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More than 80% of women in England and Wales will become mothers at some point during their working lives, according to OECD figures. Most of these women will have two children around two or three years apart, spending at least 20 years of their adult lives with a child under 18 and creating significant childcare needs for some of this time.
The current price of childcare is high, averaging £149 per week in Great Britain for 25 hours of care for a child under two years old. This represents about 60% of the minimum wage earnings of someone working part-time (around 25 hours per week), and 25% of the median full-time earnings for a woman in Great Britain.
Availability is also a problem. Only 57% of local authorities report having enough childcare places for children under the age of two.
Career breaks during motherhood are a major driver of the increase in the gender pay gap over the child-bearing years. Mothers’ earnings ten and even 20 years after the birth of a first child are about 20% lower than a similar childless woman. Fathers’ earnings over the same life stages do not show any evidence of these “child penalties”.
Having children creates a double hurdle when a mother is deciding whether and how much to work. First, childcare fees substantially reduce take-home pay. But also, time is valued differently. When not at work, it changes from leisure time to time spent with your child (and a little leisure too, of course).
Both hurdles reduce the attractiveness of work. But while the latter reflects a combination of individual preferences and social norms, the former – childcare costs – can be overcome with the right policies. If these policies do not alleviate childcare costs and give parents (affordable) ways to work, mothers will lose out in the long term – but so will the wider economy.
On an individual level, wage growth is affected by the decision to work part time or not at all because only full-time employment typically leads to wage progression. The relative penalties of choosing a part-time job or no work are particularly marked for graduates.
Lower wages will also have a negative impact on both women’s independence and on their productivity, feeding into the economy. Low wages and hours worked by mothers, combined with parents’ separation are an important source of child poverty. In less educated families, women’s employment is the most effective measure against the incidence of child poverty.
Research shows that childcare subsidies are the most effective policy for raising mothers’ labour supply, particularly among low-skill households. Unsurprisingly, subsidies conditional on work are a more effective incentive to get people to seek or remain in employment than unconditional child credits, which can reduce the attractiveness of work.
Research also shows that childcare subsidies can be partly self-financing over the long term. If mothers work more now and then enjoy more wage growth over time, they are more likely to continue to work and earn more in the future. This means they will pay more income tax, which could offset some of the initial government spending on childcare subsidies.
But designing childcare subsidies should not just be about cost and the average price per hour of care for young children. Research on what other countries do shows there are four dimensions that typically affect families’ choices:
One factor that tends to limit the power of such policies is the strength of prevailing social norms. Public opinion (and academic literature) on the role of mothers, fathers and childcare providers in the wellbeing and development of young children has evolved over past decades. It is now much more socially acceptable for mothers to work and fathers to be more involved in childcare.
Such thinking also affects government choices when it comes to developing policies to support families. Individual perceptions on the role of mothers as the primary caregiver have been found to drive both mothers’ labour force participation and their decision to have children in cross-country comparisons. These social preferences will also drive political support for childcare policies and hence policymakers’ choices.
In the medium term, childcare subsidies can reduce the gap between mothers’ and fathers’ career paths, and increase mothers’ economic value in the working world. But beyond this, higher rates of employment among mothers in this generation will also influence the next generation’s perceptions about the compatibility of career and motherhood.
By helping to shape future social norms, childcare subsidies could offer more choices to mothers – not only today, but even more so for the next generation of women.
Helene Turon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Many people saw their eating habits change during the COVID-19 lockdowns. Some ate more frequently or experimented with healthier recipes. Others ordered more deliveries.
But human diets weren’t the only ones to change. In a recent study, we found that lockdown triggered changes in the diets of London’s peregrine falcons. London is home to as many as 30 breeding pairs of peregrines (one of the world’s largest urban populations).
The emergence of high-definition web cameras now means that scientists can record every bit of food that peregrines feed to their young. Our team of 50 citizen scientists analysed live stream footage from peregrine nests across 27 English cities to determine what the birds were eating. We observed the nests throughout the 2020-2022 breeding seasons, allowing us to track the changes to their diets that occurred during and outside of lockdown periods.
In London, peregrines ate a lower proportion of feral pigeons (-15%) during the lockdowns. Instead, they caught more starlings (+7%) and ring-necked parakeets (+3%).
Peregrine falcons depend on prey animals like pigeons for food. But, as pigeon populations themselves are contingent on humans, peregrines are vulnerable to changes in human activities. Our results demonstrate that humans are a key, but underappreciated, part of the ecology of urban environments.
Pigeons – which descended from the cliff-dwelling rock dove – have adopted our cities as their homes. In highly urbanised cities, humans support feral pigeons both intentionally and otherwise through the production of litter and food waste. These pigeons are now present in such vast numbers across London that feeding them is banned in particular locations, including Trafalgar Square.
Around 13 million racing pigeons are also released into the wild in the UK each year – and some of them will turn up in our cities. Birds of prey subsequently catch 8% of these pigeons. Yet, the importance of racing pigeons to the diet of urban peregrines remains uncertain.
When pandemic restrictions were imposed, the pigeon racing season was suspended and these birds were confined to their lofts. Feeding opportunities for feral pigeons also dwindled in urban areas as people were advised to stay at home. This forced hungry pigeons to spread out in search of alternative food sources, meaning fewer pigeons were present for peregrines to feed on.
The wide geographic coverage of our study also revealed that the effects of social restrictions on peregrine diets were uneven across the UK. London was the only city studied where the proportion of pigeons eaten dropped significantly. Across the other cities studied, pigeons took 0.3% more pigeons on average during lockdown periods than outside of them – an insignificant change.
This is likely due to London’s particularly large non-residential central area. The city’s core emptied as people stopped commuting and the food and retail sector ground to a halt. So London’s pigeons had to cover more ground than their counterparts in smaller cities to reach residential areas where people could still feed them.
Large pigeon flocks that are drawn to humans in parks or squabble over food waste at litter bins are familiar sights for city dwellers. We take these daily interactions for granted or see them as pests. But pigeons contribute to the success of apex predators like the peregrine falcon.
Pigeons are subject to pest control programmes globally. Countries like Singapore and Switzerland have opted to manage pigeon populations by targeting their human food sources. For example, the Swiss city of Basel halved its street pigeon population between 1988 and 1991 by prohibiting their feeding.
These measures are often imposed to improve public hygiene. Research has found that pigeons can pass infectious diseases like ornithosis and paramyxovirus onto humans through their droppings.
Their excrement is also corrosive and can cause substantial damage to buildings. In 2003, the then Mayor of London Ken Livingston said pigeon droppings had caused up to £140,000 worth of damage to Nelson’s Column and other monuments in Trafalgar square.
But pigeon management overlooks the needs of the wildlife that share our cities. Our study offers a glimpse into how these efforts may have consequences for apex predators particularly in large cities, where the raptors may be more vulnerable to swings in the population of their pigeon prey.
Previous research found that measures to control rat populations in the eastern US city of Philadelphia in 2013 forced red-tailed hawks to switch to eating pigeons, which they are poorly suited to catching. While London’s peregrines had starlings and parakeets as backup prey during lockdown, raptors in cities worldwide face the growing pressure of their prey being eradicated to protect humans from disease.
Given the importance of pest species to urban falcons, we must consider what could happen to urban raptor populations if these “undesirable” pest species are eradicated. The ecological impacts of the COVID-19 lockdowns remind us that we are part of urban ecosystems. Perhaps it’s time to reconsider how we co-exist with urban animals, working with rather than against them.
Brandon Mak received research funding from the British Trust for Ornithology and King's College London for this study.
Ed Drewitt received a small grant from the British Trust for Ornithology to support the purchase of some equipment that supported this study.
In July 2021, Kew in London experienced a month’s rain in just three hours. Across the city, tube lines were suspended and stations closed as London experienced its wettest day in decades and flash floods broke out. Just under two weeks later, it happened again: intense downpours led to widespread disruption, including the flooding of two London hospitals.
Colleagues and I have created a new set of 100-year climate projections to more accurately assess the likelihood of heavy rain downpours like these over the coming years and decades. The short answer is climate change means these extreme downpours will happen more often in the UK – and be even more intense.
To generate these projections, we used the Met Office operational weather forecast model, but run on long climate timescales. This provided very detailed climate projections – for every 2.2km grid box over the UK, for every hour, for 100 years from 1981 to 2080. These are much more detailed than traditional climate projections and needed to be run as a series of 20-year simulations that were then stitched together. Even on the Met Office supercomputer, these still took about six months to run.
We ran 12 such 100-year projections. We are not interested in the weather on a given day but rather how the occurrence of local weather extremes varies year by year. By starting the model runs in the past, it is also possible to verify the output against observations to assess the model’s performance.
At this level of detail – the “k-scale” – it is possible to more accurately assess how the most extreme downpours will change. This is because k-scale simulations better represent the small-scale atmospheric processes, such as convection, that can lead to destructive flash flooding.
Our results are now published in Nature Communications. We found that under a high emissions scenario downpours in the UK exceeding 20mm per hour could be four times as frequent by the year 2080 compared with the 1980s. This level of rainfall can potentially produce serious damage through flash flooding, with thresholds like 20mm/hr used by planners to estimate the risk of flooding when water overwhelms the usual drainage channels. Previous less detailed climate models project a much lower increase of around two and a half times over the same period.
We note that these changes are assuming that greenhouse gas emissions continue to rise at current rates. This is therefore a plausible but upper estimate. If global carbon emissions follow a lower emissions scenario, extreme rain will still increase in the UK – though at a slower rate. However, the changes are not inevitable, and if we emit less carbon in the coming decades, extreme downpours will be less frequent.
The increases are significantly greater in certain regions. For example, extreme rainfall in north-west Scotland could be almost ten times more common, while it’s closer to three times more frequent in the south of the UK. The greater future increases in the number of extreme rainfall events in the higher resolution model compared with more traditional lower resolution climate models shows the importance of having k-scale projections to enable society to adapt to climate change.
As the atmosphere warms, it can hold more moisture, at a rate of 7% more moisture for every degree of warming. On a simple level, this explains why in many regions of the world projections show an increase in precipitation as a consequence of human-induced climate change. This new study has shown that, in the UK, the intensity of downpours could increase by about 5% in the south and up to about 15% in the north for every degree of regional warming.
However, it is far from a simple picture of more extreme events, decade by decade, as a steadily increasing trend. Instead, we expect periods of rapid change – with records being broken, some by a considerable margin – and periods when there is a pause, with no new records set.
This is simply a reflection of the complex interplay between natural variability and the underlying climate change signal. An analogy for this is waves coming up a beach on an incoming tide. The tide is the long-term rising trend, but there are periods when there are larger waves, followed by lulls.
Despite the underlying trend, the time between record-breaking events at the local scale can be surprisingly long – even several decades.
Our research marks the first time that such a high-resolution data set has spanned over a century. As well as being a valuable asset for planners and policymakers to prepare for the future, it can also be used by climate attribution scientists to examine current extreme rainfall events to see how much more likely they will have been because of human greenhouse gas emissions. The research highlights the importance of meeting carbon emissions targets and also planning for increasingly prevalent extreme rainfall events, which to varying degrees of intensity, look highly likely in all greenhouse gas emissions scenarios.
The tendency for extreme years to cluster poses challenges for communities trying to adapt to intense downpours and risks infrastructure being unprepared, since climate information based on several decades of past observations may not be representative of the following decades.
Don’t have time to read about climate change as much as you’d like?
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Elizabeth Kendon receives funding from the joint BEIS/Defra Met Office Hadley Centre climate programme (grant GA01101).
If children are built, in part, by the books they’re raised on, then I was all Roald Dahl. From my small bedroom in suburban Essex, his stories allowed me to try on new and distinctly more exciting lives for size.
There was James aboard his giant peach, George with his marvellous granny vanquishing medicine and of course, Charlie, who wins a trip to a chocolate factory and a lifetime’s supply of sweets — for the grandchild of a dentist, an impossible dream.
And Dahl was my dream maker, a fairy godfather, a living wizard. So much so that when I, the adoring fan, eventually met him at a Puffin Club convention I was rendered mute under his spell.
His books represented escape from the humdrum of the everyday that I recognised even aged seven. And more than that, they were an education. I learned new words as well as important lessons. Enemies can be bested, no matter how much bigger they are, grown-ups aren’t always right and reading books is, in itself, a kind of magic.
However, looking back through a more forensic lens, there were other, less edifying ideas I picked up as well.
From The Twits, I learned that the “African language” that the Muggle-Wump monkeys spoke was “weird”. From Charlie and the Chocolate Factory I learned that being “enormously fat” was a character flaw, on a par with selfishness. From The Witches, I learned that being bald, as a woman, meant you were probably evil and definitely ugly. Daft, obviously, but still it lingered in my 30s when to my abject horror, I developed alopecia.
So, I was invested in the argument when, in February 2023, it was revealed that Dahl’s publishers, Puffin, have made some tweaks for the latest print runs. There has been an outcry, with everyone from author Salman Rushdie to UK prime minister Rishi Sunak weighing in to condemn this “censorship”, as if Puffin were burning or banning books.
The fact that this was done in discussion with Dahl’s estate cannot assuage them, nor that these small changes are the kind made every day to books either pre-publication or before a new print run.
Read more: In the far from diverse publishing industry, sensitivity readers are vital
And the changes are small. That language is no longer “weird”, just “African”. Augustus Gloop is no longer “enormously fat”, just “enormous”. Mrs Twit is no longer “beastly and ugly”, just “beastly”. A witch posing as a woman is no longer likely to be a “cashier in a supermarket or typing letters for a businessman” but may be a “top scientist or running a business”.
The stories and Dahl’s voice with his energetic, inventive turns of phrase, remain intact. A win, surely? Or is it? Because, while the language might be superficially “fixed”, the books still contain problematic themes and character traits.
Baldness in women is still linked to badness. Being “enormous” is still a character flaw. And this is before we begin to unpack the Oompa-Loompas, albeit in their new gender neutral guise.
When we read, we learn what it might be like to be someone other than our self. We find common ground as well as differences. In other words, we learn empathy. But through Dahl, the spectrum of those with whom we’re invited to empathise or even to recognise as “like me” is fairly narrow, while too many others are sidelined as bad in their difference, potentially leading readers to reject them off the page as well.
So what is the answer to this and other “difficult” texts? (Dahl, of course, isn’t the only author to have equated ugliness or disability with villainy, nor to display chronic fatphobia.)
As an expert in creative writing, my preference would be to let them quietly fall out of print. No “censorship”, but no reruns either. Don’t give them a brand new foil wrapper that suggests the contents are fresh and 21st century. That implies a currency, a relevance, a truth.
Instead let them sit on the shelves of parents and grandparents (who are the real Dahl fans now, children have far wider taste) and be seen, with their cracked covers and dog-eared pages, for what they are – things of the past, to be appreciated as such.
It’s not as if, without Dahl, there will be a void with no funny books, no magic books, no books about giants to fill it. Bookshops don’t have enough shelves for the myriad new releases. The Lollies Prize celebrates brilliantly funny new books for children every year. Empathy Lab curates an annual collection of around 50 new books that don’t skimp on stakes or adventure or menace, but also work to nurture inclusivity.
I was a child of Dahl and am indebted to him for nurturing my love of words. But I’m glad my own daughter showed scant interest, for there are more stories out there, and better ones, to shape her generation and the next.
Jo Nadin is a member of the Society of Authors (SOA) and the Authors Licensing and Collecting Society (ALCS). Her book, No Man's Land, is part of the Empathy Lab collection. Her book, The Worst Class in the World Gets Worse, is shortlisted for the Lollies Prize.
At this year’s Brit Awards, British artist Harry Styles took home the most coveted award of the night, album of the year, for Harry’s House. He beat the likes of grime artist Stormzy, indie group The 1975 and the other big winners of the night, indie band Wet Leg. Styles also took home the awards for British artist of the year, song of the year (for As It Was) and best pop/R&B act.
Styles swept all categories in which he was nominated. He also found great success at this year’s Grammys, winning three of the six awards he was nominated for, one of which was the ceremony’s most sought-after award, Album of the Year – beating Beyoncé.
Styles has found worldwide success with Harry’s House. It is a well crafted pop record that inspires joy and comfort through its breezy nature. This sort of happy, easy listening is exemplified in the album’s three singles – As It Was, Late Night Talking and Music for a Sushi Restaurant.
It’s difficult to pinpoint what makes a good pop song. The features that come together to make a hit are often elusive to most song writers. The sociologist Antoine Hennion (1983) suggested that it was a combination of musical style and technique, the producer, the media, and the public. All combine to create a successful song.
However, I think this approach makes music clinical, as if it is a formula to be followed. Sometimes what makes a song or an album popular is simply the way it makes us feel.
The album’s first single As It Was leans toward a more pop-focused sound paired with a catchy chorus and euphoric instrumentation, featuring church bells. The lyrics discuss a romantic relationship and mental health issues, while also hinting towards the end of the pandemic.
The song represents people’s need for escape and is purely enjoyable, danceable pop music. Variety called the song an “effortlessly joyful lead single” which “bursts through like the sun after a summer downpour”.
Styles’ second offering, Late Night Talking, also falls into this pop-focused sound. The song discusses the experience of talking about absolutely nothing with someone you have a crush on, something we can all relate to.
The lyrics sometimes don’t make sense but the punchy chorus is perfect for singing at the top of your lungs with friends. The instrumentation is simple but draws on 80s synth-pop and leaves you with a feeling of nostalgia.
These songs make you want to dance and sing with your friends and I think that is where the magic of this album comes from and why it was received so well by the public. One reviewer commented that the album was full of “songs that blast to the heart of old-school funk, disco and soul, but never strays into pastiche, homage or cheap retro knock-off territory”.
Harry’s House is simply just fun pop music at the perfect time. We are coming out of a pandemic and are in a cost of living crisis – we need some easy and joyful listening.
Music for a Sushi Restaurant best fits into this category of fun, frivolous pop music. The song draws from pop significantly but is accented by jazz-like scatting and horn blasts throughout, again adding to the joyous nature of the song.
The music video echoes the strange lyrics, portraying Styles as a merman who becomes famous for doing performances in this sushi restaurant. But just as his fame is wavering, the restaurant owners become annoyed with his diva-ish behaviour and Styles ends up meeting the sharp end of a cleaver.
The joy of Styles’ music and visual accompaniments solidifies his place as a purveyor of excellent pop music, one of which the British music industry can be proud.
Jack Williams does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Pressures on gender recognition laws, the strong opposition to drag shows and increasing incidents of violence show that stigmatisation of LGBTQ+ people still exists, especially for those who do not conform to societal expectations around gender and sexuality.
A 2021 report by Stonewall highlighted how people in the UK still experience feelings of “fear, resentment, pity and disgust” towards those who identify as LGBTQ+, especially transgender men and women.
Amid such social turmoil, drag culture has become even more important for representation.
The most visible elements of drag are the fabulous outfits, the drama of lip-synchs and iconic catchphrases. However, the rich cultural history of drag for breaking social conventions and challenging gender stereotypes must not be forgotten.
From the theatres of 16th century England to the height of ball culture in 1980s New York, drag has provoked conversations and questioned social norms.
Drag has always been, and still is, a powerful tool to advance acceptance and raise social consciousness around inclusion within society. Above all, drag’s power is its contribution to the destigmatisation of LGBTQ+ people, which is needed to enhance their self-worth and wellbeing.
Our research focused on the reality TV show, RuPaul’s Drag Race, a reality TV competition for drag queens. The participants are given different challenges every week and their performances are assessed by a panel of judges. These days, it is almost impossible to think of drag without also thinking of the global influence of the show and its creator RuPaul Charles.
Now in its 15th season in the US, with several worldwide spin-offs and a strong social media presence, the show has made important inroads in bringing themes traditionally considered taboo to prime time television. This spotlight has allowed the wider public to become more familiar with the struggles of this community.
In our research, we argue that drag has helped in two main ways: positive representation and humanisation. We also argue that there is much more scope for harnessing Drag Race’s positive momentum and disrupting the backlash against drag.
In their performances, drag queens represent the bending of gender norms (expectations of how men and women should act) in the form of entertainment. Contestants play with gender norms and make it acceptable for their audiences to do the same.
In doing this, they enhance the representation of minorities that have been historically hidden from the public eye. Cisgender men might dress up as divas of the 1950s, gender non-conforming people can play with different gender conventions, transgender men or women explore different domains of gender performances and women can play with both masculinity and femininity.
This provides LGBTQ+ viewers with a rich register of visible identities. Audiences can see themselves represented in the multitude of different performances of drag. Drag has helped the public to become more aware that gender can be a shifting concept and be more open towards the this community.
Drag also has the power to “humanise” LGBTQ+ people by making them more relatable. One of the key features of RuPaul’s Drag Race is showcasing the struggles of gay, lesbian, gender-nonconforming and transgender people.
In the show, contestants tell stories of being stranded when they came out, affected by HIV/AIDS, rejected by their families, or attacked in the streets. These stories allow audiences to understand that other people might have experienced similar struggles.
In a world characterised by episodes of stigmatisation and increased difficulty, brands like RuPaul’s Drag Race can leverage positive representation and humanisation to spread acceptance and awareness.
Different types of organisations (reality TV shows and advertising agencies) can follow the example of drag queens in sharing their stigmatisation experiences and so contribute to shifting public opinion of stigmatised groups.
While the reach of drag as entertainment allows people to be visible and spread important messages, this does not come without sanctions. RuPaul’s Drag Race contestants are often insulted, threatened, and trolled offline and online. However, the representations on the show remain unapologetic, speaking to many LGBTQ+ people who are still finding their feet and need encouragement.
The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Social media has long been a place for makeup enthusiasts and beauty gurus to discuss trends, but that’s not why TikTok users are currently talking about mascara. Young people are using “mascara” as a code word for talking about sex, relationships and assault.
Posts tagged with #mascaratrend generally feature young women using the term “mascara” and associated metaphors to refer to romantic or sexual partners. For example:
I found the best mascara ever but it changed and made my lashes completely fall apart and now I don’t know if I’ll ever trust any other mascara.
Some posts make more direct references to sex, using “(mascara) wand” as a code word for penis:
I love mascara but anything involving the wand terrifies me.
At the time of writing, the hashtag #mascaratrend has generated more than 122.7 million views on TikTok and a wave of social commentary. In part, it is a response to TikTok’s moderation policies – users have criticised its strict moderation of content about sex. Talking about “mascara” allows them to side-step moderation. In this way, the trend reflects longer histories of sex codes designed to get around censors.
This article is part of Quarter Life, a series about issues affecting those of us in our twenties and thirties. From the challenges of beginning a career and taking care of our mental health, to the excitement of starting a family, adopting a pet or just making friends as an adult. The articles in this series explore the questions and bring answers as we navigate this turbulent period of life.
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Media standards have often constrained how explicitly sex can be discussed and presented in public. Under Hollywood’s “Hays Code”, films produced between 1930 and 1967 could not show “excessive and lustful kissing, lustful embraces, [and] suggestive postures and gestures”.
Instead, filmmakers used visual cues and metaphors to reference sexual activity. Famous examples include a crashing wave in From Here To Eternity, and a lighthouse in Casablanca plus lots of post-coital cigarettes.
More recently, contestants on reality romance show Love Island have used a colourful set of codes to describe the extent of their sexual activity.
These codes are doing more than simply avoiding censors. Put in historical perspective, the mascara trend is the latest in a long line of secretive ways young people have found to talk about sex.
The language – whether technical or sentimental – that adults use to discuss sex often doesn’t fit the conversations young people want to have. For example, they may not have words to describe acts such mutual masturbation – so code has been their only language for discussing their experiences.
In postwar Britain, young people ranked sexual activities and referred to these by numbers. This is similar to the American “base” system of sex activity, in which “first base” referred to kissing with tongues, building up to “fourth base/home run” which described penetrative sex.
Mainstream language is especially limited when it comes to talking about women’s bodies and female sexual experience. While young people today are more likely to know the anatomical terms for their genitalia than their predecessors, the language of vulvas, vaginas and penetrative sex can feel awkward and out of place in teenagers’ interactions with one another.
While codes enable young people to make reference to these body parts, it is possible that reliance on euphemisms exacerbates the taboo.
This question of whether codes are helpful or harmful has also been raised in relation to discussions of sexual assault. The mascara trend has prompted many young people to share stories of sexual assault.
For many survivors, it appears that being able to speak in code enables them to disclose experiences that they wouldn’t otherwise.
But this dynamic is complicated. Some sexual trauma professionals have celebrated this trend for how it has encouraged some people to seek support in the wake of assault.
But others have raised concerns that the “banter” aspect of the trend, the vagueness of the code, and the disembodied way in which it presents sexual activity and assault trivialises the issue.
Codes are, by their nature, exclusionary to those who aren’t in on the joke. This can lead to confusion and negativity, especially on social media. Actress Julia Fox became an example of this when she had to apologise for leaving an insensitive comment on a “mascara” video about sexual assault.
But codes’ ability to separate those “in the know” from those who aren’t is crucial to how they function. Particularly for young people, codes allow them to distinguish their sexual cultures from those of adults and authorities.
In recent years, the use of terms such as “v-card” to refer to virginity and initial systems (such as “p in v” to refer to penis in vagina sex) are one example. The initial system reflects a more diverse sexual culture, and can be used to talk about LGBTQ+ sexual activity in a more inclusive way.
At a time when discussions about sexual culture are fraught, the mascara trend has also allowed young people to make sex funny. While the trend has a serious side, many of the posts are tongue-in-cheek. There is kudos to be gained by finding ways to play with the code, for example by extending the “makeup as sex” metaphor.
In addition to side-stepping censors and talking about aspects of sex that are otherwise hidden, codes like the mascara trend give young people new ways of talking about and imagining sex. It allows them to define sex and sexuality in their own terms.
Hannah Charnock does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Most people probably don’t know who the BBC’s chairman is, or even that the BBC has a chairman. Yet this normally obscure figure has recently hit the headlines. Richard Sharp, BBC chairman since February 2021, is a former banker and a major donor to the Conservative party.
Sharp has links with both former prime minister Boris Johnson and current prime minister Rishi Sunak. Around the time of his appointment, Sharp was involved in securing a large personal loan for Johnson through his distant cousin Sam Blyth.
“What I did do was to seek an introduction of Sam Blyth to the relevant official in government,” said Sharp, who said he had one meeting with the cabinet secretary and head of the civil service, Simon Case, to facilitate the introduction. “We both agreed that to avoid any conflict that I should have nothing further to do with the matter. Since that meeting I have had no involvement whatsoever with any process.”
The problem with this is that the chairman of the BBC is appointed by the prime minister.
The story has fuelled accusations of sleaze against the Conservatives. Perhaps more significantly, it’s another bad story for the BBC, coming hot on the heels of drastic funding cuts and uncertainties about the corporation’s future, spoiling the celebratory mood as the corporation marks its centenary year.
However, looking at the history of the role, it’s clear that this is one more episode in a long-running debate about politics and the governance of the BBC.
The position of chairman was created when the BBC became a publicly owned corporation in 1927. The chairman, and the members of the board they oversaw, would be appointed by whoever was in government at the time.
However, appointees were supposed to be chosen on a non-political basis. This system aimed to avoid the appearance of direct state control, while still allowing the government to influence the policies of the BBC.
Initially, the idea was that the chairman would play a hands-on role. However, the domineering first director general of the BBC, Sir John Reith, refused to concede any of his authority. He ensured that the chairman’s role was limited to confirming the policies devised by the director general.
Despite this dilution of the chairman’s powers, accusations have often been made that they act as a tool of government influence over the BBC. These allegations have had some substance.
In 1967, then prime minister Harold Wilson, who thought that the BBC was biased against the Labour party, appointed Lord Hill of Luton as chairman to rein in director general Hugh Carleton Greene. Hill had formerly chaired the Independent Television Authority, responsible for overseeing ITV, the BBC’s main rival at the time.
This was the first time that someone from the world of commercial television had been brought in to help run public broadcasting. It was widely seen inside the BBC as an attempt to put a leash on the corporation. Greene left the BBC shortly afterwards.
Claims about political influence peaked in the 1980s when Margaret Thatcher appointed Conservative supporter Stuart Young as chairman, with William Rees-Mogg (father of current MP Jacob Rees-Mogg) as vice-chairman. Thatcher was concerned that, with its critical coverage of the Falklands War and the Troubles in Northern Ireland, the BBC was undermining her leadership and acting unpatriotically.
One BBC senior executive thought that Rees-Mogg behaved less like a BBC vice-chairman and “more like the leader of the opposition”. After Young died, Thatcher replaced him with another loyal Conservative, Marmaduke Hussey.
Hussey helped force out the BBC director general Alasdair Milne and brought in new, reforming senior leadership, including director general John Birt . Remarkably, Birt managed to win over the Conservatives Thatcher and John Major and Labour prime minister Tony Blair. He later became a senior advisor to Blair’s New Labour.
Subsequently, close links between the Labour party and later BBC chairman Gavyn Davies and director general Greg Dyke didn’t prevent a disastrous clash between the BBC and the government in 2003/4 over the Iraq War. Part of the fallout of this crisis was the creation of new governance structures.
The board was replaced by a new BBC Trust, supposedly to reinforce accountability and editorial rigour. However, this didn’t dilute potential government influence: the members and chair of the trust were all government appointees.
The BBC Trust proved incapable of handling the scandals faced by the corporation from 2011 onwards, including revelations of historic crimes committed by broadcaster Jimmy Savile on BBC premises and evidence of significant mismanagement over a failed archive digitisation project, which cost £100m.
By 2015, even the chair of the trust acknowledged it was not fit for purpose. The following year, it was replaced by a new BBC board: half the members would be appointed by the BBC but the other half, including the chair, would be direct government appointees. Considering recent reports about links between Sharp and Johnson, this system now also seems to be flawed.
Critics of the BBC would argue that problems with the corporation’s governance reflect the outdated nature of the very idea of public broadcasting. It has been suggested, for example, that we might dispense with the public corporation and its links with the state, and instead restructure the BBC as a subscriber-owned mutual like the National Trust.
However, it is debatable whether this change would dilute government influence in any significant way. And many of the things the BBC does, such as the World Service, wouldn’t easily operate under such a model.
The one thing that’s clear is that, after 100 years, we still haven’t worked out the best way to govern the BBC.
Simon Potter does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
More people, particularly young people, are opting to drink less or are cutting it out all together. This change in habits has inspired a healthy industry of non-alcoholic distillates offering reasonable substitutes for gin, rum and whisky, to be stirred up in “mocktails”.
But despite the recent emergence of non-alcoholic spirits and beers as a burgeoning new category, this idea has actually been around for nearly two centuries.
Early “temperance” drinks – such as the Milk and Seltzer, Orgeat Lemonade, and a soda cocktail laced with Angostura bitters – worked well on menus created by famed 19th-century barmen Jerry “The Professor” Thomas and Harry “The Dean” Johnson. Prohibition in the US ushered in a new style of non-alcoholic sippables and imbued creative flair in this category, which remained popular well into the cocktail party heydays of the 1960s.
Even if you’ve never gone on the wagon or taken an oath of sobriety, you may find non-alcoholic drinks surprisingly enjoyable. Here are five historical alcohol-free cocktails to try at home:
1. Parson’s Special
Harry Craddock, the British barman who promoted American cocktail culture in London during the 1920s and ’30s, presided over the American Bar at The Savoy Hotel. Craddock was known for serving the rich and famous hundreds of cocktail concoctions.
In his seminal compilation The Savoy Cocktail Book, published in 1930, he offered a creamy fruit treat called the Parson’s Special. The drink looks deceptively like a Brandy Alexander when served in a small old-fashioned glass.
Ingredients 240 ml freshly-squeezed orange juice
1 egg yolk
1-2 dashes fresh grenadine
Method Shake the juice, yolk and grenadine vigorously over ice. Strain into a small old-fashioned or rocks glass.
2. Keep Sober
Craddock also devised a long drink for customers abstaining from the popular Collinses, Rickeys and Highballs of the day. The Keep Sober appears in The Savoy Cocktail Book too. A rose-tinted, citrusy refreshment, it’s a good alternative for gin-and-tonic lovers.
Ingredients
10 ml fresh grenadine
10 ml lemon syrup
150 ml tonic water
Method Combine grenadine, syrup and water in an ice-filled highball glass. Stir with a spoon and serve.
3. Orgeat Fizz
Victor J Bergeron Jr was a Californian restaurateur who packed up his bags and headed to Havana, Cuba during the early 1930s in search of inspiration for his food and drink menus. When he returned in 1934 to open the first Trader Vic’s, he pioneered a new era in Caribbean- and Polynesian-style cuisine.
As one of the kings of Tiki, Vic crafted dozens of simple, tropical-style beverages. His Orgeat Fizz, featured in his 1947 book Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide, serves up two key components of classic Tiki drinks in one glass: orgeat syrup and fresh lime juice.
Ingredients
45 ml orgeat syrup
Juice of half of a lime
Club soda
Method Pour orgeat syrup and lime juice into a highball glass filled with ice. Fill the glass with club soda. Stir with a spoon and serve.
4. Tea Punch
For something loaded with flavour and colour, Trader Vic came up with his own non-alcoholic answer to a Long Island Iced Tea, which also appeared in his 1947 bartender’s guide. His Tea Punch transforms a regular iced tea into a fruity delight that serves a party of eight.
Ingredients
750 ml strong black tea
1 litre fresh orange juice
250 ml fresh lemon or lime juice
500 ml raspberry syrup
250 ml crushed pineapple 2 litres sparkling water Caster sugar to taste
Method Pour tea, juices, syrup and pineapple over a block of ice in a punch bowl. Let chill. Just before serving, pour in 2 litres of sparkling water.
5. Mandarin Punch
Probably the most elaborate drink a teetotaller or temporary abstainer could ever serve to guests is Trader Vic’s Mandarin Punch, which also appeared in his 1947 bartending classic. A complex blend of fruits and spices, this punch recipe amuses with surprise bursts of flavour and aroma that will make any occasion a celebration. This recipe serves eight.
Ingredients
500 ml caster sugar
24 whole cloves
2 stocks of cinnamon
125 ml water
500 ml fresh orange juice
125 ml fresh lime juice
3 drops spearmint oil
1 tsp chopped, candied ginger root
1 bunch fresh spearmint, finely chopped Sparkling water to taste
Method Simmer the sugar, cloves, cinnamon and water in a small saucepan for ten minutes. Let cool. Pour into a punch bowl with a block of ice. Add the juices, oil, ginger root and spearmint. Stir. Add sparkling water to taste and serve.
Anistatia Renard Miller does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Few of us would question the need to break the silence around mental illness. Countless campaigns have drilled into us that such silence is harmful and that we should try to break it wherever we find it.
Britain Get Talking is one such campaign. It launched with a splash on Britain’s Got Talent a few years ago when hosts Ant and Dec paused the show for a minute to allow viewers to talk to each other about their mental health. When the minute ended, Ant declared: “See, wasn’t hard, was it?”
Doubtlessly, campaigns like this have helped many people open up about their mental health problems, particularly those who have stayed silent because of prejudice and stigma.
However, they can also feed misconceptions about silence in mental illness. They imply that silence in and around mental illness is always bad, rooted in fear and stigma, and any effort to break it is good.
In fact, silence in mental illness comes in many forms.
Some kinds of silence form part of mood disorders like depression. People who have written about their experiences of depression often describe losing their ability to form thoughts and feeling unable to speak.
For example, the author Andrew Solomon recalls that he “could not manage to say much”. Elaborating, he writes, “Words, with which I have always been intimate, seemed suddenly very elaborate, difficult metaphors the use of which entailed much more energy than I could possibly muster.”
This aspect of depression is well-known in mental healthcare. Thinking and speaking less are actually considered two different symptoms of depression. Some research even suggests silence is such a reliable symptom that it might be possible to develop automated tools that diagnose depression based on a person’s patterns of speech.
If you’re experiencing this sort of “depressed silence”, being confronted with campaigns and people urging you to speak might not help, regardless of their good intentions. After all, the problem isn’t that others aren’t open to what you have to say or that they might react poorly to it. It is that you have nothing to say.
Other kinds of silence might be empowering. Some with mental illness are defiantly silent because the people around them ask unwelcome questions or give them unhelpful input. They might wisely choose to save difficult conversations for their therapist.
Such a choice isn’t necessarily rooted in stigma. That someone is well-meaning and knows some facts about mental health doesn’t mean they are the right person to talk to about mental illness.
Silence in mental illness can also feel good. While some people struggle to think and speak, others struggle with thinking and speaking too much.
That might, for example, be the case for someone with bipolar disorder, who experiences episodes of depression as well as mania, which often involves racing thoughts and a compulsion to speak. For such people, moments of peaceful silence can be a hard-won achievement, and sometimes they pay a tragically high price for it.
We rarely hear about these other sides of silence in mental illness. But therapists have recognised the role of silence in supporting mental health, at least since Donald Winnicott published his seminal paper The Capacity to be Alone. And silence in some form is a key element in meditation, which studies have shown can prevent the recurrence of depression.
The silences I have described should perhaps be broken under the right circumstances. Since depressed silence seems to form part of the depressive illness, it may be something the patient has to break with the help of a mental healthcare professional as part of their recovery. Along similar lines, someone might benefit from breaking their peaceful silence in therapy, even if the silence feels good.
For whatever reason, many people won’t find those circumstances with their family, friends, or colleagues, despite the encouragement of a celebrity on TV. The fact is that it is very hard to talk about mental health problems, even with people who love and support us. Sometimes that is because of stigma, but sometimes it isn’t.
We should, of course, continue to strive to make it easier for people to open up about their mental health problems in the right setting. But we have to get rid of the rhetoric that pressures people to break the silence without regard for why they are silent or if speaking would benefit them.
Dan Degerman receives funding from the Leverhulme Trust (ECF-2020-583).
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