Ah, autumn. Season of mists, mellow fruitfulness, chunky knits, pumpkin spice lattes and cosiness, right? Wrong. In the words of an intense young man on TikTok, “throw that shit out of the window”: it’s time to start your winter arc (cue ominous soundtrack of whistling wind).
Actually, winter arc 2024 started on 1 October, so you are already late and I bet a lot of you don’t even know what it is. Tsk. Winter arc is a muscular, social-media-promoted self-improvement strategy and it is not for wimps. For the next three months, you should be, according to another TikToker, “super laser-focused on your goals, on your personal development, on your growth”, with the aim of entering 2025 better, buffer and fully optimised.
Winter arc demands single-minded monastic asceticism (a black hoodie, worn hood up, is essential kit). Participants withdraw from worldly pleasures to devote themselves to higher, or at least heavier, things (the gym six times a week is mandatory). And when I say withdraw, I mean it: forget cuffing season (seeking out a partner to snuggle for the colder months). “Rule one: divorce,” says TikTok user @Phoebeisginger1. “We’re cutting off every single human contact … Literally don’t even talk to anybody.” I don’t think she is serious, but the video is hashtagged thisisserious, so who knows. “No girlfriends, no relationships,” says another winter arc promoter. No masturbation either, apparently, and no Netflix.
Because there is no time, what with the weightlifting, drinking litres of water, walking, reading (a key performance indicator, not a pleasure) and learning new skills. No wonder you need to get up earlier: 5.30am under the crueller regimes. Participants are also exhorted to “bulk”, like bears preparing for hibernation. That sounds OK – eating! – but, unfortunately, it involves “hitting your protein” with frightening quantities of turkey mince. (Do the winter arc crew mince their Christmas dinner? Maybe with a sprig of tinsel around their hoods in a concession to festivity?)
The line between earnest and parody winter arc content is almost impossible to discern, but some people are definitely taking this joylessness seriously. That seems silly and slightly sad. This darker, quieter time of year used to be about softness and small pleasures, punctuated by cathartic moments of collective jollity. Now, self-improvement and self-denial-creep are all-consuming and no one gets a break from the punishing business of becoming their best selves, not even when it is dark and raining; not even for a romcom and some oven chips on the sofa.
In the interests of balance, I winter-arced briefly over the last fortnight, by which I mean I went to the gym a few times and ate some peanut butter, for protein. I already read and barely see or speak to other humans, so those bits were easy, but the rest? Oof.
Because after no summer to speak of, this season is proving a slog, even for an autumn lover. At 7am, it is so dark I assume it’s 3am and go back to sleep. After a brief flirtation with hydration, I’m absolutely over “water” – so cold, so wet – and I can’t give up Netflix until I find out whether the hot rabbi and the sex podcaster overcome their differences. I have acquired no new skills and I’m so tired most afternoons that I repeatedly fall face down on the bed like a heavily anaesthetised owl.
Fair play to anyone with the energy for steely self-denial, but I’ve handed in my winter-arc hoodie and accepted I’ll “stay average”, as one TikTok evangelist calls it. I have an alternative suggestion: why not replace the winter arc with a winter truce? That comes from a French phrase, trêve hivernale, which is when landlords can’t evict tenants, but it perfectly describes how the next three months could look. Why not hunker down, doze off and watch videos of anaesthetised owls faceplanting under a heated throw? Cast off your CrossFit battle ropes and turkey mince and let’s live like Beatrix Potter creatures for a while, in cosy semi-hibernation. It may not set TikTok alight, but it is what’s getting me through the darkness.
• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
