Students Celebrate Start of Spring, Mourn End of Complaining about Seasonal Depression

The blossoming of cherry trees, blue skies, and the return of skateboarders to Red Square after their hibernation can mean only one thing: spring is here. But the coming of spring marks not only the end of winter, but the end of a key aspect of many students’ personalities: seasonal depression.

“The other day in the Quad I found myself frolicking in the spring sunshine,” said sophomore Trisha Payton. “It was a nightmare. How am I supposed to be quirky and relatable if I’m not depressed?”

As students grappled with the prospect of connecting with their peers over something other than their shared suffering, the UW Department of Psychology released a statement hoping to ease their concerns. In it, the department outlined alternative fixations for students to reorient their personalities around in order to maintain their quirk and despair, including the new Boygenius album, reading Sally Rooney books very publicly, and taking up cigarettes. 

“We hope that these suggestions will remind students of the truth: that depression is a fun aesthetic worth striving for,” the statement read. “Because at the end of the day, the health of your mind is temporary. But clout? Relatability? That’s forever.”

“Someone asked me how I was doing the other day, and I said, ‘Pretty good,’ and I realized in horror that I wasn’t just saying it to be polite, I actually meant it,” junior Connor Smith said. “So I immediately put on some Phoebe Bridgers and ate as many Newports as I could.”

Students looking to make themselves miserable might consider dating Connor or taking part in the free mental unwellness clinics recently unveiled by the university. These include reverse light therapy, in which students are locked in a dark closet in Padelford for six hours every day, and the university’s self-deprecation specialist, a scathing, dementia-addled seventy year-old named Gertrude who has no qualms pointing out a student’s every flaw and insecurity.

When asked how she handles the demands of such a position, Gertrude only said, “Where am I? Why are you so skinny and pale, like a little malnourished boy put in a taffy stretcher? Are you my nurse?”