Dear Reader,

The train was teeming with fans covered in merchandise, strapped in lace tights and dripping in purple sequin dresses. As the train clattered its way to the stadium, groups gathered in disorganised circles, charged with energy, chattered in excitable voices.

Crammed in the corner of the carriage, I sat alone, quietly, trying not to make awkward eye contact with the women across from me. I focused my gaze on the pill-popping health advertisements plastered to the walls, reading and rereading the banal marketing copy like they were some biblical text.

As the 20-minute journey stretched before me, I couldn’t help but wonder why I was heading to a concert alone. I hadn’t given much thought to going it alone until I was locked inside a metal tube trundling its way towards the stadium.

Subscribe now

Going to a concert isn’t a monumental feat by any means. I wasn’t exactly trekking to Base Camp single-handedly. Though you might have thought I was from the response of others when I mentioned I’d be going on this solo adventure.

I was peppered with questions about safety, about whether I’d be lonely without having someone else to enjoy the experience with. I wanted to see this particular band and didn’t know anyone else who would want to come. So keen to see my favourite band, I hadn’t really thought about the downside of going to a concert alone.

The questions weren’t intrusive or unfeeling. Going to concerts or shows alone, especially as a woman, is unusual and does raise questions around safety; it’s almost common courtesy to inquire if she’ll be okay venturing out into the night on her own.

Sadly, it’s unusual to hear of a woman going to a gig by herself. A study carried out by a ticketing website in 2024 found that 7 out of 10 women haven’t gone to a concert on their own. The women surveyed said the main reason they wouldn’t go to a concert by themselves was that they felt “unsafe” going alone. The study also found that women are three times more likely to struggle with confidence issues and safety concerns when attending music venues, compared to men.

I was going to a concert mainly attended by women, so safety wasn’t a massive concern; however, the risk of anything happening is never zero. Knowing there’s a chance that something could happen to you going out alone does knock your confidence, a confidence already frayed by concerns others might judge you negatively for being on your own.

Despite being in an individualist society, we still see people on their own as outsiders - think the creepy guy alone at the side of the bar or that one girl trying to sidle her way into a group at a get-together. They’re losers, people to be pitied for being alone. We see music, art, theatre, the cinema as communal spaces where you go in pairs or groups.

Maybe this is why the social media trend of ‘solo dates’ appears so adventurous and revolutionary, because it’s bucking the trend that to enjoy going out you have to be with friends. There’s a plethora of content online where influencers travel, go to concerts, and go out for a drink on their own. Solo dates can appear anti-social, but I think in an age of loneliness the content is empowering.

Share

In the UK, a Loneliness Minister has been appointed to remedy the crisis, which is affecting thousands of people and leading to serious mental health issues. In a recent survey, 23% of adults in the UK say they feel lonely. This is most prominent among 16- 29-year-olds.

Of course, the causes of loneliness for each individual are complex, but notably those surveyed say they’re feeling more isolated and disconnected from those around them. The blame has been laid mainly at the feet of social media, but the fact that people are putting off settling down and are unable to afford to live on their own is also playing a part. There’s a sense of loss of community and the momentum to move forward.

When you have a lack of community and are made to feel unwanted or strange for being in public spaces alone, it can make you feel incredibly isolated, unwanted, and drive you into reclusion. Solitude can often be misconstrued for loneliness; this idea that anyone on their own is a recluse puts hurdles in the way of those trying to get out and build community.

My philosophy has always been to do the things I enjoy and not be held back in doing so by people around me. (I should preface that I’m an introvert, so I enjoy travelling alone and going to museums and park walks and reading in cafes the kind of activities in an extrovert’s nightmares.) I feel confident in navigating new situations, but even I have my limits. I still haven’t mastered going to restaurants alone while travelling solo. I feel the stigma from other patrons dining out in groups and couples as I awkwardly spoon food into my mouth. Reading feels too strange too, yet I hope to get comfortable enough to eat somewhere nice without feeling like an unwanted guest.

I love going out with friends and family and sharing conversation and laughter over meals or debriefing on a movie or show we’ve just seen together. It’s healthy to have that social connection, and studies have proven how vital this is. But being able to spend time with yourself, not putting limits on yourself and doing activities in solitude, can open you up to conversations or experiences you may have missed while being distracted by others.

Steaming in the heat, I waited in a queue with a hodgepodge of concertgoers sweating off precisely done makeup, bodies squished together in anticipation of getting inside the stadium.

A woman just over my shoulder asked me if she was in the right queue for her ticket. With just this small exchange of polite inquiry, we began chatting, and soon our small pair grew into a group of six. All women, on our own, all not bothered that we would be hollering and dancing by ourselves to our favourite band. The interaction was short-lived as we parted ways to our various seats, yet our energy was boosted knowing we weren’t the only ones who’d taken the risk to come out alone.

The concert was a blast, by the way, and I’m sure I’ll be doing this again. So go and do those things you’ve been putting off because no one will come with you. Go to that concert, take that trip, or go see that movie. Life is too short to wait for others to go with you.

Leave a comment

Dear Reader,

The June heatwave brought a static heat, the type of heat that ejects Londoners from their uncomfortable homes in search of solace in green spaces. The oppressive air and radiant heat of my flat had also driven me out of the building, seeking both the cool breeze in the mornings and the balmy calm of the summer evenings.

First thing in the morning and late at night during these long bursts of high temperatures, the local park heaves with people sluggishly and aimlessly walking around and around the path that encircles the marshland in the middle.

A regular meander myself, I knew the faces of my regular fellow walkers and runners, the ones out on their daily dog walk, the ones watching their children ride their bikes, and the ones training for their next half-marathon. I also knew when someone was a newcomer, a casual stroller, so it was easy to notice that a new man had entered the circuit.

In the morning and in the evening, he loops the track that borders the large common. He always takes the same anti-clockwise route, often being overtaken more than once by energetic runners gunning for a P.B. on Strava. He’s a large man, tall and weighty. In long shorts, a baggy t-shirt, high socks, and sensible trainers, he’s dressed for exercise.

Clocking a new face, I was paying more attention than usual to this man I’d been walking past these last couple of weeks. As he walked past me, his body moving with full determination, a thought flashed across my mind: ‘That man is trying to lose weight.’

I could see the strain on his face, the heaving chest, the slight puckering of the lips as he puffed out air, the resolute look in his eyes. He was tenacious, and he had a goal: to walk the full circumference of the park.

I felt like I could fully understand this man’s struggle, because I’d been him. I’ve chomped down on a bland salad and dry chicken breast, tied my shoelaces, and power walked my way to self-control. My first-hand knowledge of this dance with dieting left me highly perceptive to other dieters and weight-loss hopefuls.

Leave a comment

As I watched this man trying to make it around the park without giving up, I thought, ‘good on him!’

Good on him?

What did I mean by good on him? Why was I taking pity on this man I’d never met? What did I actually know about why this person was walking in the park?

Good on him. That thought was patronising. I was inwardly cheering him on as if I knew he was in a losing battle, but good on him for participating anyway.

Good on him. He’s out there doing the “right” thing, getting fit, losing weight. Where did I get the impression that a large man walking in the park could only be there for one purpose: to become slim?

The truth is, he could be there for many reasons. He could be walking because he loves to walk, he likes being outdoors, or to clear his head before or after a busy work day. He could also be there for the very reason I thought he was there for, to look after his health.

I stopped my thoughts in their track was because I realised I was doing something I hate, the thing that others have done and do to me – stereotyping. I was gawking at a person who has been imagined by society as being unfit, unmotivated, undisciplined, and unhealthy. In other words, out of place, not normal.

I like to think I was attuned to this man’s purpose through some sort of camaraderie. But how much of this was me being sagacious, and how much was me simply making a swift appraisal of a person’s physique based on years of manicacal messaging around dieting and weight?

The answer is that both aspects are true. I recognise the struggle from my own experience of trying to lose weight, and I was also judging him for outwardly struggling because that’s what we’ve been taught to do.

People who are overweight are judged for everything they do. If you’re out walking or in the gym, you’re there to lose weight and good on you because it must be a struggle for someone who lacks discipline like you. If you’re out eating in a cafe or fast food restaurant, how dare you? You wouldn’t have all those health problems if you chewed on some lettuce leaves.

You can’t be fat and go to the gym because you like going to a gym; it has to be for the purpose of losing weight, and you can’t enjoy a piece of chocolate cake once in a while because once in a while is too much. If you don’t look the way we perceive a healthy person to look, you’re immediately criticised by others around you. It doesn’t matter how well you’ve been doing if you’re not ordinary or perfect-looking people feel like they have the right to critique you.

Diet culture has always given people the excuse to judge an overweight person. Just stop eating, restrict your calories; it’s easy. Now, with the rise of the use of diet drugs like Ozempic, the pressure to be skinny is back.

For a hot minute, it was okay to have the body you have and fad diets were seen for what they are, just ineffective, short-lived, fad diets. The myth of self-control was booted out the door. Now there’s a miracle treatment that cures the disease of being obese. How or when a person loses weight is personal, just like most choices in life. Yet, the quick judgmental thoughts of why a person is fat or why they should lose weight are so ingrained in us that most of us probably don’t know we’re even doing it.

Subscribe now

As I completed my little circuit and made my way home from the park, I couldn’t help but think about how critical of overweight people I’d become without knowing. I couldn’t look at a person who was overweight in public and not feel a little sorry for them.

Good on him, yes, for living his life, for getting out, no matter what size he is, for living his life. Good on him for not paying attention to people like me and enjoying the music or podcast he was listening to, and the sunshine and nature surrounding him. And yes, good on him, if he’s out there for his health, but that’s none of my business.

Share

Dear Reader,

I wanted a pillow. Plump, bouncy, light, breathable, expensive.

I would dream of how glorious every night’s sleep would be with a superior pillow compared to my lumpy, discoloured monstrosity of my limp £4 one. The mere thought of this felt like dipping into a warm pool of luxurious indulgence. Yet swiping my bank card for a £20, or even £30, pillow also felt outrageous.

I resisted this impulse to purchase an overpriced piece of bedding. I was resolute; I wasn’t going to spend money on items that weren’t necessary, and pricey pillows weren’t on the list. I’d made an agreement with myself, I wasn’t going to make frivolous purchases until I had a permanent job.

It was 2025, my first year in London, and money was tight. I was penny pinching where I could. There wouldn’t be any trips to Europe; I would hardly venture outside of London, let alone across the Channel. It wasn’t an altruistic year of frugality but a forced year of not spending.

I was skint.

Yet, in a year that could be described as challenging, I learned a lesson that I thought I knew, but hadn’t really fully grasped, on what it means to be happy while going without.

It was the best of times

I’ve never been reckless when it comes to money. I would have said I was relatively disciplined when it came to spending. Living off a journalism salary, I became adept at budgeting and not splashing cash on items I couldn’t afford.

When I moved to London, I had a healthy amount of money saved, and I was determined not to venture into debt. I naively thought I’d only need to rein in my belt for a couple of months, maybe even six months, but what I hadn’t planned for was a whole year.

It was a year filled with anxiety and uncertainty, but it was also marked by deep insights into my attitude towards money.

Spending the year living off little income and dwindling savings while avoiding debt was a lesson in extreme discipline, a type I hadn’t had to encounter since I was fresh out of university.

This level of penny pinching, for example, not buying a slightly better pillow, was partly self-inflicted and partly forced austerity. I wanted to live within my means, so if I could do without, I made myself do without, but I was also forced to put in place a strict budget. Rent, food and transport were the priorities; everything else was a luxury.

Subscribe now

In a city that has some of the wealthiest people on the planet, London pays abysmally. When money is tight and wages are low, the overwhelming concern becomes your primary needs. Things that bothered me before, whether I had the right makeup, skincare, or latest phone, faded into the background.

I learned quickly how to be confident without the armour of fresh clothing, styled hair and perfectly applied makeup. I had to learn and also come to accept that I was frumpy, my shoes were scuffed, and my clothes looked faded and misshapen. To avoid the feeling of being ugly, unstylish and of looking “poor”, I avoid looking in the mirror and plastered a smile on my face and got on with life.

In what could have felt like defeat, I noticed a shift in how I perceived my new situation. I was experiencing freedom and liberation. My mind wasn’t plagued by thoughts of needing materialistic and unnecessary things. I could no longer afford to keep up with the arbitrary standards of those around me, and I had a profound sense of freedom. The pressure to look my best and be perceived as well put-together had quietened.

Reflecting on my year of no spending, I realised how much anxiety with money had been tied to needing to have“things” - things that others have. Taking away the resource to purchase whatever I wanted or thought I “needed” was strangely liberating.

Share

Being Perceived

How we are perceived or want to be perceived by others is a huge drive for us as humans.

What car we have, what clothes we wear, where we live, and what social activities we do are all indicators of our wealth. We wax lyrical about how our health and relationships are more important than material wealth, yet accumulating it is almost like a primal drive.

Not having a permanent job for a year, I became somewhat of a bystander, watching from my unique viewing point the lives of others around me. It was refreshing for me to be out of the rat race and gain some perspective.

I wasn’t miserable without having new things; I was still living well. If I had any extra cash from freelance or temp work, I enjoyed a nice coffee out with friends. I could still enjoy park walks, books from the library and a good TV show. On close examination, I wasn’t really missing out.

What became apparent to me was this false economy we all exist in of not having enough. I had daily conversations with people about how difficult it was to not have enough money despite having full pantries, a decent home, holidays away from home and nice clothes. I became aware that my friends and I often talked about being financially lacking.

At times I would think, ‘don’t complain, it can get worse. You could be like me, scrambling for work, out of savings, and only dreaming of a nice getaway.’ Yet, I completely understood where they were coming from. Most people aren’t being intentionally greedy. I, too, would express an opinion on my perceived poverty when I was working. It’s the common trap we all fall into - wealth comparison.

We live in a time where there’s immense pressure to be financially thriving. If you don’t own a property, you should be investing or at least saving. It’s hard not to feel like you’re being left in the dust while others are charging ahead into early retirement on the south coast of France. If you weren’t keeping up or doing well at your age (whatever age that is), you’re lazy, stupid or a failure. This type of comparison is an inescapable trap.

As soon as I got a job in London, the pressure to buy the latest this and that washed over me once again. I felt stressed. The list of things I needed to purchase and the cost of it all was overwhelming. The burden that had been lifted from me while I was unemployed and the strange peace of mind I’d gained vanished. I’d been sucked back into a consumer mindset.

I recently took stock, a step back from this urge to splurge and reset my expectations. I didn’t want to fall back into the cycle of spending for the sake of others. I didn’t want to waste all I’d learned in 2025. I wanted that sense of being at peace with the few things I had and the freedom that came with it.

I’m not earning riches, and that’s keeping my spending humble, but I’m finding I’m getting by. Before, I would be full of stress about my salary, but now I know how to live within my means. I’ve learned what’s necessary spending and what’s just perception-building spending. I’ve learned how to be free from the chains of wanting more.

It was the worst of times

It would be remiss of me to preach about the freedom found in not spending money and not touch on the difficulties of earning a low salary. There’s a burden that comes from not having money. Struggling to pay bills, if any emergencies happen, not having any backup is incredibly stressful and soul-destroying.

Not being able to go to every dinner or social event you’re invited to because you simply couldn’t afford the train trip is embarrassing. Not being able to be generous to others because you can’t afford to is disappointing. There were many lonely moments of missing out, the stress of constantly thinking about how I would afford the essentials. Knowing I’d have to wait till next month’s payday to go buy something simple like a pillow was frustrating.

There are a lot of people struggling, so I don’t want to romanticise poverty because I glimpsed it for a brief moment. The world revolves around money, and the cost of living will continue to increase. Going through challenging times is difficult, so I’m not trying to sugarcoat financial troubles.

Share

The day I went to the store to buy my pillow, I was buzzing on the bus. I took my time perusing the shelves, checking the size, feel and puff of the pillows on display. Being able to buy a new pillow was thrilling. Before 2025, I never would have found such simple pleasure in buying a household item.

I’m not sure I’d want to relive that year. Maybe I will one day, the future isn’t certain, I also can’t guarantee I’ll continue to live with less, but I hope I check my privilege more and learn to be thankful for the things I have rather than always wanting more.

Leave a comment

Dear Reader,

Sitting in centre frame, she stares straight down the camera barrel, eyeballing the invisible audience beyond the lens.

This is the first time she’s hit the record button. The slightly stiff posture, the awkward pause after the camera rolls, and the formal way she speaks are the telltale signs she’s never done this before. Yet, there’s a steady confidence in the way she speaks, a liberated confidence that only comes with age.

The shock of white hair, the deep-lined wrinkles, and the soft, fading voice feel out of place on YouTube.

Born in the early 2000s, the social media platform that cut its teeth on raw, unfiltered, poorly edited home-video-style content has morphed into a media beast where slick professionals showcase their creative chops and marketing prowess while building mini media empires.

Seamless transitions, layered story arcs, popping personalities, enviable homes, and hauls all in 8k have usurped the once humble video website, turning it into a new media business.

The glossy polish of modern YouTube videos we’ve become accustomed to makes this one almost jarring to watch. The crossfades are too long, the picture quality is poor, and the delivery is far too rehearsed to the point of being mannered. With all its faults, something is absorbing about this unassuming video. It oozes nostalgia for a time when YouTube’s algorithm fed audiences authenticity, imperfection, at times, chaotic content, rather than the standard over-produced, commercialised influencer slop.

Share

The out-of-place character, an elderly woman on a platform dominated by beautiful performers, is like breathing in fresh, clean air. Her lack of production and casual presentation is trumped by the clear notes she hits throughout her video. She doesn’t ramble; her messaging around the purpose of her channel is clear, she informs and entertains all while claiming her space on the platform with aplomb.

This budding vlogging isn’t your usual YouTube star. She could be your grandmother, your mother, or your great-aunt. Yet, in her retirement, with her burgeoning 100,000-strong subscribers, she is becoming a geriatric social media influencer.

The Granfluencer

Wendy Eden, or Wendy Outdoors, is a granfluencer, the term coined by media for elderly social media influencers. However, the outdoor expert isn’t your average comedy sketching granny here for your entertainment, amusement, or wisdom mining. Wendy is part of a small corner of the internet, providing an inspirational and comforting space of respite from the world.

Wendy’s content is wholesome. She camps, she canoes, she hikes, and travels the back roads of Canada in her RV, all on her own, all in her late 70s.

“My goal is to encourage all people to try to get out there in whatever capacity you can, regardless of your age, ability, or gender,” her bio reads.

Scrolling through her videos, there’s something beguiling about Wendy’s content. It’s useful, uplifting, and beautifully produced in parts. It’s easy to see why she’s gained such popularity on YouTube.

Subscribe now

Lately, I’ve found myself hungrily consuming her channel’s content. Finding her slow and deliberate conversations to the camera a calming balm after a hectic day or week. Becoming a fan of her work, I began to wonder why I was captivated by a woman nearing her 80s, solo camping in Canada. Not one for camping or hiking, or finding myself particularly excited about tenting gear or knowing how to brew coffee over a camp stove, I was curious as to why I was drawn to these videos.

Embarrassingly, it took me a while to realise the fascination stemmed from her age. This content felt fresh and inspiring, not because she was a woman exploring the wilderness, but because she was an older woman filming herself and sharing her expertise with the world.

I hadn’t known it, but I was starving for this type of content. Content from women generations in front of me, showing me that we can live beyond our 20s. I needed this woman to show me that at 77, you can buy a camera, hit record, learn to edit, and pop it on YouTube and start a whole new chapter in your life. I needed to know that as a woman, you can live many, many lives and still have brand new experiences in any decade of life.

Chani Japan is another YouTuber who has caught my attention. An Australian woman who moved to Japan to teach English in her 50s. Feeling “stuck in a rut”, Chani packed up her life in Australia and set out to fulfil a dream she had held for years of living in Japan. Through her channel, Chani documents her move, settling into a new culture and discovering who she is, not just as a foreigner in a new country, but as a woman navigating midlife.

Chani is an everywoman. Someone unsure what’s next after their children leave the house. Yet, unlike Hollywood’s portrayal of middle-aged women, who are blowing up their lives by, say, having an affair with a younger man or joining a yoga retreat, she’s taking a path usually considered to be that of youth, by moving on her own to a completely foreign country.

She shows the possibilities for women beyond men and our image. That we can explore language, culture and be pushed beyond our comfort zone if we have the means to leave home.

Watching her content almost feels groundbreaking, because it pushes against the narrative drilled into women that after youth and beauty is inevitable death. It also pushes against narratives that women perpetuate on each other of accepting our lot in life and not pushing boundaries.

I’ve become somewhat of an evangelist for older, female YouTubers and for women supporting women. I believe the biggest way women can fix the stereotypes and patriarchal influences that dominate our way of life is to support each other. We need this type of content, and we need to champion it.

Women can shape the narrative by consuming each other’s work, supporting each other and normalising women of all ages being in the public eye.

Leave a comment

Dear Reader,

The cars parked askew along the dusty, rocky country lane should have been enough of a sign of what lay hidden just beyond the hill ahead of us.

The sun was warm, heating the gravel beneath, making the walk up the steady slope a little sweatier than we anticipated. We followed the uneven path to the top of the hill, where it curved as it meets the high steel mesh fence enclosing a vast green field beyond.

Scrambling up a narrow, well-trodden path through the grass, we come to a small ridge overlooking the field. Upon the ridge sit 20-30 people, some plonked on picnic rugs baking in the sun, some standing in clusters, taking cover under the shade of the coarse bushes running along the top of the ridge. The group is eclectic; young, old, families, couples, individuals. All eyes are set on the flat plane before them.

An old woman sitting on a folding picnic chair, polite yet testy, waves her hand in the air as if to swat me away. I’m blocking her view. I apologise as she gives me a terse smile and cranes her head to look past me.

Emirates Airbus A380 is about to take off.

You can see the heat from the engines as the double-decker jumbo jet slowly taxis down the runway. There’s a deep thundery rumble from the engine that exudes a powerful force yet is surprisingly quiet. I later learned that this low-frequency roar is a deliberate design feature of this Airbus.

I’ll come to gather other miscellaneous tidbits about aviation, such as why the bushes the crowds were standing by were deliberately planted to stop birds from nesting, helping prevent bird strikes, which cost the aviation industry billions a year.

Almost monomaniacal, every eye on that ridge is set on the mammoth that’s about to propel itself into the sky. Trying not to disturb the audience from the show’s crescendo, we make our way down the ridge and through a trampled-down fence, which locals have taken as a light suggestion to stay out rather than a prohibition from walking along the emergency access road for airport staff.

We follow other casual watchers and trail the road that parallels the runway, and pass by two men with a camera mounted on a tripod. They tracked the plane’s movement as it howled and sped down the tarmac before hauling all 560 tons into the sky.

“They’ll be livestreaming,” my friend mentions as we try not to gawk at the pair.

He shows me the livestream on YouTube later that night. Like a seasoned professional, the man narrates the live footage of the plane we saw earlier in the day as it’s about to take off. He rhapsodises on about the make, the speed, and the conditions.

The livestream went on for over an hour, yet thousands of people tuned in to watch. This is a small viewership compared to most plane spotting videos. Livestreams from airport runways across the globe rack up tens of millions of views, with one of the most popular videos on YouTube currently sitting at 40 million views.

Share

Plane spotters

One of my earliest memories was of my Mum driving us down the road, parking on the verge af the very end of the local airport runway and watching the planes take off over our car. It was magical. The force of the plane taking off above you was visceral.

As I got older, I would park up at vantage points and watch the international flights with friends or family on board, while waving manically as they soared, believing at least in spirit they’d know I was wishing them a safe flight from below.

There’s a magnetic pull air travel can have on people. A gravity-defying mystique for ground dwellers watching physics in action. Its equal captivating and terrifying. One friend of mine will take friends to the airport at all hours to be close to airports and planes taking off, while another friend feels nauseated at the very idea of flying.

I often find myself staring at the sky, watching the contrails as a jet reaches altitude and wondering where the plane is going, who is on the flight and why they decided to get inside a tubular craft heading overseas.

Looking around the group on the hill and listening to intensive commentary on fuselage, air speed, seeing people tuning into the control tower to hear the blow-by-blow instruction of the air traffic controller, I saw that my passing interest doesn’t hold a candle to the passion of plane spotters.

Plane spotting is a little like bird watching or twitching. It’s the hobby of watching and taking photos or videos of aircraft movements at an airport. They generally love any aviation, but many spotters also love the activity of parking up and stationing themselves by a runway and watching their favourite aircraft speed down the tarmac and ascend into the clouds.

Leave a comment

Plane spotting is such a popular hobby that some enthusiasts have turned their passion into a side hustle, posting their content on social media. Others have found community on platforms like Reddit or a dedicated plane spotting website. The hobby is wholesome.

However, it’s not without some controversy from time to time. Like most avid fans, there are moments when spotters take it to the extreme. Some spotters have been arrested for entering military airfields, while others have had warnings about gathering in mass on emergency exits. One town in the UK recently made headlines for the hordes of plane spotters who had descended on the town to see an RAF aircraft.

I appreciate the pleasure spotters get from watching a plane smoothly make a landing and their surgical knowledge of each section of an aircraft’s metal body, even if I can’t see the allure of dedicating my weekends to sitting on dusty ground in the heat watching an airfield.

What it did reinforce for me was the importance of hobbies, being excited to indulge and submerge yourself in something you love. These people on the hill were allowing themselves to enjoy the things they enjoy. They weren’t optimising their time for productivity or bed rotting, they were getting out and getting lost in a pastime.

We’ve been programmed of late to think we all sit and scroll. We do, don’t get me wrong. If you keep scrolling, you will really begin to believe no one is sitting on a bank with like-minded friends or dads with their children passing the time. You’d think the world was burning everywhere and there weren’t any places left to partake in life and build community.

I was genuinely surprised by the number of people out that day. No one looked like a stereotype of an eccentric obsessing over inanimate objects; they were all having a pleasant day outside in the sun, enjoying the company of others, just as excited to be there with them. They were doing what we strive to do, which is to enjoy life.

It gave me hope that maybe, maybe hobbies and community building are still alive and well.

Subscribe now

Dear Reader,

It’s early in the morning. The light is slowly scattering across the horizon while dawn birds erupt in their morning chorus. The world is still and serene at this hour.

My coffee brewed, my oats, topped with juicy fresh berries, steaming in a bowl, I sit down and open my book. I thumb my way through the pages as I sip my coffee. The rustling of the pages turning is loud in the silence of the morning.

This meditative time of food and reading has become a ritual for me, a sacred morning routine. A quiet corner of the day that I haven’t interrupted for the last year. This is a feat for a master habit-breaker, like me. It’s unusual for me to stick with a resolve for longer than a week, let alone a year. Diets, gym routines, writing, and early bedtimes are new healthy habits that have lasted just as long as British prime ministers.

Somehow, reading over breakfast has stuck. So hooked to this practice, I’ve found it difficult to break this pleasurable morning habit, largely due to its profound effect on my mental well-being.

Each morning, I’m absorbed in a world, a perspective being built from the black etchings on the white page before me. The rumblings of the world outside the walls of my apartment, the conflicts raging on, the culture wars forming online - I’m oblivious to it all. It’s just me, my breakfast, and the ideas inside my book.

Share

When I first started reading in the mornings while scoffing down my breakfast, I felt guilty.

‘I shouldn’t be sitting here flicking through a novel, I should be using my mornings more productively,’ I reproached myself. Tranquil mornings were for weekends, not weekdays.

Workday mornings have always felt abrupt. The blaring alarms, the sluggish feeling of waking, the rush to shower, dress, eat, and sprint out the door to get to work made me dread waking up. My first thoughts of the day always consisted of compiling lists of what to achieve at work. To quiet those rushing thoughts, I would unsurprisingly reach for my phone.

Outfit check, scroll.

Productivity hacks, scroll.

Hot takes, scroll.

A.I. generated videos, scroll.

From Instagram, to TikTok, to Facebook, to emails, to WhatsApp.

Click, scroll, swipe, click, scroll, swipe.

We all know phones are addictive. We know it makes us feel anxious, stressed, and unhappy, yet once the habit is formed, it’s difficult to break. I’d tied this habit in with my morning routine. It was a way for me to switch off from thinking about my day ahead. In the lonely, quiet hours of the morning when the world is still dark, it made me feel connected to a wider world that was bursting with excitement and stimulation, which was more exciting than the monotony of the day that lay ahead of me.

Subscribe now

Those mornings were miserable. Bombarded by content, the world was shouting at me as I woke. My brain was overloading with violence, political arguments, products to buy, tips on how I could be more productive, salacious gossip, all before I could make breakfast. Barely cognitive, I was loaded down with second-hand stress before the day had even begun. With long commutes, work pressures, and life concerns, by the end of the day, I was exhausted, depressed, and irritated. Bored lying in bed at night, I’d scroll more before falling into a restless sleep and repeating the cycle once more.

I felt overwhelmed by the smallest things, I was having memory lapses, it was becoming difficult for me to find the right words to articulate myself, and I always felt as if the day was getting away from me. I used to be curious and spent time pondering life’s big questions, and now I could barely concentrate.

I can’t recall the exact moment I decided to bar myself from looking at my phone in the mornings. Maybe I heard it on a podcast, or read it in an article, or even saw a post about it on social media. The plan wasn’t that difficult, but it felt like it would be because my phone had become a clutch of sorts, and reaching for it mindlessly had become normal. But I was determined, I was going to use my mind in the morning rather than scroll on my phone.

The first iteration of this saw me listening to the radio, but I found my mind drifting and stewing on the day ahead. I consumed news websites, but found myself getting distracted by the notifications on my phone, which drew me back to social media.

The problem was the phone itself. I needed to stop using it. So I picked up a book.

Initially, I felt lazy sitting there reading a book so early in the day. Other people were rushing to the gym in the morning, prepping meals, and here was I reading just a couple of pages; I wasn’t even making that much progress in the story.

Yet, as the weeks passed and the more I read, I began to feel calmer in the mornings. My mind was less at sea about the tasks ahead. I felt fresh when I arrived at work, energised even, and focused. My mood had improved drastically. That sense of dread and anxiety was waning.

I was reclaiming my mornings. There was a special space between waking and sitting at my desk that was mine - not the world’s, not my job’s, but mine.

In reality, it was only one hour after waking and before I hit the commute to work, but spending 10-15 minutes reading a few pages gave me time back. My work day had somehow shrunk; it was what I did before and after work that became my focus, and I felt like I had enough time to enjoy those hours.

I’ve become addicted to reading in the mornings. There aren’t many days when I skip it. I do slip up, that’s only human. I feel the gravitational pull my phone has, especially when I’ve opened it up to reply to a message. It’s easy to find yourself looking through social media before your brain has fully computed that you’ve clicked on the app.

There is one small change that has taken place - even when I fall off the wagon, I don’t stay scrolling on my phone. I’ve noticed recently that when I find myself scrolling first thing, I put my phone down sooner than I would have, and I pick up my book and read. I want that space to myself and the peace I feel having that moment of the day uninterrupted by the outside world. My first thoughts aren’t about the day ahead, or talks between warring nations, but on the book I’m reading, whether it’s non-fiction or fiction.

I know what you’re thinking: ‘That’s nice you have the time for that’. I thought that too before I started. But I really don’t spend much time reading most days, I have to get ready, I want a little more sleep, I’ve got things to prepare before I head into work. All I did was replace a habit I managed to find time for in the hustle and bustle of getting ready in the morning. If I could take the time to scroll, then I could take the time to read instead.

It’s easy to have misconceptions about reading being a leisurely activity and not a “productive” one. Yes, it’s highly luxurious and pleasurable, but reading isn’t indulgent.

There are very pertinent reasons people don’t have the time to read - children, shift work, or health issues. There are always exceptions to the rules. My argument remains, if you have time to scroll through 5, or let’s be realistic, 10 videos on social media, or read a lengthy post on Facebook or LinkedIn, then you have time to read a page of a book or even a couple of paragraphs from an article.

Reading isn’t for everyone, but I know reading has given me back my mornings and my peace of mind.

Leave a comment

Dear Reader,

I was planning on writing another piece related to unemployment for my next Substack newsletter. It was a brisk personal essay about the lessons I learned while penny-pinching my way through my first year in London.

However, I’ve become a tad sidetracked after stumbling across a smattering of protestors making their way home after attending the “Unite the Kingdom” march in London last weekend. There was a particular scene I observed while making the long trek home that impelled me to pick up a pen and scrawl it down in my notepad.

What I witnessed was nothing of consequence, so mundane to the point of being bland. Yet, it was the ordinariness of it that struck me. The juxtaposition of tens of thousands who roared their chants and thrust flags and cardboard signs in the air, to those who now took the sleepy journey home, was jarring to me.

The moment was fleeting, but like all moments, it held a multitude of stories within it. I was on the District line when it was held longer at one particular spot due to slight delays. While waiting for us to move, I glanced out the window, taking in the small crowd on the platform across from me.

A rather striking older man stood on the platform opposite. He wore a crisp, casual suit in pastel tones. His beard was immaculately trimmed, carving out a sharp, square jaw. He had a shock of white hair which was full upon his head. It was hard to gauge his age, but by the way he held himself ramrod straight, he appeared to be still in his 60s.

He strode towards a woman sitting on a thin metal bench. She was dressed in pastel colours that matched the man with the military gait. Their exchange was short, their expressions tight. Their interaction, I concluded, could only be attributed to a couple who, over decades, battled life’s challenges together.

In contrast to the man, she looked exhausted. She was elegant, her salt-and-pepper hair was styled in a sleek bob, and the threads of her clothing looked expensive. Yet, her energy appeared depleted as if sucked from her by the day’s activity. She sat with her head against the wall and from time to time closed her eyes. The man, impatient for the next tube to arrive, paced back and forth on the platform before casting his attention on the map of the webbed tube routes.

The station was unusually quiet for London. An Asian couple holding hands, wrapped in conversation, strolled past the man, while two Indian men, glued to their phones, plonked themselves mindlessly by the woman on the bench. The older man, engrossed in the map, seemed oblivious to the passersby while the woman, whom I now titled “his wife”, sat between the men, legs stretched out, eyes closed.

The white-haired man passed a Union Jack flag from his right to his left hand. He strode back to his wife, gesticulating to the map on the wall. She looked uninterested. The flag seemed cumbersome for him to hold, despite his towering figure. He kept fidgeting with the material as it unwound from the pole.

I was transfixed by the flag. It seemed out of place and also inconsequential to the scene unfolding outside my window. On all accounts, it was a normal picture of blank-faced commuters waiting on a platform. But that flag held such symbolism.

Subscribe now

As I sat inside the tube opposite, I imagined the day the couple had had only moments earlier. The old man on the platform would have been holding that flag with more might than he was now. Its obnoxiously loud field of red, blue, and white colours would have been billowing in the day’s blustery winds. He would have crumpled his suit as he lifted the pole high in bursts of pride, shouting “Reclaim Britain!” His face would have flushed as the adrenaline rushed through him. The energy of the crowd would have felt electric and charged with anger. He and his wife would have felt united in a common purpose. Both clinging to a shared history, feeling right with each other, while also feeling wronged.

They’d set out that day to be aggrieved and angry, but now on the quiet platform, they stood two feet from one another in a picture of typical marital ease and mutual boredom.

Her feet appeared to be bothering her; his pacing back and forth to her was irritating her. He was irritated with her for being irritated with him. It was an exposing glimpse into their domestic and political world.

They would have stood side by side parading down the street, demanding changes to immigration and bemoaning the loss of national identity, but now they sit and stand side by side with a mix of nationalities, unnoticing, unbothered, just like all Londoners, blind to the person next to them who is about to take the same journey with you on the tube.

My train took off, leaving the rather banal scene of daily commuting behind me. I thought about what I saw all the way home. Later that evening, I scrolled to an image someone had posted from another tube line, where a pro-Palestinian protester and Unite the Kingdom protesters were sitting side-by-side in an almost sleepy manner. That image encapsulated for me the silence that befalls the cacophony of noise that accompanies heated protests.

The city centre of London was tense that day. On each side of the protest was intense anger and an air of fear. Yet, in the midst of that, the banality of life remained. People still had to catch trains, pop to the supermarket to pick up dinner, and many fled to the pubs afterward to grab a drink and share a laugh. I’m sure many had a shower that night, did the dishes and popped the washing on. Ordinary, insignificant tasks.

Share

What I began to ponder the rest of the week was how small moments can cause so much damage, but what remains outside of those moments is the ordinary.

The collision of outrage with routine is a violent one, and sometimes it’s hard to imagine how we move between both so easily. One moment, someone can raid a hotel of refugees or spew hate online or in person, and the next be taking out the garbage or mindlessly scrolling on their phone.

That day, I felt like I could see past the impassioned arguments we blind ourselves to and plunged, just a few minutes, into the cold light of reality. Seeing for maybe the first time how in one breath we can be so angry towards others and with the next ask if anyone wants a cup of tea. In that moment on the tube, it just all seemed utterly absurd.

Leave a comment

Monday, I’m down on hands and knees reaching behind the toilet to scrape an amalgamation of dust and human waste caked to the base of the bowl. It’s a crisp winter’s day, yet sweat drips down my back as I rigorously scrub at the tartar-like grime.

My back hurts, my hands are covered in a thin powdery residue from the cleaning products, I’ve got globs of dust on my trousers, but there’s something immensely satisfying about scraping away thick muck and transforming a bathroom into a sanitised space. There’s almost a dopamine hit from a job well done (or it could potentially be the toxic fumes from the cleaning products). The bathroom is spotless, the client is happy, I pocket the cash and head for home to wash the dirt and chemicals off myself.

Tuesday, I flip open my laptop to edit my article. I slash words, truncate overflowing paragraphs and whip the article into some acceptable shape. I fact-check quotes from interviewees - a laborious task - before line-by-line correcting and adding changes requested by the commissioning editor.

I spend too many hours stressing over tenses, paragraph order, debating the article’s tone and splitting hairs over the word count. Right on deadline, I gain the courage to hit the send button and spend the rest of the evening neurotically mulling over how much the editor will hate every sentence I wrote.

Wednesday, I run the lint roller over my best black dress and black blazer, smooth down my hair and apply one more lumpy layer of mascara. Quickly checking I’m hiding the holes in my tights under my dress, I step off the train and open Google Maps. I navigate my way to an austere building near London’s Charing Cross station.

I’m walked through the office and my tasks for the day by a ebullient young staff member who relays her short life story as we wander through each meeting room. She hands me a rather large plastic folder.

Make sure the glasses and cups match the images exactly as shown in the manual, she tells me. Have the tea and coffee brewed 15 minutes before the guests arrive, and as soon as they leave, clean and reset the room, she adds with a solemn air unbefitting of the task.

Every hour, I politely escort clients who grunt hellos and brush past me into meeting rooms and rush to fill their cups with fresh coffee on request.

I sit patiently and attentively for nine hours at my desk, staring at my screen, waiting for the phone to call or for a client to ask for more water.

“Hello. Yes. Absolutely, I can do that. Have a lovely evening,” are the only words to leave my lips all day.

Thursday, I say hello, I’ll let such and such know you’re here, would you like coffee, tea, water? Have a nice day. My height of this particular day is sopping up coffee someone sloshed onto the table before the next meeting took place.

In my lunch hour, I reply to a friend of a friend who might be able to give me some advice on how to get into an industry I have remotely no interest in but could be potentially my new career. I do quick research on said particular industry so I at least sound a tad informed and not entirely embarrass myself or my friend for appearing utterly stupid.

Friday, I nervously mutter lines I scribbled on some Post-it notes before clicking ‘join’ on the Teams call. The recruiter from yet another temp/possibly permanent/will probably ghost me after this call company, makes her way down a list of questions. Questions I’ve heard dozens of times, yet somehow manage to fumble every single time I’ve answered them. She’ll get back to me. She doesn’t event hide how non-committal she is.

Saturday, I scroll LinkedIn and click ‘easy apply’ for a role I know I’ll never hear back from or even remember I applied for. I create a spreadsheet to “keep track” of jobs I should, will and have applied for. I also do the mental arithmetic for how much the bus will cost on Monday.

Sunday, I read through articles I’ve been asked to speak about. I go back and forth with the producer, who seems hot and cold about the choices. I make notes on the points I want to hit throughout the segment and try to sleep.

Monday, my alarm blares at 5 am, and already awake, I jump out of bed. I make myself as presentable as can be and make my way to the studio in the dark, dreary, wet morning. On my way, I quickly familiarise myself with the news articles they want me to speak on at the last minute. The hours of research last night were wasted.

Just after 7 am, I manage not to stumble over my words during the 10 minutes I’m on air. On the tube by 7.30 am, I’m typing out my invoice, which I know will be paid late. Every penny counts, I tell myself. I critique the lack of mental clarity I had throughout the segment; the meaty answers I failed to deliver. I spot myself in the window’s reflection. Do I really look that haggard?

Scrolling through my emails, I punch out a request to my temp agency for more work.

The Times They Are a-Changin’

It’s January, the weather is glum, the tinsel has lost its lustre, the spirits are low, and the job market is dragging its heels when I write down my average week looks like as a temp. The bounce from job to job, the feast or famine of roles to apply for, and the juggle of side hustles to fill the gaps in income had left me exhausted and dreading the long road stretching out before me in 2026.

It’s a laundry list of things to do: apply for a role, hound agents for temp work, sell some freelance work or cleaning services, meanwhile, network for the “real” career we’re chasing. It’s a rinse and repeat of 2025, of 2024, of 2023, of 2022.

Relentless is a well-worn word, but it is the only one that accurately describes the current job market. Stories of mass redundancies, AI taking jobs and graduates not able to pick up a shifts at their local supermarket have become the norm. Job boards and LinkedIn have become Hunger Games-esque platforms to be, where the odds are in favour of the privileged who manage to land at the top of the CV stack.

One report recently out of the US stated that the average job hunter has a better chance of winning the lottery than landing a job in this market. The world of work as we know it is changing…and it’s more complicated than we think.

Leave a comment

Don’t become part of the story, is an old journalistic adage. It means to remain impartial and to not insert yourself in a story. Yet, somehow, I became a part of this story, and despite the gruelling nature of the situation, I can’t help but be drawn to want to tell people what it has been and is like inside the story; seeing first-hand what it’s like to be the 190 million people currently out of work globally.

I wrote about my story a few years ago, and once I did, I’d hoped that when I did, it would be done and dusted - that period of my life over. Somehow, I find myself still entangled, if not entrapped, in this story. And yet, I’m one of the lucky ones in this narrative. I have secured multiple short-term contracts over the last year. Millions of others haven’t been so lucky.

You’d be hard-pressed not to go on social media these days and watch videos of people being made redundant or others documenting their interviewing woes. We all thought after the pandemic and subsequent recessions that the market would bounce back, and it looked like, for a while, it was being resuscitated back to life.

Now, wars, political tensions, and the race by major companies to incorporate AI into every crevice of their corporations, see opportunities once again drying up. Times have always been changing, but right now feels particularly poignant when it comes to the future of work.

Share

In a short series of newsletters, I’d like to explore this new frontier that is the future of work through personal essays, reports and possibly interviews. I’ll look at whether AI is in fact taking our jobs, if networking and recruiters are quickly becoming relics of the past, how long-term unemployment is sticky and how job hunting affects our mental health.

I also want to look at how people are transforming their working lives after layoffs, through portfolio careers, starting businesses or retraining. I want this newsletter to inform and spark discussion.

If you like what you read, please share this newsletter with people you know and let me know your thoughts in the chat. As a freelance writer, your support greatly helps.

Subscribe now

Also, if you’d like to work with me on a project or see other articles I’m writing, pop over to my website.

I’m a failure.

Did reading that line make you feel uncomfortable?

Failure is a dirty word that even makes the unflappable uneasy.

The concept of failure is a conflicting one for us. We are afraid of it, yet we also indulge in spouting how our failures have transformed us into successes.

In the West, failure is a key ingredient for success, a stepping stone to great heights, and a humbling tool to ensure one doesn’t fall into arrogance and hail their successes as if they were natural, God-given gifts. Success right out of the gate is a fluke, a bit of luck, or God-ordained; success must be hard-won to be admired.

Failure on its own can’t be tolerated, however. Failure is like grief, no one knows how to be around someone who is suffering in either state.

I’m a failure.

I’m a failed journalist, I’m a failed writer, I’ve failed at getting a full-time job over the last three years, I’ve failed to buy a house, I’ve failed to travel enough, I’ve failed at being a reliable daughter, sister and friend, I’ve failed to get married, I’ve failed to get healthy, I’ve failed to lose weight.

Share Natalia Sutherland

I’m a failure.

This week, I had a series of rejections, one after another. A reminder that I’m continuing to fail despite all the efforts, manifesting, positive thinking, or praying I do.

I felt the usual feelings of shame, sadness, and a blow to my self-esteem. Sitting with it for a bit, I came to realise why constant failure was still impacting me, despite its consistency. It stings because I still thought I could succeed. I thought my past failures were training me for my presumed future success.

It hit me that I wasn’t going to be a success, and failure is my status quo, and I needed to stop pressuring myself to achieve it. I’m not, have ever been, or will be a success. Success happens only to a few, like those who won’t touch grief, who won’t know disappointment, embarrassment, hurt, or ill health.

Admitting to being a failure is difficult because of how it’s perceived when people hear it said aloud. When you say 'I failed’, with a full stop, no supplementary clause including success, it makes people uncomfortable. People are obsessed with having hope and think hope will manifest success, achievement, and accomplishment. They impose hope and a positive mindset on others.

I constantly get unsolicited advice on keeping a positive mindset about my situation, how the “right” thing for me is just around the corner, and how my failures, specifically with getting work, are teaching me how to improve my approach each time I apply for a new role.

I don’t have anything against the people giving the advice, I have and still do give empty input to others when they don’t ask for it. It’s our natural response to pain, like giving a hug to someone who is grieving; it won’t improve their situation, but it’s our way of showing that if we could, we’d do anything to help each other.

I’m a failure.

The definition of failure is ‘the fact of not achieving the desired result’ or ​​’a person or thing that is not successful’.

I’ve failed to do what was expected and required of me as an educated adult.

And I think I will be okay with being a failure. There’s a weird contentment in constantly failing and coming to accept it. It’s predictable, it’s on schedule, it’s inevitable at times. Knowing you won’t achieve what’s expected or required of you takes the pressure off. You no longer have to try and use it as a building block to success.

I’ve been set up to fail, and so have a lot of you.

Failure is not entirely your fault. A lot of us have been set up to fail. A great part of why I can’t get full-time work is not because I’m not “doing enough”. It’s Trump’s fault for excessive tariffs, it’s Putin’s fault for starting a war that adds to inflation, it’s Western governments’ fault for poorly dealing with a pandemic, and it’s the one percent’s fault for putting profit before workers.

For others, they’ve been set up to fail based on gender, race, being born into poverty, being born to the wrong parents, or being born disabled. The world is against you and has put things in place to make living difficult.

I’ve been on the cusp of success and had more people than I can count on both hands go to great lengths to stop me from reaching it - ironically, they’ve been successful at that. I've seen others have their success taken from them.

It’s not all your fault.

Being set up to fail illustrates how rare success is that it’s so coveted by others that they become thieves. Success may be built on failure, but it’s also stolen goods.

Learning to live in failure

Failure has become my companion. I don’t want to shoo it away anymore or hide it. I can’t work my way out of it or convince others to let me have it. I often wonder if the things I’m not achieving would still be in the shape of failure if I didn’t name it that. I think it’s what it means to be content.

I’m content.

…well, almost.

I’m aware I’m treading a fine line of contradicting myself, but if you don’t have expectations for a “desired outcome”, then I believe you can become content. I’m still working through how that works or looks like for me. I’m not going to preach about how I’ve become content through failure, but I hope I’m honest.

Failure doesn’t mean you’re bad, stupid, or less loved. It doesn’t mean disaster, depression, and sadness. It might not even mean the status quo forever.

Will success forever elude me?

Maybe, maybe not. But I think we should stop thinking failure is less than success. Success is adding on, the ideal or desired outcome. Failure is not losing something; it’s, in a way, things remaining the same. I can’t change anything about my current circumstances, which have been partly constructed by the global economy, to reach to goal of a made-up dream in my head of the ideal working situation. Now I have to learn how to live in the status quo and see its unique beauty.

I’m not alone when it comes to identifying as a failure, but I also don’t believe using the term is negative. Gen Z must seem like failures to older generations, but they seem content to live their lives without chasing traditional success. Success is arbitrary anyway.

I also believe failure shouldn’t be tied to relapses, mental health, or even physical health. It’s just a fact of life; something that could have happened didn’t, or the desired outcome wasn’t reached, and you were the person it didn’t happen for. So what?

Will this post be a success? Probably not.

Leave a comment

That's one of the main questions Kiwis have asked me since arriving in London.

After nearly six months in the UK, I still don't know how to answer that question. Most of my friends have left for other countries in search of work, so my knowledge of what's happening back home is purely anecdotal.

However, with my latest piece on my decision to move to London for work hitting number 1 over the weekend in New Zealand, I can only assume that people are still struggling and wondering if life is better elsewhere.

Share Natalia Sutherland

What country isn’t struggling right now, though? Life might be marginally better outside New Zealand for many of us who couldn't find work at home, but it’s still a hustle.

Some of you might not be 1 News readers or follow me on social media, so I thought I’d post a link to the article here for you to check out.

For those of you who’ve moved out of New Zealand, do you feel like life is better abroad, or is it the same as back home?

Leave a comment

CVs are tailored for the role you’re aspiring to. They are also tailored for brevity to accommodate the individual reading your resume. CVs are a tool to present the highlights of your career, successes, and skills.

What a CV doesn’t highlight is all the small experiences you’ve accumulated over the years. Those (for some) ugly little jobs you did to get by but also make up your career narrative despite the eye rolls and sighs recruiters give when they see them included in an application.

✨ I thought it would be a fun exercise to highlight all those odd jobs, part-time roles, and once-off gigs we delete from our CV. 🔗 Share this post and comment below - I’d love to read about the odd jobs you’ve done throughout your working life. hashtag#UploadYourCV

⬇️ I’ll go first.

🐕 Pet Feeder: Specialised in cat and dog feeding while owners were away.

📫 Mail Sorter: Sorted and delivered mail to 200 small New Zealand town residents during summer breaks.

🗞️ Paper Girl: Delivered over 100 papers to residents every day during school holidays.

👶 Baby Sitter: Looked after two children every weekend for a year.

🏡 Jr. Gardner: Landscaped mainly Grandmother and Aunty’s garden each summer.

👩‍🎓 Exam Supervisor: Oversaw end-of-year exam process for high school girls at a private school in New Zealand.

✅ Polling Clerk: Worked across two elections to assist in the smooth, accurate, and quick delivery of election results.

🎨 Apprentice Painter: Executed fine finishes to residential homes. Key skills: Sanding, paint stripping, and painting.

🍽️ Kitchen Hand: Assistant to deliver on-time meals to residents of a rest home.

📚 Circulation Assistant: Led a team in the efficient circulation of library materials, ensuring timely and accurate checkouts, returns, and shelving of books. Assisted in managing inventory, tracking overdue items, and providing excellent customer service to library patrons.

👩‍⚕️ Homecare Assistant: Provided personal care and companionship to disabled clients, helping with daily tasks and ensuring their well-being.

🎦 Assignment Desk Coordinator: Coordinated the flow of incoming work assignments, maintained schedule, and facilitated team communication to ensure on-time completion at the top broadcaster.

💻 Receptionist: Managed front desk operations, greeted visitors, answered phones, and handled administrative tasks such as scheduling appointments and managing office supplies.

📁 Administrator: Provided administrative support in an office environment, including managing schedules, maintaining records, handling correspondence, and organising office systems.

Subscribe now

Starting Over:
A phrasal verb meaning to start from the beginning and in a different way.

-Cambridge Dictionary

Was it a couple of months ago, or was this a more recent revelation? An epiphany while walking, watching TV, or in mid-conversation?

When was it that I knew I was “starting over”?

And no, not the starting over we refer to when one has slipped up on a healthy diet or had a quick little scroll on TikTok while on a digital detox. I mean going back to square one in life – game over, reset. Think video game.

(We’re about to dive into an analogy I’m so underqualified to assemble, it may cancel out the picture I’m drawing for you, so bear with me.)

There you are, hours, days, and weeks deep into your game. You’ve navigated your avatar through battles, trials, and tribulations, and just as you are about to guide them into the next level, you die. All the effort of passing through the levels was for nothing, and you’re back to the start.

Here you are, having to build your avatar’s skills once again. All the magic stones – or whatever you’ve been collecting the whole game – the skills you’ve gained from years of work (for those of us in the real world) – have been stripped from you, and you’re back to Level 1.

I had been preaching a storm on starting again, following influencers who were quitting to “start over.” They were taking risks and building empires while only waking at 10 a.m., drinking iced lattes, and finishing their workdays at 4 p.m. Goodbye grey suits and office blocks and hello freedom in the shade of sunshine.

I was inspired and buzzed by their dynamism. Being a freelancer or unemployed was not a disadvantage but the launching board I needed for starting over – a new dawn, being born again into who I “really” meant to be.

Oh, how naive I was. Starting over isn’t this. Those sleek reels were about pivots and taking risks. About charting left instead of right to go forward. They weren’t about heading backward.

Subscribe now

With a flood of clarity, I could grasp the meaning of starting over, beginning again in a new way. Leaving your corporate job to open your mug business isn’t starting over, in my humble opinion; it’s pivoting your skills. Starting over means reverting to where you were when you first set out – even if it’s just the shadow of where you were.

This could look like going back to school and training again, working for free or minimum wage, or having zero savings or retirement funds. It could mean moving back to your childhood home because you can’t live without the financial aid of your parents.

Some would call this hitting rock bottom. But I like to think of it as the pure form of starting over.

Channeling my 18-year-old self and her determination is helping me dream and planting hope. In essence, it’s less pressure than social media’s version – I’ve no empire to build.

The dream is different, and the path you’ll take to get there may be different, but you will be starting from scratch like you’re about to live your second life.

Ugh, this realisation is painful. No one in their 30s, 40s, or 50s wants to regress to the hustle of their youthful self. I’m tired, for one, and also I want to afford a coffee, not to mention my waistline no longer tolerates cheap packet noodles.

Share

Yet, when your avatar dies, you’re only left with two options: ditch the game and admit failure, or pick the remote up again and press start.

I hear the drone of the coffee machine as my flatmate makes her morning brew while her cat meows signalling that she wants her morning feed.

It’s still dark outside. It’s the earliest I’ve been awake in the last four months since I packed up my life in New Zealand and boarded a flight to the UK in search of work.

An early alarm's abrupt, sharp beeping would usually be met with a groan and frantic searching for the snooze button. After three months of unemployment, and dwindling savings, the smooth melody of my wake-up call has me almost bounding out of bed in anticipation for the commute.

Coffee brewed, I slurp down the piping hot cup of caffeine while slapping on makeup - without any skill - to try and hide the eye bags that have, these days, turned a bluish colour.

Trying to tame the hair scorched by London’s infamous hard water, I relent and pop it in a bun. I resolve to be confident with my greys despite fighting the urge to pluck them from the roots.

Fit check. Average. It will have to do, I’ve got a train to catch.

Today, I’m finally reentering the land of the employed. After my exile, I feel like I’m joining an exclusive club.

Share Natalia Sutherland

A club where the water cooler talk revolves around how awful the commute is, how your boss has overloaded you with work, and how “crazy” your colleague is.

I should be feeling the monotony of working, but it feels electric.

I’m finally tasting what it’s like to work again.

Is it the dream job I’ve always wanted? No. For those out of work, it’s probably hard to comprehend, but I’m experiencing the privilege of what it means to earn a living.

When you’re locked out of the job market and face constant rejections, being able to work—or even complain about it—feels like an immense honour.

This season, the panic, anxiety, and battering of self-esteem, has been a brutal instructor - a workshop on how tentative our lives are.

Now, I cringe when I overhear someone whining about not getting paid more, lacking purpose, or being required to be in the office.

I think of how they’re tempting fate.

“But it could all be taken from you?” I think. I feel secondhand anxiety for them.

I wouldn’t wish unemployment and rejection on my worst enemy, but at times I wonder if we would check our privilege more if for a moment employment was taken from us…

5.30pm: I shut my laptop screen. I grab my coat and bag and head out into the cold amid the sea of black coats.

On the train, I close my tired, dry eyes.

Who knew exhaustion could feel so energising.

Subscribe now

Yes, I know I’ve lost you already, and yes, I am spending far too much time on my own - but stay with me.

I’ve been thinking about how it’s easier to see the hill that is our failures than the mountain of success.

Failure is that pungent mound that whiffs under your nose while success is a collection of rocks piled together.

The fetor of failure can be an olfactory overload, blurring Mount Success on the far-off horizon causing us to hyper-fixate on the negative.

When I was ruminating on the successes I’ve had during the work search I couldn’t get the picture of mountains equating to success out of my mind. Thanks primarily, I’m sure, to LinkedIn with its superfluity of motivational diagrams.

The diagrams usually depict a stick figure focusing on the failure in front of them which is blocking them from seeing the towering success that’s behind them.

That picture got me thinking about mountains and had me googling how they are formed.

Subscribe now

Most mountains are birthed when Earth’s tectonic plates smash together. Earth’s crust is made up of multiple tectonic plates that move. When two continental plates with similar thickness and weight collide, they crumple and fold until the rock is forced up and a mountain range is formed.

Often, success is formed by sudden “earthquakes” or tectonic collisions of events in our lives—a sudden jolt that can cause trauma while dramatically changing the landscape around us.

Now mountains don’t form suddenly after an earthquake, but why kill a metaphor with science? But what I’m trying to say is the seismic challenges we experience can create our success but that doesn’t come without friction.

Throughout the long process - if we’re going with geographical metaphor - the glacial pace of job hunting in a recession there have been those small wins that have gotten me by.

Others’ kindness has been the minerals in the rocks that have built my success (the word pictures will stop soon).

As soon as my contract work was coming to an end on one job I was given work by kind colleagues who needed cover on their team. With only three weeks in a new country, I was back in news for one-off jobs thanks to the helping hand of more former colleagues. I’ve been inundated with friends, family, colleagues, and even strangers who have put in a good word for me or given me the contact of someone. Not to mention those also taking the time to send me job advertisements.

That one goal of job security and the rejections can read like the whole narrative, but getting one-off jobs and or small contract work should be a reminder that you’re still employable and you ARE working. Not being full-time doesn’t make you any less of a worker.

Saying all this, it’s still hard to see success when things aren’t going well and small or past success can pale in significance of the trials right now so I’m not diminishing the struggle - but it can be a chink of light in a sometimes dark hole.

All these little jobs are building towards your success - that mountain. Sometimes we just need to endure the tectonic shift to then see the mountain.

To cure my boredom and feelings of lack of purpose I thought I’d write about my journey with finding full-time work. From the mistakes I’ve made to the ups and downs. I may not be consistent (especially writing on here where no one’s likely to read this) but as long as I have the motivation I’ll try and write my thoughts here.

The end-of-day guilt is equivalent to eating one too many pieces of chocolate cake on the first day of a new year, new you diet.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame.” The running narrative you repeat if you haven’t made submitting applications a full-time unpaid job - if not your entire personality. 

I often label the days I haven’t sent my CV out as my “lazy days”. But why do I think I’m idle when the refresh button revives days-old job postings? No one checks applications on a weekend so then why am I concerned I didn’t look at LinkedIn on Sunday?

Some days it will be exhaustion. The overwhelm of applying for roles can cloud the mind turning job descriptions into a foreign language you spend hours translating. A sudden amnesia leaving you incapable of conveying your skills and experience in a cover letter. 

Is one job a day a good record, or should I mass apply? As if you’ll be rewarded with a job because you showed by the numerous applications you put in that you’re not a dole-bludger but a serious determined individual who will do anything to earn a wage. 

I believe the guilt over trying to control an at time uncontrollable situation is placed on us by societal expectations that if you work hard enough everything can be achieved. 

Subscribe now

It’s a simplistic way of passing on blame and rejecting communal responsibility for events that stop others from thriving.

An economic downturn seeing thousands out of work isn’t a place an individual can just “work hard” to escape and avoid being impacted from and no amount of applications or scrolling job websites will solve it either.

It’ll make you feel productive submitting applications, but it most likely will achieve the same outcome as never applying - being ghosted by and/or rejected by recruiters. 

I don’t think there’s an easy answer to feeling less guilt during the job hunt, but just knowing that although you feel the feeling, it’s just a feeling and to remember logically the steps you are taking - whether that be applying for 10 jobs a day or three a week, you’re doing the utmost you can.

So keep applying! But also a day off now and then isn’t anything to feel bad about.  

To cure my boredom and feelings of lack of purpose I thought I’d write about my journey with finding full-time work. From the mistakes I’ve made to the ups and downs. I may not be consistent (especially writing on here where no one’s likely to read this) but as long as I have the motivation I’ll try and write my thoughts here. 

Not the most inspiring time for a personal essay to be put on the front page of a website. It would almost seem like an ideal time to bury an essay.

Nevertheless, I felt a sense of relief that this personal piece was stashed away on the corner of a website where readers’ tired morning eyes would glaze over as their fingers scrolled through headlines.

It’s counterintuitive to want a piece you’ve written publicly not to be consumed by readers, but although I sensed it was a topic that could resonate, I also knew it was one the public seemed impassive toward. 

Copy link. LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Paste link. The obligatory distribution to socials, done.

I carry on with my day but click on the website a little later that morning, and see my face on the number one spot. My hesitancy about the essay being released is put a little at ease now that I know a few people are reading it.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The DM’s, reshares and comments start to come in. The frequency of my phone pinging and vibrating make me a bit restless throughout the day. The constant physical interruptions from my phone keeps short-circuiting my train of thought throughout the day. 

The messages on my pages are incredibly encouraging and supportive. Then two messages from friends land in my inbox. 

“Don’t look at the comments.” It’s a warning I don’t heed. 

The comments aren’t anything unusual when it comes to negative social media comments. I even complain to my sister about how unoriginal and boring they seem to be. They’re not anything unexpected from someone working in the news where certain audiences go to great pains to make it known that they don’t like you.

Yet, they keep coming through. Former colleagues and friends who shared the essay are dealing with comments on their pages about me and how I “should leave the country” or how I “deserve to be out of a job” all based on my career choices. Others tell me not to be lazy and go pick apples (which I’m sure if I did I’d then get accused of taking other people’s jobs).

You can read the article here

Warned to not take the comments personally, I don’t, but I am bemused by how ignorant people are about the state of the economy and what the essay was about.

It is an essay bemoaning a recession that is greater than the people affected, the need to leave to be able to survive, and ultimately NOT be a burden on the taxpayer. It also reminds me how the stigma around unemployment and towards those who are unemployed is still a steadfast ideology held by a large group of people.

The stigma of someone not ‘wanting to work’ or ‘stealing’ from others because they don’t want to do a hard and an honest day’s work. 

I could appreciate why job seekers feel ashamed and judged for not being able to find work and why they clam up and hide away keeping their employment status a secret. The abuse which is laid on publicly by people can be thick.

Subscribe now

I was surprised by the amount of people who messaged me to thank me for the essay because it mirrored their experience. Knowing they weren’t the only ones who weren’t getting work made them relieved to know they weren’t alone.

To think I was one of the only people who had so publicly “outed” myself for struggling to find work in a job draught was a little disheartening. To read stories about people quietly blaming themselves for circumstances outside their hands was saddening.

I shouldn’t be the outlier. People shouldn’t have to hide the fact they are looking for work or feel like a failure. The narrative needs to change. And I hold out hope it will and that I’m not the last one to talk about this.

But now the conversation has started, I would love to hear from you about why you think the stigma of being unemployed is still so strong. Leave me a comment below.

To cure my boredom and feelings of lack of purpose I thought I’d write about my journey with finding full-time work. From the mistakes I’ve made to the ups and downs. I may not be consistent (especially writing on here where no one’s likely to read this) but as long as I have the motivation I’ll try and write my thoughts here. 

I can feel the full body cringe right now thinking about how dumb that was. Hindsight is a cruel master when the present you are experiencing the reverberations from the decision of the past you. No one is a more bitter critic of past decisions saying “I told you so…” than your inner thoughts.

Regrets come like embarrassing memories—at the most unusual times, when you’re in the shower, out for a walk, or sitting on the bus.

Mundane thoughts of what to add the the grocery list will be punctured by the almost audible thought: “Remember that time you turned down a great opportunity and now you don’t have a career?”

Thank you inner voice for ruining my day.

You check your peripheries to make sure that audible voice isn’t overheard by anyone because the chastising of your internal judge and juror seems so blaring.

It’s true that I did turn a job down.

At the time it felt like the right thing to do. 

I left a contract job early. It was a contract role that ended around Christmas so the timing of looking for work following its completion wasn't ideal. I was also exhausted following the brutal hours we all did in media during the Covid pandemic and the hiring freezes forcing us to do two to three people’s roles.

I needed a breather.

Everyone's advice to me was to leave early, take a break, and put some effort into the search for the next best role for me. At any other point in time, that advice would have been sound. Little did we all know at the time that jobs would evaporate overnight. 

Leading up to the exit, I was offered a role - one I could shape, learn from and mix with some influential people. 

I turned it down.

My logic at the time felt assured and I believed the company offering me the role would benefit from a stronger candidate. There were knowledge gaps that in my fog of exhaustion I wasn’t convinced I could close. If I’m being honest with myself I wasn’t sure if it was the direction I wanted my career to go towards.

I patted myself on the back for being so level-headed.

Subscribe now

Then the Reserve Bank began to hike interest rates, the New Zealand government changed hands and the weeks of searching for the cushy office job turned into months. I was lucky to pick up a few months of work here and there, but now my weekends were gone, as were my evenings.

It was easy to fall into the trap that is past regret. Should’ve, could’ve.

But now I see this regret as an easy way of making sense of a period in my life - which thousands of people are going through - when I didn’t have control over what was happening around me.

To create some sort of justice in injustice we need someone to blame and sometimes that person to blame is yourself. Why didn’t I take up that opportunity before a circumstance greater than me occurred just months later? Now I see that type of thinking as ridiculous and a barrier to dusting off and moving forward. 

If you’re looking for work and have turned down an opportunity that you felt deep in your gut wasn’t right don’t beat yourself up about it. We are idealising missed opportunities as being the solution to the obstacles we’re currently facing.

Close that page of your life and learn from it.

Were you reluctant to take the opportunity because you didn’t feel confident, weren’t sure if it was what you had in mind for your career or it just didn’t sit right? Figure that out and take those learnings into the next decision you need to make. Maybe figuring out how you handled that situation will enable you to make a more level-headed decision next time.

Share Natalia Sutherland

To cure my boredom and feelings of lack of purpose I thought I’d write about my journey with finding full-time work. From the mistakes I’ve made to the ups and downs. I may not be consistent (especially writing on here where no one’s likely to read this) but as long as I have the motivation I’ll try and write my thoughts here. 

Leave a comment

Disappointed I slip my phone back into my pocket. Two seconds later I whip it out again.

‘Maybe the data connection is dodgy and I’m not receiving any email notifications because of that?’ I justify.

I open my email app, refresh the page. No new emails.

I’ve been doing this for the last two hours with a vague sense of nervousness. The wait for an email that could bring you hope or knock you back down again is a bit like waiting for the results of an exam or from a doctor’s office. Standing at a fork in the road staring down two differing paths.

After a week or two of waiting, you begin to realise there won’t be a reply or the impending rejection will eventuate over the next fortnight. Mentally you need to move on.

Sitting at the bus stop looking at my empty screen, I have this sudden sense of emptiness. I can’t help it - although my brain is rationalising the reason for the absence of emails - the lack of response is making me feel like I don’t exist. 

During an economic downturn when rejection runs like water, the process of looking for full-time work begins to slowly strip away your humanity. Extreme…yes. You shake your head, telling yourself to not be millennially dramatic. Yet, when everyone is locked away in the office and you’re sitting at home writing emails or filling out applications to what appears to be no one (or maybe just ChatGPT) the creeping thoughts of depersonalisation slowly emerge.

You find yourself touching a service, talking aloud to yourself, or getting a friend to text your number because the dead air is making you question if you’re even awake.

This sense of emptiness coincides with boredom, an emotion I wasn’t expecting to encounter while unemployed. Yet on any given day boredom can be the most dominant feeling. When all you do is scroll through job ads and rewrite your cover letter for the hundredth time, the monotony of this process can almost drive you a bit loopy … if it’s not at least fatiguing. Don’t get me wrong, tedious is a nice break from anxious, but it plays with your mental health in unexpected ways.

We preach a lot about not finding our identity in our work - which is a healthy mindset to have - but we gloss over how not working without the financial means to do so can be mentally detrimental. 

Subscribe now

The significance of this isn’t lost on experts with around 37 studies being done on how loneliness and unemployment are linked. Most of these studies found that nearly 50 percent of people who find themselves out of employment experience loneliness. 

One study noted that experiencing loneliness doesn’t mean you are physically alone, but it does provoke a sense of isolation.

It’s unsurprising really and from my personal experience, it’s unavoidable when it comes to long-term unemployment or job insecurity. It seems absurd to be interacting with friends, family the shop assistant at the till, but then to feel so isolated because you’ve been ignored or rejected by those who you are seeking work from.

Loneliness can be awful for your health. Not only does it take a toll on mental health, but physically it comes at a price. Some studies suggest those suffering from loneliness can be at a 50 percent increased risk of death.  

I don’t have all the answers, but in my battle with keeping loneliness at bay, I try and make my health a full-time priority. Renewing my mind every day by taking myself away from my phone or computer and physically distancing myself from the job that is looking for a job. Enforcing a cut-off time from checking my empty emails or applying for a role. I know this doesn’t help my immediate situation, but I hope it’ll help my health in the long run.

For those wanting to help others who feel lonely because they’re unemployed - I believe reinforcing that person’s belief in their abilities is key and also helping them in the process of looking for work by reading cover letters, CVs or talking to contacts who might be able to help find them a job. It does make the journey less lonely.

Leave a comment

An email notification pings on my phone. I rush to look. A Black Friday sale is on and I have a special code I can use. How these emails still manage to be sent to me after unsubscribing from this retail brand now turns a ping of excitement into annoyance.

Delete. Back to an empty inbox.

To cure my boredom and feelings of lack of purpose I thought I’d write about my journey with finding full-time work. From the mistakes I’ve made to the ups and downs. I may not be consistent (especially writing on here where no one’s likely to read this) but as long as I have the motivation I’ll try and write my thoughts here. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated my Substack. I just wanted to quickly update you on what’s happening with me and this newsletter.

Recently I resigned from my role as Senior Producer at Newshub Nation and have embarked on the new journey of freelancing.

I loved working in broadcasting and as a producer but knew it was time to head back to my first love which is reporting and interviewing. That doesn’t mean I won’t be dipping my toes back into producing or TV in the future.

It does mean I’m able to expand my Substack to include my independent reporting hence the change of the name of my Substack to my own name.

I’m really excited about this next chapter and working across different media organisations while telling stories I’m passionate about.

As always, thank you for your support.

Here’s my website if you want to look at my past work and experience.

It’s been awhile, but I’m finally sitting down to write another newsletter and I’m excited to share it with you.

I’ve had the pleasure of talking to Tiffany Robinson from Women in Urbanism Aotearoa about a topic I’ve been thinking about for awhile. I’ve haven’t gone too much into a deep dive, but if you’d like a deeper look into women and urban design let me know.

I recommend checking out Women in Urbanism Aotearoa’s website if you want to learn more about how urban design impacts women.

Before we dive in, I have to thank Tiffany for taking the time to educate me on this topic. I didn’t think I could be this interested in public transport and public spaces until I talked to Tiffany. Her passion for improving urban design and making it inclusive is really infectious.

Caring City Walk hosted by Women in Urbanism Aotearoa. Supplied by Tiffany Robinson

It’s Monday morning, (if you’re in Auckland, it’s probably raining) you’ve just rushed from home, maybe you’ve just dropped off the kids, you’re making your way to the bus stop. Just ahead you can see the door closing and an orange indicator blinking as the driver begins to merge into rush hour traffic. You start to sprint, waving your arms frantically hoping to draw the driver’s attention, but knowing the likelihood of the driver stopping is slim. It’ll be another 30 minutes before another bus arrives (if it’s not already full) and you’ll be late for work…again. The bus driver shows no mercy, they’re already behind schedule. And just like that you’ve missed the bus. All you efforts have left you a sweaty mess standing at the bus stop, fidgeting, waiting for the next bus to arrive while messaging your boss to say you’ll be late.

It’s the typical public transport woes most city dwellers know all too well. Living on the city’s edge, but working in the CBD and having to make the gruelling commute to work. It’s a story every man and his dog can relate to…expect not really. For some the daily commute is much more difficult.

Let me give you an example.

For the average man his daily commute will most likely consistent of him leaving home and travelling directly to work. Once his day comes to an end he will usually repeat the commute in reverse. This is the average linear commute. The commute most public transport is modelled off.  

However, the average woman’s journey typically involves transporting the children to school or daycare before making the commute to work. She will then repeat these steps on the way home, but will often add other daily tasks to the journey home such as picking up groceries, going to the pharmacy or popping into a store. A non-linear commute.

Running to catch public transport and then finding space once on board becomes much more difficult once children are involved. Sometimes the option of using public transport is completely off the table because her daily tasks would never get done if she had to wait for or rely on public transport. 

On top of that she’s more likely to encounter harassment while using public transport or walking to and from a bus stop early in the morning or late in the evening. Coming home after dark would involve strategic planning and would most likely cost her an Uber fare - just to be safe. 

You might be thinking this is just the way things are, as unfortunate as they are, a woman’s daily life is just a bit harder. But have you ever thought that maybe it’s the way public spaces, transport and our cities are designed that could be making women’s daily routines much more difficult?

Now, I know this sound a bit far-fetched and I can feel the eye rolls from here, but cities are designed without women in mind and it impacts their day-to-day lives.

Still don’t believe me? Well, back in 2022, the World Bank looked at how urban design, transportation and access to public spaces impacted women verses men. 

They found that women in both developing and developed countries tend to walk longer distances and frequently take shorter trips which include more stops to complete their daily tasks. Men on the other hand have linear patterns of travel. Unlike men, women were also more likely to be travelling with children and/or an elderly family member.

They also found most countries design public transport around commuters who make direct trips to work and home - trips men typically make. They weren’t taking into consideration that the commuter, mainly women, would take shorter and frequent trips. 

Why isn’t public transport designed to cater for women’s commuting needs? Well, there simply aren’t enough, if any, women involved in urban design or women aren’t being consulted in the planning process for public transport or public spaces.

Subscribe now

Women in Urbanism

A global movement called Women in Urbanism is trying to raise awareness of how urban design and planning impacts women. 

I spoke to Tiffany Robinson from Women in Urbanism Aotearoa who explained to me why planning cities around a one size fits all model doesn’t work.

“Women and men do not move through cities the same - that just how it is,” she tells me.

“[Women] have different things that we are concerned with.”

Tiffany, who is a planner, is often educating not just women but men on how to build more inclusive cities that cater to their residents’ needs.

As Tiffany points out, non-inclusive design often isn’t down to men excluding women deliberately, they often just don’t think about how others move around the city outside of their own experience. It’s often about cutting cost, too.

Take public bathrooms for instance.

Women tend to use public bathrooms more than men do. But as most women are aware, there are never any public toilets around when you need them or if there are it feels like you have to walk a mile to get there. Once you’re there you’ll probably need to queue with what feels like a hundred other women. 

If you don’t think there’s a lack of bathrooms for women or that they have to walk longer to find them, then I recommend reading Lezlie Lowe’s article in The Guardian. She’s even written a whole book on the whole public bathroom issue.

Tiffany says it’s quite common for designers to not factor in public toilets when they’re planning for, say, a new train station.

“It’s the idea that we don’t need it - cost cutting - when actually you do need it. And actually having a family bathroom isn’t just a good thing for a woman, fathers also need to use them.”

Share The Boring Woman

Then there’s the issue of sexual harassment. Most women have experienced this while taking public transport.

“Some men experience street harassment, but by and large it is women experiencing that street harassment on a larger and consistent basis,” says Tiffany. 

“So how do we protect our public transport systems so women can feel safe to simply take public transport?”

That’s where Women in Urbanism comes in, they’re encouraging women to get involved in how their cities are built and to educate men in urban planning about how they can design cities that are usable for not just men but women, children, the disabled and elderly.

“There’s a lot of little things that we don’t recognise. Potentially, if we looked at it through a gender sensitive lens for design it could be much better,” says Tiffany.

How do you change cities to be more inclusive? Firstly, get more women into urban planning and making policy decisions when it comes to transportation. This can be encouraging more women to study urban planning, design or engineering. 

Secondly, this could just be by consulting women in the policy process for new or revamped urban spaces.

Lastly, there needs to be better data on how women use urban spaces and transportation - one size doesn’t fit all. 

“We can’t keep doing the same old same old,” says Tiffany.

“Just having a bit more thoughtfulness into how we are creating new spaces and retrofitting old spaces is, I think, quite important.”

Leave a comment