Sebastien Grech
Last year, a few friends and I did something that, in hindsight, feels very ‘LSE’. We wrote down our ‘module aspirations’ – that is, target grades for each course – and pinned them to the fridge. It started off as a small accountability trick; something to keep us motivated and engaged with academic work. But for me, those numbers transformed from simple targets into constant reminders of what I ought to achieve. It wasn’t that I consciously thought about them all the time, but their presence increasingly set a tone. Work was no longer something I did on a day-to-day basis, but something I had to justify not doing. Taking a break felt like slacking, and slacking felt like falling behind.
We weren’t the only ones. Ask most LSE students and they will more than likely tell you the same thing. Being busy isn’t just common, it is something expected of you in an ever-increasingly competitive environment, where students are not only judged on academics, but also graduate employment, and the relentless pursuit of ‘doing enough’. But is this culture something that LSE creates, or does the university just attract people who already thrive on overworking?
It’s true that most people hate the feeling of idleness. In a famous psychology experiment conducted by Timothy Wilson, participants were given the choice to push a button to electrically shock themselves, whilst sitting alone in a featureless room without distractions for 15 minutes. Even though every participant initially claimed they would pay to avoid an electric shock, 67% ended up shocking themselves. It proved that stillness is uncomfortable. And when ambition is measured by busyness, staying in motion feels safer than pausing to question whether you’re moving forward.
But, in an academic setting, this discomfort isn’t just about boredom – it’s about the constant feeling that you should be doing more. Unlike a job with set working hours, life on campus has no natural stopping point, as there’s always another reading, another problem set, another application that could be done.
The sense of external pressure from students only adds to this feeling of guilt: According to Daniel*, a second-year Politics and Economics student: “A lot of campus small talk is dominated by the volume of internship applications, the pure volume of studying you’re doing, basically the time expenditure of keeping busy. It pushes me to do more, but I’m not sure that’s entirely a good thing.”
Studies confirm his thoughts. According to the Labour Force Survey, 2.8 million people are out of work due to long-term sickness, primarily caused by burnout and fatigue. While students juggle constant demands at university, employers increasingly cite time management and resilience as two of the biggest challenges for fresh graduates. It suggests that an ‘always-on’ mindset and long hours don’t necessarily translate into effectiveness — and for many, that only becomes clear once they leave university.
For many students, the transition into the professional world feels illuminating. Ella*, a BSc Economics graduate working in transport consulting, told The Beaver: “I love my job, but it’s not my life. At LSE, it felt like everything revolved around work. Now, I’ve got evenings and weekends that actually feel like mine. I’m still busy, but it’s different – I don’t feel guilty for taking time off. Most importantly, I get genuine time to throw myself into other creative disciplines.” For many, this shift is liberating. The structure of professional life, with its clearer work-life boundaries, allows them to step away from the all-consuming mindset of university.
But that transition isn’t always easy. It raises an important question: How well does LSE prepare students for entering the world of work?
Lewis Humphreys, an LSE careers advisor, emphasises that students should make the most of their time at university by experimenting with different and varied activities. “It’s not just about developing time management—it’s about learning to embrace uncertainty. Just doing different things, even when you’re not fully sure where they’ll lead, makes things happen. The more you do, the more you can do. Some of the most successful and fulfilled people just went and did something.”
There is truth in that. Trying different things can help students break out of rigid definitions of success and explore paths they might not have considered. But, for students already feeling stretched thin, even the idea of ‘doing more’ – no matter how well-intended – can feel like another expectation to meet. When productivity is so deeply tied to self-worth, how do you separate healthy creative exploration from the pressure to always be in the state of ‘achieving’?
Bérénice, one of the Social Anthropology community ambassadors, reflected upon the arts and crafts sessions they host in the department’s common room weekly. “We asked ourselves: what would bring people together, what would foster friendships and solidarity among students? We needed something fun and non-academic, something accessible to students, allowing them to switch off from readings and assignments, making their time at LSE lighter and more enjoyable.”
“I don’t see expectations of achievement creeping into those spaces,” she adds. “Rather, I see people trying new things and reconnecting with old hobbies. The end result is often a surprise, driven by the motivation to explore ceramics, jewellery making, or even creating holiday decorations. There is no pressure to perform or to be perfect. These creative events touch upon the students’ personal lives, enabling them to bridge their student and everyday lives.”
That desire to reclaim time, connection, and creativity outside of achievement is part of something deeper. As one graduate put it plainly: “The problem with the world today is that people are running at full speed but going absolutely nowhere. Busyness has become a convenient mask—one that allows individuals to convince themselves they’re doing enough. For many, the relentless hustle is disguised as ambition but, in reality, it’s emptiness.”
LSE’s culture often reinforces that mindset. Here, long hours and back-to-back commitments don’t just feel normal – they feel necessary. There’s always something more to do and stepping back can feel like falling behind. But does busyness always mean progress? Or just movement? The hardest thing to do at LSE isn’t another reading, another work experience, another application. It’s stopping. And maybe that’s the lesson students need most.
*Names have been changed to preserve anonymity
