We compare ourselves to success stories; to that one girl who was in your tutorial and works for Radio 1 (fuck me, Scott Mills actually gave her a shout-out), or that guy who works for *insert Bank here* and has just bought a house with his annual bonus. The truth is it’s not just you. It’s really not. It’s me, it’s him, it’s even that guy you hate because he’s always so smug and earns lots and travels the world with his job.

Two years ago, in my first year of University, I went to see a talk by Caitlin Moran. I settled down in my seat, still slightly damp from the drizzle of an October night with her new book, ‘Moranifesto’ perched on my lap. My head tilted to the stage as the lights centred on the silhouette of Moran strolling into the spotlight. Her opening line, although I may not remember this word for word, was something along the lines of: ‘I remember when I was 15 years old, frantically masturbating on the sofa…’.

‘There are two types of girls this Halloween’, my newsfeed reliably informs me. Curious, I delve further. Do tell me internet, knower of all things, what are these two types? Well, according to Facebook, one type is a woman who enjoys dressing as a slinky cat, and the other is a woman who enjoys dressing as a hotdog. I think this is meant to mean something?