The question du jour: laziness or burnout? Oscar Peck argues the question is wrong, analysing our political history to explain our behaviour
There is a phrase that is bandied around more than any other during Freshers’ Week. Variations of it permeate every Freshers’ guide, every induction lecture, and every wordy email.
“You should come out with us”; “you are expected to check the Moodle frequently”; “you should join our society”; “you must complete four hours of reading per week”. Modals which immediately create a dilemma for the listener: either comply, or risk being deviant, antisocial, unstudious, poised to fail, and worst of all, lazy. We also bludgeon ourselves with the threat: “I need to go out more, I’m so antisocial”, “they cook fresh food every day — I should do that too”, and “I need to do more reading”.
And yet there is a mammoth workload expected of the burgeoning student. They are expected to mingle and make friends as much as possible; to join societies; to meet flatmates; to complete reading and assignments; to unpack and get settled in their new home; to start housework; to keep in touch with friends, old and new; to keep on top of their emails; to get to grips with new software; to keep themselves functioning and healthy; and to exercise, among other things. There is also the parallel expectation created by social media that on top of merely functioning, students should (again with the phrase) appear stunning, slim, and spotless — and to do all this effortlessly. Thus, there exists the pressure of knowing that everyone else is able to juggle all of this work — everyone except for ourselves. It is quite the paradox and raises the vital question: is it really possible to do all of this?
The answer would appear to be no. According to YouGov, 60% of young people have felt overwhelmed or unable to cope due to the pressure to succeed. 39% have experienced suicidal thoughts due to stress. Even without positions of responsibility, we have our fingers in far too many pies. This is particularly the case for working women, who are expected to bear the brunt of household chores alongside job responsibilities. So, why has it been normalised so heavily to be juggling so many different burdens at once? The answer lies in our political history.
The 1980s are renowned as a period of immense political and economic paradigm shifts. Under the premiership of Margaret Thatcher in the UK, state-owned companies were privatised, the lid was lifted on financial regulation, and rapid deindustrialisation was undertaken. However, deeper than the economic changes, there was a psychological shift in how people thought, and what was perceived to be “common sense”. Suddenly, social issues were seen not as the fault of society as a whole, but of individual deviancy. Those in poverty were, by and large, seen to have got there by their own hand. Criminals were moral deviants. Those depending on benefits to survive were scroungers. Ostensibly, in a free market economy, there exists a fair meritocracy, and those who fail do so because of their own character flaws.
Since the 1980s, both the economic and sociopsychological changes have persisted, but the latter more inconspicuously so. Indeed, the lack of opportunities in the job market have exacerbated the individualistic pressures, according to some sociologists. Underlying this is an ever present looming sense of competition. If we would like to get a job — something which is not easy in the current climate — we are expected to do as much as we possibly can. Our health and sanity are often seen as secondary to our productivity. In a literal sense, we equate our self-worth with our productivity. We shift the blame for a deeply unstable job market onto our own deficiencies. The “grind culture” is in full force.
“I will work, work, work, work and work”, declared Sanae Takaichi. The Prime Minister of Japan has taken pride in her gruelling work schedule: she sleeps less than three hours a night, most nights. She has called cabinet meetings at 3AM. Takaichi has become a venerated figure for many. In 2026, her Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) obliterated the competition, winning a record number of seats for any party in post-war Japanese history. But, below the surface, there have been stirrings. One in five workers in Japan are at serious risk of death from overworking, a phenomenon known as karoshi. Hundreds die every year from a culture which mandates overworking. Women have disproportionately higher workloads than men.
The same lessons ring true here in the UK. We live in a mercurial and heavily interconnected world. We face a plethora of challenges every day, just by existing: products are not built to last; we are expected to keep up with new trends and technologies; universities impose enormous workloads on students; housing and employment are scarce; and we are constantly in touch with everyone at all times. With the meteoric rise of AI, the very ways that we live are constantly subject to change. Indeed, the more our lives become fused with technology, the higher our workloads: we are expected to take on far more work than previously, on the proviso that we can delegate tasks, such as fetching books from libraries, to machines. What this does not account for is the infinite time we spend trying to get to grips with each new piece of software we are prescribed, or cleaning up after software bugs that leave us helpless and locked out of our own lives. It is difficult to realise just how much is expected of us, on account of how heavily normalised it has all become. Never in human history has the mundane been so complex.
How can you escape the burnout? An essential part of doing so lies in lowering your expectations of yourself. There is always more you can do: always more reading, more cleaning, more socialising, more societies, and of course more work. That does not mean that you should. Nobody is able to juggle every responsibility simultaneously; if everything seems perfect, something is being let slip behind the scenes, whether it be cleanliness, a lack of sleep or not eating properly, for example. What we call “laziness” is simply our bodies struggling for breath when confronted with the omnipresent expectations of the overwhelming and all-consuming world we live in. It is okay to say no; not having enough energy is a valid reason not to work.
It is true that there are many things that we should do. However, the number of things that we should do is much greater than the number of things that we possibly can do. To realise what one can do — and cannot do — is vital to surviving university.
A Defence of Laziness
The question du jour: laziness or burnout? Oscar Peck argues the question is wrong, analysing our political history to explain our behaviour
There is a phrase that is bandied around more than any other during Freshers’ Week. Variations of it permeate every Freshers’ guide, every induction lecture, and every wordy email.
“You should come out with us”; “you are expected to check the Moodle frequently”; “you should join our society”; “you must complete four hours of reading per week”. Modals which immediately create a dilemma for the listener: either comply, or risk being deviant, antisocial, unstudious, poised to fail, and worst of all, lazy. We also bludgeon ourselves with the threat: “I need to go out more, I’m so antisocial”, “they cook fresh food every day — I should do that too”, and “I need to do more reading”.
And yet there is a mammoth workload expected of the burgeoning student. They are expected to mingle and make friends as much as possible; to join societies; to meet flatmates; to complete reading and assignments; to unpack and get settled in their new home; to start housework; to keep in touch with friends, old and new; to keep on top of their emails; to get to grips with new software; to keep themselves functioning and healthy; and to exercise, among other things. There is also the parallel expectation created by social media that on top of merely functioning, students should (again with the phrase) appear stunning, slim, and spotless — and to do all this effortlessly. Thus, there exists the pressure of knowing that everyone else is able to juggle all of this work — everyone except for ourselves. It is quite the paradox and raises the vital question: is it really possible to do all of this?
The answer would appear to be no. According to YouGov, 60% of young people have felt overwhelmed or unable to cope due to the pressure to succeed. 39% have experienced suicidal thoughts due to stress. Even without positions of responsibility, we have our fingers in far too many pies. This is particularly the case for working women, who are expected to bear the brunt of household chores alongside job responsibilities. So, why has it been normalised so heavily to be juggling so many different burdens at once? The answer lies in our political history.
The 1980s are renowned as a period of immense political and economic paradigm shifts. Under the premiership of Margaret Thatcher in the UK, state-owned companies were privatised, the lid was lifted on financial regulation, and rapid deindustrialisation was undertaken. However, deeper than the economic changes, there was a psychological shift in how people thought, and what was perceived to be “common sense”. Suddenly, social issues were seen not as the fault of society as a whole, but of individual deviancy. Those in poverty were, by and large, seen to have got there by their own hand. Criminals were moral deviants. Those depending on benefits to survive were scroungers. Ostensibly, in a free market economy, there exists a fair meritocracy, and those who fail do so because of their own character flaws.
Since the 1980s, both the economic and sociopsychological changes have persisted, but the latter more inconspicuously so. Indeed, the lack of opportunities in the job market have exacerbated the individualistic pressures, according to some sociologists. Underlying this is an ever present looming sense of competition. If we would like to get a job — something which is not easy in the current climate — we are expected to do as much as we possibly can. Our health and sanity are often seen as secondary to our productivity. In a literal sense, we equate our self-worth with our productivity. We shift the blame for a deeply unstable job market onto our own deficiencies. The “grind culture” is in full force.
“I will work, work, work, work and work”, declared Sanae Takaichi. The Prime Minister of Japan has taken pride in her gruelling work schedule: she sleeps less than three hours a night, most nights. She has called cabinet meetings at 3AM. Takaichi has become a venerated figure for many. In 2026, her Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) obliterated the competition, winning a record number of seats for any party in post-war Japanese history. But, below the surface, there have been stirrings. One in five workers in Japan are at serious risk of death from overworking, a phenomenon known as karoshi. Hundreds die every year from a culture which mandates overworking. Women have disproportionately higher workloads than men.
The same lessons ring true here in the UK. We live in a mercurial and heavily interconnected world. We face a plethora of challenges every day, just by existing: products are not built to last; we are expected to keep up with new trends and technologies; universities impose enormous workloads on students; housing and employment are scarce; and we are constantly in touch with everyone at all times. With the meteoric rise of AI, the very ways that we live are constantly subject to change. Indeed, the more our lives become fused with technology, the higher our workloads: we are expected to take on far more work than previously, on the proviso that we can delegate tasks, such as fetching books from libraries, to machines. What this does not account for is the infinite time we spend trying to get to grips with each new piece of software we are prescribed, or cleaning up after software bugs that leave us helpless and locked out of our own lives. It is difficult to realise just how much is expected of us, on account of how heavily normalised it has all become. Never in human history has the mundane been so complex.
How can you escape the burnout? An essential part of doing so lies in lowering your expectations of yourself. There is always more you can do: always more reading, more cleaning, more socialising, more societies, and of course more work. That does not mean that you should. Nobody is able to juggle every responsibility simultaneously; if everything seems perfect, something is being let slip behind the scenes, whether it be cleanliness, a lack of sleep or not eating properly, for example. What we call “laziness” is simply our bodies struggling for breath when confronted with the omnipresent expectations of the overwhelming and all-consuming world we live in. It is okay to say no; not having enough energy is a valid reason not to work.
It is true that there are many things that we should do. However, the number of things that we should do is much greater than the number of things that we possibly can do. To realise what one can do — and cannot do — is vital to surviving university.
Author
Glasgow Students Hold 7 October Pro-Palestine Demonstration
From the Red Roses to the Badgers: Why are more women playing rugby?
What the Navier-Stokes dispute means for students