Glandular fever is spread through saliva, hence the name “the kissing disease”. While a patient is infectious for several weeks before and after the fever passes, they are at their most contagious with a fever. So, loving boyfriends and girlfriends out there: maybe leave your significant other in isolation for a while.

2.    Many of us get glandular fever and experience virtually no symptoms. The lucky ones with killer immune systems simply fight off the virus that causes glandular fever, rendering them immune to illness for the rest of their life. For the rest of us, EB virus means aches and pains, a sore throat, swollen glands and a general feeling of utter shiteness. The good news is, the painful element of glandular fever passes in 5-10 days. The bad news…

3.    You WILL be tired. While I’ve heard nothing but horror stories about the disease since I got it (kidney failure, liver failure, jaundice, hospitalisation, you name it), I mercifully have experienced little more than exhaustion. But my god, it’s exhaustion with a capital E. Showers, meals and even Netflix can prove too much for the glange-infected. So prepare yourself for a lot of naps. Even more bad news? This tiredness can last for up to two years after initial infection.

4.    More bad news: alcohol. Fond of a drink? Forget it for quite a while after glandular fever. Because of the virus’ effect on the body, alcohol can cause  a full-on relapse, or worse, liver damage. Doctors online recommend a six-week period between contraction of the virus and going back on the hard stuff, so even if you do feel better, it’s time to embrace the soft drinks.

5.    Unfortunately, there is little the medical profession can do for glandular fever. Because it’s a virus, antibiotics are useless against it, and no vaccine has come to the fore. Treatment of glandular fever involves a lot of sleeping (I spent two weeks on my sofa) and a lot of painkillers. Solpadeine is your best friend with glandular fever. Just be careful not to get addicted…

My glandular fever experience is, mercifully, almost over – unlike some unfortunate friends of mine, I am suffering only a few weird and debilitating side effects. So the next time someone’s tries to tell you that their cousin’s best friend’s teenaged daughter almost died from glandular fever, tell them about me, someone who has suffered no more ill-effects than two weeks off college and a Netflix dependency. 

Why your bra could be making you sick: article

“What size bra are you?” I ask a friend, casually, planning a spectacular lingerie-themed birthday gift. “Um…I don’t know. 32B? 34B?” After a rummage in a drawer, she discovers that she is, in fact, a 34C. There you have it folks; one of my main bra problems, something I have longed to hashtag over the last few years. #BraProblems. There are many. Ill-fitting bras, uncomfortable bras, wired (or non-wired bras)…the list goes on. How can one cope? It’s a massive problem among young women that they wear the incorrect bra size; I know, because I’ve seen many a pal grab’n’go in the local Penneys. “Sure…this is close enough to the right size, isn’t it?” or worse still “it doesn’t really matter, though – my boobs look better all squashed in this one” In my youth, I was a 36C, and I was 100% certain of this from the ages of fourteen to nineteen. I ignored the weight gain, subsequent weight loss, going on the pill, growth spurts and numerous other things that affect a teenager in these years. I solidly, stupidly believed that this was my size for five years. It was only when I went for a bra fitting – on the spur of the moment, in a quiet Debenhams – that I discovered how, eh, massively wrong I was. At the time of writing, I’m well overdue a bra-fitting; I try to go at least yearly to ensure I’m wearing the right size. As far as I can tell, I’m in the minority in this.

 Now, I don’t want to get on my high horse at all here – but if there’s one thing that helps me love myself, it is well-fitted underwear. However, I’m not writing this article to condone spending all your wages on underwear; but the thing about the right bra (or indeed, the wrong one) is that it affects more than just your pocket. Ill-fitting bras have been linked to higher stress levels, stomach and back pain, headaches and having weird red strap lines all up your back.  It doesn’t have to be this way! According to a survey done recently, 70-80% of women are wearing the wrong bra size, be that for financial, physical or simply lazy reasons. We don’t go out in size eight clothing when we’re a size fourteen – why stuff your poor boobs into a 36C you’re not-so-clearly bursting out of? Eh, not that I speak from experience at all…

Why don’t we, as a nation, embrace the wonderful ladies of the fitting room? Perhaps it’s yet another symptom of the “Catholic hangover”; we ignore our body’s more “sexy” parts, buying the cheapest bra and hoping for the best. The issues of body confidence and embracing are a whole other ball game; one I won’t play here. On a practical level, we ignore bra-fitting because it’s an awkward thing to consider; a fitting room, a middle-aged lady and a measuring tape. I’m encouraging biting the bullet though --  it’s a free service that many department stores offer; like Marks and Spencer and Debenhams. While buying a new bra is encouraged in these places, it’s not necessary. Many a time have I wandered into M&S, had my bra size checked, and wandered out again, on my lunch break from college. Come payday, I like to treat myself, but it’s rarely in somewhere as expensive as a department store. It makes a world of difference to how you look and feel – dresses that formerly made me look like a lump have been pulled together nicely by one of my hero-bras. So rather than embracing “free the tatas” day and going without – go get fitted and buy yourself a decent bra. You’ll thank yourself in the long run.

Hozier: article

About twelve months ago, a black and white music video went viral. Featuring the heartbreaking story of an LGBT Russian couple, the video was “Take Me To Church”, by the then unknown Hozier. He chatted to Campus.ie last year about the song’s success; since then, his rise and rise is something I don’t remember seeing in quite a long time. Not only has he shot to fame here, but he has appeared on Ellen, Saturday Night Live and just this week hit the number two spot on the Billboard album chart in the states. As one headline I saw earlier put it “Hozier is officially a big deal”.

“A big deal” is putting it lightly. It’s fair to say that Ireland, as a nation, is completely enamoured with Hozier. His debut album, released about a month ago, reached platinum status within a week and I can’t remember the last time ten minutes passed without hearing “Sedated” or “Take Me To Church” on the radio. His sets at Longitude and Electric Picnic this summer will both go down in the histories of the festivals; notably the latter, where he apparently drew a bigger crowd than anyone before or since. The icing on the bluesy cake is perhaps his announcement of an Irish tour last week; five dates sold out in a matter of minutes, with tickets going for up to four hundred euro online. I think it’s fair to say that the nation is united in our obsession – even my granny likes him.

            Today, I found myself wondering what exactly it is about the 24 year old that pushes all our buttons. Is it his easy-going, almost shy demeanour in interviews? His ability to sing about James Joyce (in “Angel of Small Death”, his next single) and not sound pretentious? Or do we just keep home-grown talent close to our heart? Given the furious tweets from many Irish users when U2 released their latest drivel onto our iDevices, we can strike that last one.  It’s impossible to pinpoint why Hozier is so massive; but I can speculate that Hozier’s success is something to put our hopes in.  The island’s feverish radio-play of his singles as a remedy to our dire economic situation. As his success spirals, we are faced with more taxation, more charges – but as long as he’s pumping out songs and appearing on American television, we have something to be proud of. In the face of global economic crisis, we have produced these beautiful songs. It’s just a speculation – but it’s certainly nice to have something to be proud of.

More likely, however, is not the luck of the Irish, or the man himself, or our hideous finances. The reason we’re all so taken with Andrew Hozier-Byrne is simply because he’s one of the most talented artists to come out of anywhere in the last few years. His soulful voice, appreciation for both poppy hooks and bluesy melodies, and well-polished debut album make him a musical force to be reckoned with. For critics, he represents something young, new and interesting; for the rest of us, his songs are catchy as well as a little bit heart-breaking. He’s the musical equivalent of Pixar’s “Up” – critically acclaimed, superbly crafted and loved by everyone, especially your mum. Only time will tell if Hozier capitalises on his successes in 2014, but he should know that he has most of the country behind him every step of the way.

Mental health and me: article

I doubt that any one of us will forget the moment we realised that we were going to Trinity. For me it was as I stared dumbstruck at the A1 in Agricultural Science – I had gained a passport to study English and History, my two passions, in the nation’s best college. It had been a long time coming – over-eager freshman doesn’t begin to describe my feeling last September. I had notebooks, pens, clothes, shoes and ambition pouring out of me, geared up for the best year of my life. What it turned out to be was by far the hardest, but also the most beneficial – in the long run, it’s what’s given me the confidence to write this article.

As something of a perfectionist, I’ve always been a bit anxious. I like things to go right and worry about things that might never happen. To me, however, the word “anxiety” conjures images of paper bags and swooning. I’ve always been far too sensible for that kind of thing. My life as of September 2012 seemed perfectly in order. By JF logic, I would take TCD by storm and the whole college would know my name. Optimism to the point of arrogance overwhelmed me, but this soon came crashing down. TCD changes a body, no more so than me. First of all, there was the academic competition. Other students seemed to know more, say more and study more than I did. In my head, they were tearing through literary criticism while I wondered what the hell Freud was talking about. Furthermore, friends and classmates become involved in societies, the union and newspapers while I struggled to make 9am classes and meet deadlines. I understand that college takes adjustment but this felt like more than that – a nameless, hopeless feeling of “why is everyone Trinity-ing better than I am?” As a self-confessed Big Fish In A Small Pond, this (real or imaginary) competition with my whole year soon took me over.

This competitive nature started out fine, but soon turned into a little voice in my head telling me why I wasn’t as good as everyone else. It’s easy for your brain to trick you into thinking that you’re too boring, too lazy, and too awful to get anything done. It made me feel unattractive and unproductive to the point that I wished I hadn’t chosen TCD at all. English, my favourite subject, was difficult and History was boring. Worst of all, no one seemed to share my concerns – everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives while I tried not to cry from confusion, loneliness and shame.

By Christmas, I was ignoring work, classmates and dealing with gnawing feelings of panic almost daily. This came to a head in January – someone close to me told me I needed help. I’ve never considered myself “that guy” in terms of mental health – I could always handle it myself. However, a new, softer voice inside me told me that maybe getting wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I have a really strong memory of browsing SpunOut.ie (an amazing resource for young people) and seeing the “anxiety” page. Out of curiosity, I clicked the link, and almost every tell-tale sign applied to me.

Fast forward six months and I’ve been to a lot of counselling and talked to many people close to me about my mental “quirk”. I’m a terribly cheerful Senior Freshman who still gets bouts of worry, but I’ve learned how to deal with it as well as I can. So what compelled me to work through my story again? It’s not exactly fun to think about. Well, I have something to tell the students of TCD, from scared freshman to sabbat: it’s okay not to feel okay when everyone tells you you should be okay. One of my pet hates is the “you have nothing to worry about!” attitude, because anxiety doesn’t care if you have causes or not. The idea put forth that first year is the best year of your life is potentially kind of damaging – first year of college is a rollercoaster of terror, exhaustion, adventure and yes, fun. It’s life changing and very, very scary. And it’s okay not to enjoy it. I didn’t, and I’ll tell anyone who listens that. I hated the first year of college. But you know what? I love second year. I’m delighted I stayed where I was.

I almost didn’t. While anxiety is rarely life-threatening, it can be hugely detrimental. I almost dropped out of TCD because I felt I couldn’t cope with the intellectual gulf between myself and my peers. My competitive, worrying nature almost stopped me from doing what I love. What I hope comes from this article is that this doesn’t happen to anyone else: that students realise that it gets better, should they want it enough. I admit that this is horribly difficult at times – counselling, therapy or even admitting you’re feeling blue is nerve wracking to say the least. However, it’s often the hardest part of the process: letting the floodgates open is often the biggest relief in the world.

College is amazing for mental health. We have S2S, the Student Counselling Service and a fantastic team of officers who refuse to let the stigma of mental health problems stick in Trinity. So this week, I want everyone to take a step back and think about how they’re feeling. If it’s a bit down, I want them to talk to someone else about it. So remember: it’s okay not to enjoy the club nights, the lectures or even college life. The more we talk, the more good we do, and the more good we do, the more we can change the way we act on mental health as a nation.

Consent, communication and comfort: article

Sex has never been simple.  Be it your first time, your hundredth time, the love of your life or a quick hookup, sex can surprise you when you least expect it. Fast-forward to the 2010’s when Snapchat, Skype and sexting are added to the mix – suddenly, sexual relationships have got very complicated. Not only do young people have to worry about STDs and contraception, but we’re also faced with the (sometimes uncomfortable) reality of Snapchat screenshots, texts sent to the wrong person and a whole host of other issues! For young people, the sexual revolution is here, and it’s been digitised.

So what does it all mean? I’m not going to whip up a “moral panic” on this issue, because thankfully the crucial aspects of sex have remained the same. Respect is number one. But what does respect mean? To me, it’s the three Cs: consent, communication and comfort. No matter what the situation, this “Big Three” should always be present.

Consent is, of course, the jumping off point when discussing respect and sex. I read an article recently that suggested that we “hold out for enthusiasm” and I think that that’s hugely relevant to twenty-first century sexual relationships. Consensual sexual activity is not “Okay, FINE” and taking your top off to send a snap.  Sexual activity shouldn’t be so half-hearted, because like all sexual activity, it’s supposed to be fun. The same applies in real life, too. Not feeling the love on a particular night? Maybe you just feel like making out, instead? The importance of understanding another person’s needs/wants is what consent boils down to. Be aware of your partner’s desires, and your own, too.

This leads me on to my next point: communication. As I said earlier, sex is hella complicated. People have different wants, different needs, different things that make them comfortable. Being in tune with this is not only respectful, but it’s going to make you fairly good in bed. Communication is important for so many aspects of sex – if your partner is hurting during the experience, or if they suggest something a little “outside the box”. This is a situation you hear of pretty frequently – how do you respond to a slightly “weird” request from a partner? Well, you can’t laugh it off, but if you aren’t comfortable with complying, it’s best not to. Respecting another person’s sexual desires doesn’t mean complying with them – this is when communication comes in. Maybe find a compromise, depending on the situation. Like all tricky situations, talking solves more problems than you’d thing!

I mentioned being comfortable earlier, which is my final point regarding respectful, awesome sex. Comfort is particularly relevant to “digital sex” and it’s important to understand the boundaries your partner has. Look at it this way: you might be 100% comfortable with your body and whipping it all off for a quick Snapchat, but maybe the receiver is much shyer. Body confidence comes in swings and roundabouts for most of us – everyone feels unsexy sometimes! It’s important to know what you’re comfortable with so you’re able to communicate “the line” to your partner. Likewise, respect your partner’s boundaries – if someone isn’t comfortable with partaking in a certain sexual act, it’s probably not a good idea to try and will them into it.

The discussion of sex and respect is one that goes back a long way and isn’t stopping anytime soon – and that’s a great thing. Consent, communication and comfort are just three things that make for more respectful sex. The digital world is a mindfield for ignoring these “rules” so it’s definitely important to remember in that context too. No matter what the sexual  situation, remembering the importance of respect and all that that involves – for you and your partner – is not only going to make sex safer, but loads more fun! 

Miley Cyrus vs. Sinéad O'Connor: article

Normally, celebrity spats don’t concern me – but sometimes a fight is bigger than two celebs trying to get into the news. One such case is the current “Sinead Vs. Miley” feud that’s dominating gossip columns both here and abroad. Miley Cyrus, pre-teen sensation turned wild child extraordinaire, has been everywhere for increasingly shocking reasons in the past few months. The hyper-sexualisation of Miley Cyrus seems pushed by the woman herself – but is this the case?

Not so, says Sinead O’Connor, who penned an open letter to Miley last week. Cyrus – who has openly homaged O’Connor in her latest video – was warned against “prostituting” herself to the music industry. Done in the “spirit of motherliness and love”, Miley responded by tweeting a screenshot of O’Connor’s tweets from 2011, in the midst of a nervous breakdown

Sinead O’Connor has been criticised for acting when there was no need to – but surely the singer has a right to speak when Cyrus has openly called her an influence. Is O’Connor judging Miley for her actions? Cyrus has been called silly, sluttish, immature and stupid by the media, but never by Sinead in her open letter. It was only when Miley retaliated by tweeting a shot of O’Connor’s infamous breakdown tweets from two years ago the 47 year old (understandably) lost her rag. O’Connor railed against Miley’s tweet, and has since demanded an apology. At time of writing, a third “open letter” has been written and the gossip rolls on.

Having followed the Revolution of Miley and read all three letters, I’ve come to the conclusion that O’Connor, though perhaps not totally right in writing her “open letter”, isn’t the villain here. But neither is Miley Cyrus. What’s important is O’Connor’s point: the music industry was entwined the sexualisation of women with their music in such a way that it bursts open in debates like this. Cyrus is another victim of the cogs of the industry, who indeed meld women into the hyperreal, plastic, sexualised beings we see through every pop culture medium. This point is valid: and no one knows it better than a 47 year old who was once a global star. But if women like Miley Cyrus, Rihanna and Britney insist on sexualising themselves to sell records, they’re sending a message that this is the way to get things done. Rihanna and Britney have both recently released raunchy, S & M themed videos. Is this how to dominate the pop world?

Only if you want it that way, argues feminist/punk/artist Amanda Palmer. She wrote an extensive blog on the issue, claiming that both women “need more freedom to say what they want… express what they want… and be respected for their bravery, not reprimanded for endangering themselves.” Palmer’s response has been widely praised, but it’s also easy to see that Palmer exists in a sphere outside mainstream pop music. Can a  self-promoting, label-free folk punk artist understand the pressure a globally recognised face like Miley Cyrus is under? Is Miley really doing what Miley wants by acting like a “twerking, raging sexpot?” Palmer seems to think so, failing to realise one crucial point: Miley’s actions aren’t optional. For her to be taken seriously in the music world, she must become the raging, sexualised ball of crassness she has become. To paraphrase Britney: she’s got to work, bitch.