Somewhere around mid-November, every student in this city reaches the same spiritual crisis. You’re trudging up Great Western Road, the rain hitting you horizontally, and a rogue thought slinks in: Do I want a relationship… or do I just need a functioning radiator?
This is the precise moment cuffing season myths are born. Not out of romance. Out of damp.
You’re not in love; you’re just freezing. Everyone in the West End suddenly thinks their situationship is profound because the temperature has dipped below “light cardigan.” People want warmth, literally and metaphorically. But let’s be honest: Cuffing season is less romance, more survival-of-the-warmest. Your Hinge bio might as well read: “Swipe right if you have a radiator.”
The seasonal delusion theory
Let’s get academic for a second (don’t worry, not in a philosophy-boy way). As the temperature drops, Glasgow students lose the plot. Brain cells pack up. Feelings get weird. You start mistaking basic human warmth for a cosmic sign.
You catch someone’s eye across level 3 of the library and your frostbitten mind whispers: This is fate.
It’s not. You’re just hallucinating because the windows don’t close properly.
The annual delusion spreads fast. Suddenly the boy from your Monday tutorial — the one who’s worn the same grey hoodie for 11 consecutive weeks — becomes kind of mysterious. The girl smoking outside the Fraser Building hands you her lighter, and you convince yourself it’s the modern equivalent of exchanging love letters. Your flatmate says: “I think I’m actually ready for something serious,” and we all pretend she didn’t say the exact same thing last winter before dating a man who unironically called Subway a “restaurant.”
Cuffing season vs central heating: A cost-of-living cage match
Enter the hard economics of winter romance. Glasgow’s energy prices are playing Olympic-level games with our sanity. Yes, central heating is a luxury. But the idea that there’s some biological imperative making every single student want to partner up from November to February? Cute, but no.
Heating is money. A boyfriend is, allegedly, free. Students are doing the maths. You explore the morally interesting question: Is this romance or is he just a human radiator who knows three guitar chords?
I urge you to ask yourself the following: Is this love, or does he simply have a boiler built in the last decade? Would I date her in summer if she weren’t giving me mince pies? (euphemism or not, you decide) Do I like them or am I seduced by their flat’s double glazing? Brutal questions. Vital questions.
The ecosystem of Glasgow dating
Now, if you are considering cuffing up, the city offers a thriving ecosystem of options. Here’s a polite field guide to local fauna:
Rugby boys: AVOID AVOID AVOID. They roam in packs. Smell of Lynx Africa and unexamined confidence. Claim they’re not posh but make chinos and barbor jackets their whole personalities. They come alive at Sports Wednesday. Always “not looking for anything serious” yet get jealous when you breathe near another man.
The wellness girlie: Drinks matcha, wears matching Pilates sets, swears she’s “done with men.” She will fold instantly for a boy with curly hair and a tote bag. Also, somehow more offended by your Spotify playlist than your personality.
Economics boys: Speak about crypto like it’s the Book of Revelations. Loves calling cuffing season a “market inefficiency.” You will never beat the grindset. Honestly, just give them their spreadsheets and a hot water bottle – they’re emotionally bankrupt anyway.
The my-degree-is-harder-than-yours girl: Law, med, engineering. You know the type. A triumvirate. She’s lovely, truly, but will say “I’m basically drowning, you don’t understand” when you’re on your knees begging for a text back.
Hinge boys: Their bios: “6ft x” “Love the gym” “don’t take yourself too seriously, love.” The reply once every eight hours because they’re “busy” (playing FIFA). Their red flag is owning one single photo without a group of five indistinguishable men. If they have a “Typical Sunday” prompt and it says they like long walks and roast dinners… RUN.
Philosophy girls: Experts at saying “it’s complicated” when you ask where this is going. Will quote Kierkegaard moments after failing to pay their part of the Uber. Smell faintly of incense and pot noodle.
The final verdict
At the end of the day, cuffing season isn’t some grand human impulse. It’s Glasgow. It’s the rain. It’s flats so cold you can see your breath. It’s the pre-exam melancholy. It’s the longing for someone to share a Tesco meal deal and emotional instability with.
You’re not in love. You’re just baltic.
My best advice? Buy an IKEA blanket, some Tesco’s finest mulled wine, a hot water bottle on next day delivery, and steal an Oodie from a flatmate (thank you Mark from Murano in 2023, if you’re reading this, I still wear it and think of you fondly).
*Full disclosure, this author will not be taking her own advice. I am cuffed (sorry boys). But you all should! I’ll be cheering you all as you navigate this frostbitten social safari.
