Originality could be dead in pop music. The genre is so self-referential that it feels like an endless borrowing game, buying into nostalgia for bygone times outside of our own. Artists’ branding in the 2020s has featured copious archival fashion pulls and pop culture iconography, while dominant music trends have included the excessive sampling of throwback hits and iconic melodies. This is an unavoidable aspect of pop, and not necessarily a measure of creative lack. However, it can either give long-forgotten tracks a necessary boost of life, or appear as a cheap way to chase the ever-elusive ‘hit’. 

Yet, as the decade is proving, generic boundaries are once again breaking down, with dance and electronic sounds becoming the pop standard, and people longing for artists at their most genuine. Of course, this was demonstrated most prominently by Charli XCX’s shift between the ultra-conventional Crash and the more personal and re-focused Brat. However, she isn’t the only person creating from a place of greater authenticity, over the pursuit of musical trends.

Catherine Garner, known as Slayyyter, has been chasing fame for almost ten years now. She started out making ‘lo-fi pop’ from her bedroom closet, before bursting onto the music scene in 2019 with a string of electro-pop tracks such as ‘Mine’, ‘Daddy AF’, and ‘BFF’. Though her songs all proved TikTok-popular, they never seemed to translate fully out of a chronically online space into the cultural mainstream. 

Slayyyter’s previous works were great projects that felt authentic within their self-aware pastiche, but all tied themselves to various personas; the music did not necessarily represent the creative voice behind it. Their inability to produce the success she’d hoped for, even when striving for commercial viability, drove her to make a decision – her next album would be the last, one final go at being a star before she called it quits. After an edgier sonic shift in a single she dropped in 2024 titled ‘No Comma’, Slayyyter began working on her third studio album, WOR$T GIRL IN AMERICA. The first single, ‘BEAT UP CHANEL$’, was noticed by Columbia Records, allowing her career trajectory to finally change.

The album is an advent of originality, reconnecting Slayyyter to her Missouri roots and the rawer and previously unseen parts of her life, while refusing to chase trends. She focused instead on her own interests and ended up producing her most unique work, unplagued by formula. She describes it as “iPod music”, a “sweet spot of 2010s indie electronic”, encompassing songs she would’ve curated in her teenage years, when individual songs were bought and not readily available as in the streaming era.

WOR$T GIRL is intrinsically tied to its DIY approach to visuals. Each song has a self-directed music video, while costumes are hand-made or utilise pieces from her own wardrobe. Nothing feels too put together; instead, it is a patchwork of influences, from her Midwestern upbringing, to Tumblr mood-boarding and her music and film literacy (note the frequency of Lynchian rabbit imagery). She is still provocative and ‘trashy’, but forgoes hyper-feminine glam and seeks imperfection, her lyricism newly exposing. This is not just an additional layer to the album, but helps to form its thesis. 

The album’s cohesive through-line does not prevent it from textural layering throughout its 14 tracks. Distortion is a sonic mainstay, with songs entrenched in grime and aspiration. The album’s opening track, ‘DANCE…’, cuts in at almost five minutes, its long intro crescendoing into a thumping bassline which transports its listeners to an unrestrained club atmosphere. ‘CRANK’, ‘OLD TECHNOLOGY’, and ‘YES GODDDD’ are aggressive, the sound dialled up to 100 with maximalist production, heavy bass, and gritty and intense synthwork. Slayyyter is keen to prove her own musical capabilities, the album paring back with dreamy indie electronic as in ‘GAS STATION’, and the wistful, nostalgic ‘UNKNOWN LOVERZ’, while ‘CANNIBALISM!’ is more rock-focused but vocally driven, oscillating between screams and hypnotic crooning. WOR$T GIRL seeks out the personal and sometimes ugliest parts of success, lyrically wavering between self-assertion and profound insecurity on ‘WHAT IS IT LIKED, TO BE LIKED?’ and the satirical, spoken-word hallucinatory journey of ‘I’M ACTUALLY KINDA FAMOUS’. 

There is also something personal enclosed here, best represented by the final track, ‘BRITTANY MURPHY’. Slayyyter has remarked that it encapsulates the album’s overall feeling and reflects the message she tried to get across. Its summery atmosphere and almost-robotic vocals conceal an inner depth, with the artist at her most vulnerable, as she ponders on feelings of inadequacy and suicidal ideation. The patchwork of WOR$T GIRL finally converges here, allowing the artist herself to shine through.

Maybe pop is a borrowing game, but when influences are being used like in Slayyyter’s music, it is difficult to say there isn’t still something unique to be found. Perhaps the problem is not creative pastiche itself, but the constraints of formula imposing themselves in the streaming era, making the genre so homogenous. It seems as though audiences respond far better to work that doesn’t try to mould itself, but goes against the grain through the expression of artistic freedom. In Slayyyter’s case, authenticity is the motivator, and her refusal to conform seems to be paying off. 

As I write this, I’m hurtling down the East Coast Mainline at 120 miles per hour – the speed at which I feel I’m travelling through my university experience. Only nine weeks to go, and that’s it: the final year. Things start getting serious.  

But, from my experience of the Oxford life thus far, this ‘seriousness’ is a thing worth keeping at a safe and respectable distance. As a bright-eyed fresher, determined to excel academically at one of the best universities in the world, I forgot to look for the things outside the curricular last year. I signed up for societies that I never went to, events that I would miss, balls that I was too exhausted to enjoy. The reality was that I forgot about the ‘normal’ university life, and pursued what I thought the ‘Oxford’ life should be. In the mind of my over-eager first-year self, Oxford was about the work, about the grind, about the one-hundred-and-one percent academic effort.  

To some extent, I still believe that this is true. The Oxford experience is slightly different from what most of us expected from university. We were told to ‘make the most’ of our time here, told that it would be the best years of our life. For lots of people, such a sweeping statement is overwhelming; it contains too much, it has the potential to spiral into a never-ending train of sports clubs, socials, projects, trips. But, for me, this sort of mindset was exactly what I needed after the burnt-out academic frenzy I had mixed myself up in throughout my first year.  

The demand on Oxford students is obviously immense, and I had convinced myself that university life at Oxford should be purely academic, that anything else was a distraction from the real reason I was here. I would be undeserving of the place I’d worked so hard to gain if I wasn’t wholly and completely committed to the degree. I would be lying if I said that I’m not a little sore about the comparative lack of work my friends at other universities have – in my mind, other universities were about drinking, socialising, and exploring. Oxford had no time for that. Here, I stand corrected. I have been thoroughly surprised by the wealth of things people get up to at this university. It turns out that even clever people get drunk.  

When I began my second year, I was determined not to make the same mistake again. This time, I would commit myself to the societies I had abandoned last year. I would go to the events, I would take on all these opportunities. I threw myself into everything that I thought I would never have time for, just to prove my past self wrong. And I realised that it was possible to thrive academically as well as to have an enjoyable life outside the tutorial. I joined the college choir, wrote articles, edited student publications, took days out in the Cotswolds, joined independent bands. All of this, and I have actually achieved better grades than last year, and had more time off. Now, more than ever, I feel that I am living the true ‘university experience’, and I haven’t had to sacrifice any sleep, or grades, to get it.  

But, the truth is, no matter how many societies we join, how many clubs we attend, articles we write, or places we go, many of us will still feel as though we aren’t fully taking advantage of the vast wealth of opportunities that Oxford has to offer. For everything you try, there are five things that you haven’t. With such short terms it can feel impossible to taste every flavour of university life. And that’s because it is.  

At this point in my degree, I’ve come to accept that the most important thing to figure out is what you want your university life to look like. Whether that’s pure academic commitment, exploration of societies, or developing skills beyond the degree. I know people who are involved in more societies and sports and social events than me. I know people who are involved in less. Yes, it can be exhausting to even consider every possible way to spend your time at university, especially at Oxford. But, isn’t it just as bad rotting away behind a laptop screen staring blankly at a document titled ‘Week 6 Essay’? For me, taking a step back from the academic side of university life and learning to explore the world outside books was the best thing I could have possibly done for myself; the benefits have been enormous. I’ll never remember an afternoon spent tucked away in the Rad Cam, pouring over PDFs. But the memory of a trip to Charlbury, spent wading through mud on a cold day in February, will stick with me even after I graduate. Others may find the opposite, but, at the end of the day, nobody is missing out.  

You cannot be in control of the rapid pace of Oxford life, but you can be in control of your own pace,: in control of what you can and can’t take on. You can learn what it is that you want to remember from these ‘golden years’. And that’s the beauty of university life – there is no one way to do it.  

The skull-numbing alarm rang out in the darkness. I fumbled for my phone: 8.21am. The rain pattered against my accommodation window, and I could hear gusts of wind blowing outside. It would be a soggy walk to my 9am lectures, and a cold one at that. It was peak January. Swiping snooze, I lay in bed, wishing very hard I could hibernate.

The high point of winter is always Christmas. The preceding three or four weeks are filled with Christmas markets, mulled wine, and mince pies. And then it crashes. Following New Year’s Day, there is not a hint of winter festivity in sight, while freezing weather stubbornly remains for the next two months. Is it any surprise that up to 10% of people living in the UK experience winter seasonal affective disorder (SAD)?

Indeed, SAD is a recognised mental health condition, defined by experiencing depressive episodes during certain seasons of the year. However, although winter depression is 30 times more common than summer depression, it is important to acknowledge that SAD is not confined to winter months. SAD is typically characterised by persistent feelings of sadness and emptiness. In the winter, it can present as oversleeping, overeating (with a particular inclination to carbohydrates), and social withdrawal. These elements of SAD might go unnoticed, though, as they are reflected within broader elements of culture. For example, hearty, more filling meals are associated with colder months, and lounging in bed for longer periods of time is more socially acceptable in the winter.  

SAD is a multifactorial condition, with both genetic components and disruption to circadian rhythms, as a result of natural seasonal changes, thought to be potential causes. A circadian rhythm is the body’s biological clock, regulating a person’s sleeping and waking, as well as their metabolism and internal temperature. It makes sense that the changing seasons disrupt this. In the winter, it feels counterintuitive to wake up when it is still dark outside, and bizarre to leave the Rad Cam at 5pm to find out that night has already fallen.      

One of the biggest struggles of winter is that outdoor activities, some of the usual remedies for low mood, must be squeezed into a very narrow eight-hour window of daylight. One could go running after dark, but this is not always safe, especially when alone. And on top of lectures, practical classes, and tutorials during term time, it is nearly impossible to fit in a 5k run with such limited daylight. Another important factor to consider is the weather. It doesn’t matter if there is still daylight, or if I have spare time, if it is pouring buckets and five degrees. Not much could convince me to put on a skort and play netball at that point. It appears that the UK population and I are in agreement, as it has been reported that two in five adults spend less than an hour a day outdoors. As a result of less outdoor-seeking behaviour and lower UV levels, the NHS recommends Vitamin D supplementation for everyone during winter and autumn months. 

This year, the early weeks of March brought abnormally sunny weather. My friends and I ruthlessly capitalised on this, flocking to Trinity gardens and plotting our first Pimm’s of the year. Hilary term gave us a small, tantalising taste of what the oncoming term could offer: early morning rowing sessions with the sun reflecting off rippling water; days spent studying in college gardens; evenings topped off with cocktails on benches outside the King’s Arms. It sounds heavenly. 

As spring firmly takes root and Trinity term looms, I envision myself reincarnated. Gone are the days of thick jumpers and jeans worn for the tenth time in a row. Instead, they are replaced by pretty tops and white linen trousers. Gone are the days of carb-loading on jacket potatoes and cheesy chips. Now there are only smoothie bowls and salad. The longer days and shorter nights represent a new start, a self-renaissance of sorts. 

The ultimate conversation starter in primary school was a real antagoniser: “Which is better, winter or summer?” The winter faction would diligently argue their case: summer gets sweaty, sunburns are painful, and hot nights are a faff to sleep in. But I stand armed with my suncream and handheld fan. I’ll take summer any day.      

The blaring alarm rings out once more. This time, the sun falls through the curtains into my bedroom: 8.21am. I’m awake and ready, it’s spring at last.