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< Back to Issue 9 Entwined: A Hug Story by Elise Volpato 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Esme MacGillivray Edited by Steph Liang Ranging from Will’s heartbreaking collapse in Sean’s arms (Good Will Hunting (1)), to Sheeta and Pazu’s cheerful embrace (Castle in the Sky (2)), to Love Actually’s opening scene (3), hugs are everywhere. In cinema, songs, poems or artworks, they embody strong emotional connections. A s we observe and experience affectionate physical touch in various contexts, let us not forget about the importance of emotional connections in our own lives . Sharing a hug with your lover(s), your friends, your family, your pets; it seems to be an ordinary action… for extraordinary benefits. When hugging, we can all feel pleasant emotions such as serenity, joy, love. But what is the science behind being entwined to someone? Both psychologists and neuroscientists have puzzled over this question, and proposed potential explanations from numerous studies. Before we dig deeper into the warm world of hugs, I invite you to take some time to reflect on your own experiences: is physical contact important for you? What makes a good hug? Does being entwined to someone mean something to you? We will see that the perspectives on hugging differ through culture, physiology and psychology. Let’s now unknot the strings of our health through the lens of hugging! Hugging as a cultural practice Hugging is embedded in culture. It is often considered as a social greeting, either at the moment of an encounter between two people, or when they say goodbye to each other. Hugging, rather than handshaking, implies a reduction of interpersonal distance, greater emotional involvement and the willingness to show it. It is important that both people want this closer contact, as physical proximity is not appreciated by everybody. This is where particular cultural customs will feel natural for some and uncomfortable for others, depending on the greeting expectations and the person’s disposition to comply with them. Certain cultures will favour handshakes, kisses on the cheeks, a quick tap on the shoulder, or head nods (4). Hugging is not a universal practice. In fact, hugs are more common in warmer countries (alongside other forms of social touch), and within young people and females, but less practiced by conservative and religious populations (5). Physical touch seems less prevalent in Asian cultures – for instance, compared to countries such as Mexico, Costa Rica, or Sweden, China often has the lowest levels of hugging, whether between partners, friends, or a parent and their child (5). Hugs are also a symbol of cohesion, with sports teams’ group hugs providing motivation before a match or celebration after the victory. Interestingly, most studies into this have been conducted in Europe and Northern America, reflecting a bias in the cultural significance of hugging and what we take it to symbolise. Cultural context highlights that hugging serves multiple functions: greeting, social support, but also group cohesion and strengthening relationships. Why your body wants a hug Whether the cultural environment promotes hugging or not, this action inevitably has a physiological impact on people. A primary belief is that the physical warmth of an embrace makes the body feel relaxed, comfortable, and protected. It does not stop there, with hugging triggering various biochemical and physiological reactions, such as a higher magnitude of plasma oxytocin (bonding hormone), decrease in cortisol (stress hormone), and lower blood pressure (6). Hugging also reduces colds, promoting a more efficient immune system, and daily hugging predicts lower levels of two proinflammatory cytokines (7). Clinically, inflammation is a significant health marker, and plays a role in both mental and physical diseases. These results support the “affection exchange theory”, stating that affectionate interpersonal behaviour decreases stress and enhances immunity (excluding mitigating factors). Interestingly, studies show a general preference for right-arm given hugs. This effect is bigger (92%) when there is little emotional connection between huggers; for instance, in a “Social Media Challenge” setting where one person has their eyes covered and is hugged by random people (8). On the other hand, only 59% of people in international airport arrival halls (who are likely strongly connected to each other) hug with the right arm (9). These findings align with the “right hemisphere theory”, which states that the right hemisphere of the brain is dominant in emotional processing. Therefore, in situations of emotional hugging, the right hemisphere (which controls the left side of the body) takes the lead, so individuals hug each other with their left arm. Hence, emotional networks in the brain affect our hugging behaviour. Mind and perception If physical health can be bettered by regular hugs, we should not forget the undeniable links between physiology and mental health. Indeed, they are entwined in a virtuous circle. Due to decreased blood pressure and pulse, stress regulation is enhanced. This regulation is essential to emotional stability, for example before public speaking (10). Cortisol levels – which are related to both physical and psychological stresses - are lowered following a twenty-second hug, compared to no physical connection. This “well-being hack” works either with another person or even by self-hugging (11). Furthermore, research suggests that oxytocin has analgesic effects and influences pain processing areas in the brain (12). Pain is often thought of as a physical process, but it is multifactorial. In psychology, the “gate-control theory” (13) explains that a “gate” in the spinal cord exerts effects on pain perception by combining excitatory inputs from noxious stimuli with inhibitory ones. Thus, pain perception is modulated by both physical, ascending factors, and psychological, descending elements. As oxytocin release aids pain management, human psychology is positively influenced by the benefits of this neuromodulator, as well as the conscious, pleasant perception of hugging. Clearly, our mental health is particularly impacted by physical connection. As there is a lot of individual variability in the way people enjoy embraces, we may wonder whether hugs are more context-dependent or trait-dependent. When we look at personality traits, extraverted individuals tend to take the initiative in hugging, illustrating their spontaneity and warmth. On the other hand, neuroticism shows a tendency to social withdrawal combined with low self-esteem (14). While personality traits can be present from birth, some elements depend on our experiences during infancy. This is particularly relevant for attachment styles. When elaborating on this theory in 1969, Bowlby (15) described how it was essential for a child to not only experience affectionate and encouraging language, but also caresses and physical embraces, in order to develop a secure attachment. Throughout our entire lifespan, regular and adequate physical touch is hugely beneficial to human development. Conclusion The science behind hugging reveals multiple benefits. As long as the embrace is agreed on by all parties, there are minimal negatives, and the hug makes way for social, physiological and psychological advantages. As human beings, we are a highly social species that craves social connection, whether it is through physical bonds, emotional links, or both (hint: a key factor to achieve both is hidden in this article). Being interlaced is a marvellous way to improve your day, and even your life – go increase your oxytocin levels, I promise it is worth it. In the end, feeling entwined tells a meaningful story: a hug-story. References Scalia P, ed. Good Will Hunting . Miramax Films; 1997. Seyama T, Kasahara Y, eds. Castle in the Sky . Toei; 1986. Moore N, ed. Love Actually . Universal Pictures; 2003. Ocklenburg S. The Psychology and Neuroscience of Hugging . Springer Nature Affective Interpersonal Touch in Close Relationships: A Cross-Cultural Perspective. ResearchGate . doi: 10.1177/0146167220988373 Grewen KM, Girdler SS, Amico J, Light KC. Effects of Partner Support on Resting Oxytocin, Cortisol, Norepinephrine, and Blood Pressure Before and After Warm Partner Contact. Psychosomatic Medicine . 2005;67(4):531-538. doi: 10.1097/01.psy.0000170341.88395.47 Lisa, Floyd K. Daily Hugging Predicts Lower Levels of Two Proinflammatory Cytokines. Western Journal of Communication . 2020;85(4):487-506. doi: 10.1080/10570314.2020.1850851 Packheiser J, Rook N, Dursun Z, et al. Embracing your emotions: affective state impacts lateralisation of human embraces. Psychological Research . 2018;83(1):26-36. doi: 10.1007/s00426-018-0985-8 Turnbull OH, Stein L, Lucas MD. Lateral Preferences in Adult Embracing: A Test of the “Hemispheric Asymmetry” Theory of Infant Cradling. The Journal of Genetic Psychology . 1995;156(1):17-21. doi: 10.1080/00221325.1995.9914802 Grewen KM, Anderson BJ, Girdler SS, Light KC. Warm Partner Contact Is Related to Lower Cardiovascular Reactivity. Behavioral Medicine . 2003;29(3):123-130. doi: 10.1080/08964280309596065 Dreisoerner A, Junker NM, Schlotz W, et al. Self-soothing touch and being hugged reduce cortisol responses to stress: A randomized controlled trial on stress, physical touch, and social identity. Comprehensive Psychoneuroendocrinology . 2021;8(100091):100091. doi: 10.1016/j.cpnec.2021.100091 1.Boll S, Almeida de Minas AC, Raftogianni A, Herpertz SC, Grinevich V. Oxytocin and Pain Perception: From Animal Models to Human Research. Neuroscience . 2018;387:149-161. doi: 10.1016/j.neuroscience.2017.09.041 Melzack R, Wall PD. Pain Mechanisms: A New Theory. Science . 1965;150(3699):971-978. Forsell LM, Åström JA. Meanings of Hugging: From Greeting Behavior to Touching Implications. Comprehensive Psychology . 2012;1:02.17.21.CP.1.13. doi: 10.2466/02.17.21.cp.1.13 Bowlby J. Attachment and Loss: Attachment .; 1969. Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 8 Glowing Limelight, Fashioned Stars by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin 3 June 2025 Edited by Kylie Wang Illustrated by Jessica Walton Good evening Rose Bowl, Pasadena! The crowd erupts into a roar, the stadium air overcome with a thunder of adulation. Between throngs of teenagers tearing through streets in pursuit of the Beatles, concert-goers fainting at the sight of Michael Jackson, and Top Tens of the day made to navigate flirty fan calls on daytime TV in front of live audiences (1), pop history as we know it has always revolved around the deep, fanatic reverence of the star . Stars in all corners of the entertainment cosmos, be it music, film or TV, have long had their lives glamorised. Tales told of luxurious jet-setting, post-show mischief and infamous public appearances peppered with paparazzi. Fame turned into fables, circulated eagerly by the wider populace. Having avidly followed a plethora of musicians, actors and comedians at different points of my own life, the gurgling vortex of stardom culture has remained ever-intriguing. Why do our relationships with stars mean so much to our society, and have they shifted over time? Public perceptions & parasocial relationships Our journey begins with the making of a star. A star is born from an assemblage of artistic choices: artwork, stage personas, press releases, bold onstage costumes and more, which constellate into a fashioned image. Or, a ‘manufactured personal reality’ (2). This reality is what audiences draw upon when forming attachments to stars, a process that moulds complex, contradicting human beings into idealised forms that may resonate, validate or provide meaning to them. The mid-century women empowered by the feminine sexuality and intelligence of Marilyn Monroe (2), or the working class Eastern European following of Depeche Mode who saw the band as an emblem of social rebellion under the USSR in the late 80s (3), are such examples. Such attachment gives rise to the infamous ‘parasocial relationship’ (PSR). An often derisive term aptly used today to call out toxic, boundary-crossing online fan behaviour, parasocial relationships at their core simply encompass socio-emotional connections formed with media figures (4). In it, audiences extend emotional energy, time or interest towards figures that whilst unreciprocated, create a perceived idea of intimacy similar to that of two-way relationships. For the audience, PSRs can evoke feelings of safety, trust and various forms of devotion, self-strengthened through personal habits – think dressing like a favourite ‘bias’, or diligently watching a favourite director’s closet picks. PSRs have historically been one-sided. Audience reactions to sensation and scandal have had the power to make or break an artist’s image, but restricted channels of dialogue meant that direct two-way feedback was often “fragmented” (2). The influencing power of the star’s image lay within reach of the star themselves, and more often than not, was shaped by the wider commercial agendas of their agency or labels. That is, until recently… The rise of the Internet Whilst the glitz and glamour of stardom remains strongly relevant, we can focus on the advent of the internet as the most powerful force in reshaping the relationship between fan and star. Termed the “o ne and a half sided” PSR (4), seen today is a shift in power dynamics towards one of increased fan-star symbiosis. As the theory notes, technology has allowed for greater perceived proximity and reciprocity, blurring the line between social and parasocial. Under the extensive nature of the current digital world, our internet presence has become increasingly considered a material extension of our real-life selves (4), whether through Zoom calls, real-time story updates or live vlogs. Direct messages or comments that allow instant reply have muddied the realm of physical and virtual reality, thus leading audiences to feel ‘physically’ closer to the figures in question. This decrease in constructed social distance has fostered notions of reciprocity, viewing stars as people they can reach out to and touch, converse with, and most importantly, influence in return – regardless of any actual ability to do so (4). As we witness stars defend their personal choices against an onslaught of ‘netizen’ backlash or wryly reply to a barrage of invasive thirst tweets (5), we see the increased power that global audiences have over said stars’ images. Eroded power barriers between the star and fan have heightened both positive and negative emotional engagement. Well-documented are various behaviours that disrespect boundaries between personal and professional lives, such as harassment, stalking, and other breaches of privacy. Yet, the rise of the ordinary, accessible star has also allowed greater exposure to previously hidden or stigmatised facets of figures’ lives, fostering safe spaces for perceived authenticity and vulnerability that can counter blind idealisation (6). Evolving industries & societies Under the diluted power networks of stardom today, we can describe celebrity image production as increasingly decentralised (6). Technology has made entry into the entertainment industry more accessible by providing numerous channels for artistic output, whether it be through releasing music independently on streaming services like Spotify, Bandcamp or Soundcloud, or creating short-form video skits on platforms like TikTok or Instagram. With top-down connections to age-old media institutions no longer required, the pool of faces that audiences can form relationships with has drastically expanded (7). Social norms – at the time of writing – have also welcomed the notion of diversified talents. As prevailing social, cultural and political structures shape value judgments made of stars (2), we have seen increased audience meaning-making in the dimensions of gender, ethnicity, class or sexual orientation over past decades (8) aligned with a gradual direction towards progressive and learned landscapes. Here, celebrity advocacy for causes and movements beyond the stage is nothing new, but fan bases can now dissect their forays into activism more publicly than ever before. A world unapologetically critical of “out of touch” (9) wealthy stars crooning out Lennon’s Imagine at the beginning of the pandemic would unlikely have welcomed the white-saviorist charity event that was Live Aid 1985 with as open arms as the dominant media narrative did then (10). A hyper-consumerist present If the exclusive stardom of yore can be likened to the dominance of a supermarket monopoly, then stardom today looks more like a diverse hub of online stores for buyers to ‘Click and Collect’ from. Whilst this setup offers diversified perspectives to a consuming audience, it embodies wider societal trends towards hyper-commodification. Market an image that sells well, and everyone will be famous for 15 minutes , as Andy Warhol supposedly declared (11). Reinforcing the ephemerality of mass consumerism are internet memes or trends (12) that morph and dilute rebellious celebrity motifs for overarching capitalistic agendas – think Brat Summer campaigns in the style of Charli xcx’s 2024 album co-opted by the most unethical multinational corporation you’ve ever come across. Like with the discourse exposing ‘nepo’ babies in the entertainment industry (13), we are reminded that despite the semblances of democratisation, the limelight remains far from a level stage. Stardom, beyond So what then? What lies in store for the future star? On one hand, the perception of proximity with the decline of ‘untouchable’ star personas can strengthen fan worship and deification, with frenzied consequences. On the other hand, increased artist-audience dialogue can pave the way for real change over performative gestures as lessening power imbalances bring a form of democratisation that can platform diverse and marginalised voices in art. All in all, stars today may no longer be able to fully present themselves and be perceived solely as spectral, enigmatic illusions that audiences can latch upon, but the new freedoms and avenues that come with being more truly known may be just as bedazzling. References 1. Robinson P. The great pop power shift: how online armies replaced fan clubs. The Guardian [Internet]. 2014 Aug 25; Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/aug/25/great-pop-power-shift-how-online-armies-replaced-fan-clubs 2. Dyer R. Introduction. In: Heavenly Bodies [Internet]. Routledge; 2004. Available from: https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203605516 3. Wynarczyk N. Tracing Eastern Europe’s obsession with Depeche Mode [Internet]. Dazed. 2017. Available from: https://www.dazeddigital.com/music/article/36659/1/tracing-eastern-europe-s-obsession-with-depeche-mode 4. Hoffner CA, Bond BJ. Parasocial Relationships, Social Media, & Well-Being. Current Opinion in Psychology [Internet]. 2022 Feb;45(1):1–6. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.copsyc.2022.101306 5. Yodovich N. Buzzfeed’s “celebrities reading thirst tweets”: examining the sexualization of men and women in the #MeToo era. Journal of gender studies. 2024 Feb 28;33(8):1–11. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2024.2324263 6. Driessens O. The Celebritization of Society and Culture: Understanding the Structural Dynamics of Celebrity Culture. International Journal of Cultural Studies [Internet]. 2013;16(6):641–57. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1177/1367877912459140 7. Carboni M. The digitization of music and the accessibility of the artist. Journal of Professional Communication [Internet]. 2014 Jun 4;3(2). Available from: https://doi.org/10.15173/jpc.v3i2.163 8. Stewart S, Giles D. Celebrity status and the attribution of value. European Journal of Cultural Studies [Internet]. 2019 Jul 21;23(1). Available from: https://doi.org/10.1177/1367549419861618 9. Caramanica J. This “Imagine” Cover Is No Heaven. The New York Times [Internet]. 2020 Mar 20; Available from: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/20/arts/music/coronavirus-gal-gadot-imagine.html 10. Grant J. Live Aid/8: perpetuating the superiority myth. Critical Arts [Internet]. 2015 May 4;29(3):310–26. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1080/02560046.2015.1059547 11. Nuwer R. Andy Warhol Probably Never Said His Celebrated “Fifteen Minutes of Fame” Line [Internet]. Smithsonian Magazine. Smithsonian Magazine; 2014. Available from: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/andy-warhol-probably-never-said-his-celebrated-fame-line-180950456/ 12. Cirisano T. “Brat” summer and the dilemmas of going mainstream [Internet]. MIDiA Research. 2024. Available from: https://www.midiaresearch.com/blog/brat-summer-and-the-dilemmas-of-going-mainstream 13. Jones N. How a Nepo Baby Is Born [Internet]. Vulture. 2022. Available from: https://www.vulture.com/article/what-is-a-nepotism-baby.html Previous article Next article Enigma back to

By Clarisse Sawyer < Back to Issue 3 Death of the Scientific Hero By Clarisse Sawyer 10 September 2022 Edited by Ruby Dempsey Illustrated by Quynh Anh Nguyen Next Trigger warning: This article mentions racism, sexism and misogyny and death. As a kid I was obsessed, like most kids, with animals of any kind. I would spend hours at a time scouring the beach for shells, getting sunburnt watching lizards, and tentatively feeding the praying mantises I caught, watching with morbid fascination as they hunted and dismembered the unfortunate crickets. It was only natural that I soon became interested in science. The long days of summer holidays were spent pouring over children’s encyclopaedias and watching David Attenborough documentaries. Through David Attenborough, I discovered two incredibly influential scientists - the co-discoverers of evolution, Charles Darwin, and Alfred Wallace. I idolised them, in particular, Wallace. As a shy child, who avoided the limelight like the plague, I had a natural inclination to root for the underdog, and Wallace was presented as such. Wallace was, in contrast to Darwin, much poorer, much more humble, and received much less credit for the theory of evolution than his co-discoverer Darwin. In my developing brain, Wallace took on the status of hero. I would chatter incessantly about him. I developed an interest in insects and butterfly collecting because he was a lepidopterist. I am sure my parents found me insufferable, but they hid their frustrations well, through subtle eye rolls and conversation changes, because they were happy to see me interested in science. So for my 11th birthday, my Dad bought me a book of Wallace’s letters from his time spent as a butterfly collector in the Malay Archipelago. The book was a lot drier than an 11 year old would have hoped for. Most of it was just taxonomy, peppered with the odd personalised comment complaining about the heat. But there was one passage which stood out to me in particular. A passage in which he describes shooting a “wild woman”, upon mistaking her for an orangutan in the forest canopy. In this section he details taking the baby she carefully carried on her back, and raising it as his own “n-word baby”. He promptly taxidermied the mother, with the intention of selling her remains to a wealthy private collector in England7. It was at this point I stopped reading. At 11, there was no way I could tell this was just an incredibly bad taste joke, and that in reality Wallace had actually shot a peculiar subspecies of orangutan, and not a Malaysian woman carrying her child. At 11, I believed my hero would kill me, if I wasn’t half white, if I wasn’t so light skinned, if I didn’t wear clothes, if I didn’t speak English. I would wonder for years afterwards: how brown would I have to be? To be plastinised, taxidermied, sold to some rich collector to sit in a sterile glass cabinet, at the back of some ex nobleman’s mansion. The passage ruined Wallace for me, but not science. Sometimes I wonder, if my passion for science was only marginally less, would I still be in science? I don’t know. For every child who is only mildly deterred by the racism or sexism of their former heroes, surely there is one child whose passion slowly fades, until the only time it is mentioned is by anxious mothers pushing their children to study medicine. I lost my hero, a precedent for who a scientist should be, in addition to developing a paranoia. A paranoia that if I were to start idolising another white, male, historical, scientific figure, I would be met with the same realisation that he would’ve despised me. And I haven’t been able to find a new hero since. Despite there being numerous people of colour, and women in science for a millennia before me, they weren’t the ones promoted to me, or if they were, I found them unrelatable save for their gender or the colour of their skin. They were people who were, 99% of the time, hard working to a fault, such as Marie Curie. Often this diligence was presented as being a detriment to their happiness. So my decision to study science, like many other women and people of colour, was also a decision to be my own precedent for what a scientist should be. While this is empowering, it is difficult not to envy those, like the privileged archetype of a white man, who might be able to draw confidence and inspiration from the figures in the preliminary pages of scientific textbooks. Whilst the majority of them may prove unrelatable, the sheer quantity would ensure that at least one would be a sympathetic character, in stark contrast to the singular, tokenistic entries on historical non-white or female scientists in such text books. But does it really have to be this way? Why should anyone have to feel alienated by scientific history? Why are there not more diverse heroes for us to fall back on? At the crux of my alienation from Wallace, and scientific history more generally, was deceit, more specifically what I perceived as lying by omission. The initial presentation of scientific figures such as Wallace by media, institutions and the like is so sympathetic and devoid of grisly details, that upon discovering the multifaceted nature of these individuals, I experienced a kind of historical whiplash. A scientific education is often presented as being objective. What you are taught in a classroom, at least at a primary or secondary level, is not meant to be subject to much nuance or interpretation. Now, when this concerns science itself, it is a non-issue, because it is true, for instance, that chromosomes are made of DNA, or that the first electron shell of an atom contains 2 electrons. The issue is that the perception of objectivity carries over into the way science history is taught. Unfortunately, this teaching is unavoidably subjective. Teachers and institutions often present positive anecdotes about scientists' hobbies and personal lives. A teacher may share for instance, an endearing fact about the influential French palaeontologist, Georges Cuvier, that he became as knowledgeable in biology as university trained naturalists by the age of 126. However, said teacher may neglect to mention the fact that after her death, Georges Cuvier dissected and taxidermied Sarah Baartman , a South African woman of the Khoisan tribe, and paraded her as a freak for the English public5. Her plastinated body remained on display at the Museum of Manin Paris until 19744. In this example, it would be impossible to say that the teacher’s presentation of Cuvier was objective. Choosing to share the nicest facts about a scientist, to make them appealing to your audience, while neglecting the ugly truths,is at best, irresponsible, and at worst, lying by omission. .Abhorrent actions, such as Cuvier’s treatment of Baartman’s corpse, a woman with whom he had danced and conversed with before her death, are treated as unnecessary details in objective scientific history, as they do not pertain to Cuvier’s scientific discoveries. However, equally unnecessary details, such as Cuvier’s early aptitude for biology, are peppered into school curricula liberally. However, it would be unfair to say that the primary reason why natural history is taught in this way is because of conscious racism and sexism. There are a multitude of explanations for why educators teach like this. Educators may choose to include only the nicer traits of scientific figures, in part perhaps because they do not want to risk disengaging students with affronting subject matter. Further, the morbidity and the racism of scientific history is not exactly appropriate content to teach to younger children. Precedent also plays a role in the way in which natural history is taught. Teaching natural history in an unbiased and inclusive fashion would require rewriting a lot of material. Educators would also have to reevaluate their own personal perceptions of historical figures, which is a difficult task. For instance in Australia, the textbooks A Short History of Australia2 and The Story of Australia3, which were staples of Australian high school history classes for decades, are white-centric stories of Australian exploration, which gloss over perturbing historic details such as massacres of Indigenous peoples. While teaching scientific history in a fair, unbiased and age appropriate manner might seem like an impossible task, there are a variety of small steps educators can take towards this end goal. A strong start would be the following; if teachers decide to include personal details about famous scientific figures, they should seek to include both positive and negative anecdotes, which frame negative actions in a disapproving light. The negative anecdotes serve to ensure that students don’t get ‘whiplash’ as they pursue their education, and also serve to show that modern science does not condone or approve of these actions. In the case of younger students, it is best for teachers to avoid talking about triggering topics, so teachers should teach scientific history from an objective standpoint sans personal details. Teachers also should, as part of their responsibilities as an educator, seek out alternative historical perspectives which challenge their own preconceived notions. And educational institutions should offer professional development courses which provide educators with a more balanced view on scientific history. These actions would help eliminate any subliminal biases teachers might have whilst teaching scientific history. And why are there not more diverse heroes for us to fall back upon? Lack of equal opportunity for marginalised groups in Western society for most of history and the systemic erasure of their contributions is an obvious reason, however through relying on secondary, colonial sources for information, instead of delving deeper into primary sources, educators and institutions inadvertently gloss over scientific contributions by marginalised groups. For example, the contributions of Indigenous Australian scientists and explorers are often ignored by museums. Many famous white explorers of Australia, such as Thomas Mitchell, Charles Sturt and Alexander Forrest worked closely alongside Indigenous guides, who helped navigate territory, and point out items of scientific interest, and their names are actually often acknowledged in primary sources1. For instance, one of explorer Thomas Mitchell’s chief guides, Yuranigh, is mentioned extensively in Mitchell’s personal accounts of his expeditions, and was acknowledged posthumously by Mitchell with a grave and monument1. These people, who were explorers in their own right, have largely been relegated to the footnotes of history and museums, in particular after the publications such as the aforementioned textbooks A Short History of Australia, and The Story of Australia in the 1950’s, which deliberately omitted Indigenous contributions to white Australian exploration in order to sell the false narrative of terra nullius. Luckily, through researching primary sources further, historians, educators and curators will be able to change the narrative, and shed light on these marginalised scientists. But what of scientific heroes? How is it possible to keep students engaged without the more personal aspects of science, given that many scientific figures will have to be cut from curriculums, at least for younger students?My answer to that would be to find new heroes. History is littered with people who made significant contributions without committing atrocities. And who knows, maybe in the void left by problematic figures, space could be cleared for more diverse heroes, the kind removed from history textbooks, such as Yuranigh; an exciting prospect. And yet, there is an unavoidable anguish in throwing out the old in favour of the new. Coming to terms with the fact that the people we idolised were terrible people is no easy feat. But all we can endeavour to do is to portray scientific figures as they were. To portray all aspects of these figures, good and bad, or none at all, and hopefully develop a new history, a new tradition, one that is inclusive, one for which everyone can be proud of and take solace in. References 1. Watson T. Recognising Australia's Indigenous explorers [Internet]. researchgate.net. 2022 [cited 19 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/321579451_Recognising_Australia's_indigenous_explorers 2. Scott E. Short History of Australia. Forgotten Books; 2019. 3. SHAW A. The story of Australia. London: Faber; 1975. 4. Parkinson J. The significance of Sarah Baartman [Internet]. BBC News. 2022 [cited 19 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-35240987 5. Kelsey-Sugg A, Fennell M. Sarah Baartman was taken from her home in South Africa and sold as a 'freak show'. This is how she returned [Internet]. Abc.net.au. 2022 [cited 19 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-11-17/stuff-the-british-stole-sarah-baartman-south-africa-london/100568276 6. Georges Cuvier [Internet]. Britannica Kids. 2022 [cited 19 May 2022]. Available from: https://kids.britannica.com/students/article/Georges-Cuvier/273885 7. Wallace A, Van Wyhe J, Rookmaaker K. Letters from the Malay Archipelago. Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press; 2013. Previous article Next article alien back to

< Back to Issue 4 Why Our Concept of Colours is Broken by Selin Duran 1 July 2023 Edited by Tanya Kovacevic and Megane Boucherat Illustrated by Aizere Malibek The world that surrounds us is made from a combination of three main colours: red, yellow and blue. Known as the primary colours, it's the first thing we learn in primary school art class. In illusions, however, our concept of colours becomes warped and fails us. The only question is how do we fix it? Take the infamous colour-changing dress of 2015. This dress became an internet sensation due to its ambiguity of colour with the major question being “Is the dress black and blue or white and gold?” The dress, despite causing many online debates, is actually black and blue. Nevertheless this debate raises an important question about colours. Why do we see different colours in the same image? Let's begin with colour theory. Colour theory is a set of guidelines that artists use when mixing colours within the spectrum. With the intention of provoking different psychological responses, colours are used to either complement or contrast one another [1]. We see this through the infamous dress - with black and blue complimenting each, then gold and white. Our highly subjective perception allows us to see visually appealing combinations of colours juxtaposed to contrasting combinations. However, what we also need to consider are the light sources being used. Ranging from natural light to blue light and other artificial lighting, the light that we are exposed to can alter our perspective of colour. On our devices, we see colours through a series of red, green, and blue pixels that combine to make new colours for every image that we see [2]. Similarly, the frequent manipulation of our devices’ brightness also contributes to different colours being shown on the screens. These are the primary reasons why the famous dress was perceived so differently by everyone: each device shows a different version of the same colour depending on its display settings, which affects how many red, green and blue pixels there are. In addition to the colour theory, another effect— the Bezold Effect—is at its peak with the infamous dress. The Bezold Effect is an optical illusion where a colour’s appearance is affected by the presence of colours that surround the object [3]. For this dress, it’s seen through the shadows that form on and around the bodice. With brighter surroundings, such as the sun or an overly brightened screen, the blue from the dress appears gold to the eye, while the black appears white. The dress reverts to its original colours when the screen is darkened or artificial light is used. Circling back to colour theory, the changes in colours aren’t randomly allocated: they are opposing colours of the colour wheel. The wheel is a visual illustration of colours arranged by their wavelength, used to display the relationship of primary colours to their corresponding secondary colours [4]. With blue contrasting a yellow or gold, the changes in lighting perfectly display the contrasting colours on the wheel. The fascinating nature of colours is not something we can fix. In the era of digital displays and evolving technologies, we can’t see things the “right” way because there is no notable “right” or “wrong” way to look at the world. The dress is just one of those illusions that changes depending on the context and surroundings that it’s placed in. You can manipulate these colours and force them to change by physically changing the brightness on a device. So out of curiosity, I decided to conduct a little experiment of my own through an Instagram poll to see what my friends thought of this dress. While only 37 people participated, it was still fun to see what would happen with the votes; however, I was surprised to see the results after 24 hours. I expected a majority to choose the “real” colour of the dress, since the dress has been around in the media for a while and the answer is also online, but people still had contrasting opinions about the dress. With only 54% of people seeing black and blue and 46% white and gold, I began questioning our vastly different perceptions. The answer always seemed obvious as the dress was always black and blue not white and gold but that didn’t mean that other people saw what I saw. My favourite response came from a friend who saw the dress as blue and gold and after that, my opinion changed. For me, the dress is now blue and with tints of gold and I can’t see it any other way. This truly goes to show that there’s more behind the dress than what meets the eye. When I first saw the image my brightness was at the lowest it could possibly be and now after looking at the image enough, it’s just blue and gold. The ambiguity of this image is what makes the dress the best example of a real-life illusion. Other colour combinations act the same way in different lighting, but what we see is completely dependent on our perceptions, and every now and then, it’s always fun to put up a debate. References Eliassen MM. Colour theory. Salem Press Encyclopedia [Internet]. 2023 Jan 1 [cited 2023 May 13]; Available from: https://discovery.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=30f4180b-d38d-38e6-95df-fcf469ab5c8a Mertes, A. (2021, February 23). Why Computer Monitors Display the Same Colors Differently . https://www.qualitylogoproducts.com/ . https://www.qualitylogoproducts.com/promo-university/why-monitors-display-different-colors.htm#:~:text=The%20pixels%20are%20in%20some,shows%20up%20on%20the%20screen Lasikadmin. (2022, June 2). What is Bezold Effect? | Useful Bezold Effect. LASIK of Nevada. https://lasikofnv.com/blog/test-your-vision-by-bezold-effect/#:~:text=What%20is%20the%20Bezold%20Effect,one%20to%20the%20human%20eye Understanding color theory: the color wheel and finding complementary colors . (n.d.). https://www.invisionapp.com/inside-design/understanding-color-theory-the-color-wheel-and-finding-complementary-colors/ Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE

By Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko, Patrick Grave, Yvette Marris Message from the Editors in Chief By Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko, Patrick Grave, Yvette Marris 23 March 2022 Edited by the Committee Illustrated by Quynh Anh Nguyen Another year in science has passed, with 2022 disappearing into 2023. With a mandated return to campus life at the University, there seems a tangible break from the past three years of lockdowns, isolation and online existence. Over the summer holidays, four of our wonderful OmniSci contributers—Andrew, Julia, Lily and Yvette—have written about science that has made a mark in 2022, with topics spanning DNA of the ancient past to the future of art crafted by artificial intelligence. Our writers were supported by editors, Tanya and myself, and the cover and article art for this issue has been created by Quynh Anh. Thanks also goes to our behind-the-scenes events duo, Andrew (again!) and Aisyah, who have been working hard on promotion to showcase the work of our team on this mini-issue, and our treasurer-secretary, Maya, who keeps us all in line. On behalf of the whole team, we're incredibly excited to share our summer issue, 2022: A Year in Science. If you would like to support our work, you can sign up as a member, join our mailing list or get in touch at omniscimag@gmail.com—all this and more on our About Us page. Most importantly, please read on! Previous article Next article

< Back to Issue 2 Postdoc Possibilities Thinking about postgraduate research? This column has some advice for you, courtesy of a recent PhD graduate. by Renee Papaluca 10 December 2021 Edited by Ruby Dempsey and Breana Galea Illustrated by Casey Boswell The idea of (dis)order is apparent in many scientific fields. One example of this is artificial light at night, which can disrupt our ecosystems. I caught up with Marty Lockett, a recent PhD graduate in this field, to learn more about the research pathway and their experience studying science at the University of Melbourne. Marty Lockett. Image included with permission. Marty recently completed his PhD in the Urban Light Lab, School of Biosciences. In his spare time, Marty enjoys birdwatching, Lego and science fiction. What was the ‘light-bulb moment’ that prompted you to study science? “I have always enjoyed the outdoors. For example, bushwalking, snorkelling, birdwatching — all that sort of stuff. I am more of a latecomer to science. About 10 years ago, I took long-service leave from my job. I used to be a lawyer. I ended up spending a lot of time doing volunteer work for conservation and restoration organisations… and I was exposed for the first time to the world of science and ecology. The work involved things like cleaning up rubbish, tree planting, weed removal, and banding and recapturing birds with researchers. It was really eye-opening! I realised I could do this for a job… I had never studied science, apart from chemistry at school. I had never been exposed to ecology or really considered it as a potential career option. Having that opportunity to immerse myself in nature in a more constructive and helpful way, rather than being a passive observer, really got me thinking.” Why did you choose to complete a research pathway? “So, I came into this not having an undergraduate degree in science. I completed a Masters of Environment to begin with. My thinking there was to try and get into environmental management, conservation or restoration management. As part of that masters, I completed a couple of third-year animal behaviour subjects. I found this really interesting as I hadn’t studied much about the behaviour of wildlife. Off the back of that, I decided to focus on this area for my research capstone subject. I met Dr Therésa Jones [current supervisor] and … did a mini research project on artificial light at night which is her area of specialization. From there, I got hooked on research… I wanted to find out more and, from there, decided to complete a PhD… There’s so much to learn about the world. Being in the position where the world now knows something that it once didn’t because of your work is really powerful.” What was the focus of your PhD research? Why did you choose this area? “My main project was looking at the effects of artificial light at night on an important food chain in Eucalyptus woodlands.” “There's a lot of research on the effects of artificial light at night on individual organisms… There's less but increasing research on interactions between species. As you spread out wider, there's [even] less research on more complex communities and on the wider cascading ecological effects of artificial light at night. I wanted to look into the effects of artificial light on a system that was underexplored and really important here in Australia.” “I chose a specific Eucalyptus woodland food chain consisting of river red gum trees, lerp psyllids, and birds that eat them. Lerps are the white bumps you sometimes see on Eucalyptus leaves. These are made by the nymphs [juveniles] of insects called lerp psyllids. Psyllids feed on leaf sap. Since eucalyptus sap is very rich in carbohydrates, they secrete the excess carbohydrates and use it to build little white domes over themselves. This takes a resource which is completely indigestible by most animals [Eucalyptus sap] and it turns it into something that is highly digestible by a whole range of animals… like birds, other insects, possums [and] bats. So lerps are a really key food resource in Eucalyptus woodlands. At the next level of the food chain, I chose a bird that was particularly dependent on lerps known as bell miners. I wanted to see the effect of artificial light at night at each level of this food chain. This is because all three organisms were vulnerable to… [the] effects of artificial light at night in different ways, and impacts at one level of the food chain might have cascading effects on other levels.” What did your day-to-day life as a PhD researcher look like? “It's really varied. In my case, I broke it down into three main work categories. So first up, you've got reading and writing. In the early days, before you start doing any experiments, you've got to learn a lot about your area, find out what's known, what's unknown, form hypotheses and figure out ways of testing them…” “In the middle, there is much more time spent on fieldwork and lab work. The extent of this will vary depending on the project… In my case, it was probably 50/50… An amazing amount of research involves what we refer to as ‘art and crafts’ where, after you design an experiment, you've got to then figure out a way to test that experiment on a tight budget. For example, building insect traps; you have to think about how you will make it work logistically. You need something that can be easily broken down and transported, but is rigid enough to stand up in a street, doesn't blow over in the wind and all those kinds of things. Fieldwork involved rigging up electric lights in a paddock, finding ways to stop parrots eating sound recorders; all kinds of weird stuff I never thought I'd be doing. Then there’s the actual fieldwork itself — catching bugs, measuring trees — whatever it is you need to do to gather data.” “The third main activity is statistical analysis and coding, which often go hand in hand. Most of [my] analysis was done in R [programming language], which was another thing that I hadn't done before… I hadn't really appreciated, as an outsider, just how much time scientists spend on statistics and coding. Coding governs a whole lot of things [in research], not just statistics. So you'll use coding to measure the number and diversity of vocalisations in birdsong recordings. You also may use it for physical mapping of study sites. In stats, there is obviously coding involved in statistical analysis, but also for creating the plots for your papers. It's all coding!” “At the end, you come back to reading and writing. You've gathered all your data, you've written up your results and then you've got to put them in context for your reader.” What advice would you give to students considering this research pathway? “There's two aspects to a PhD. On one hand, you are researching something that is of interest to you. This might be a particular organism, process or scientific question… That's a really important element of the PhD. But the other element is about you upskilling. Basically, a PhD is like a research apprenticeship and it's mostly self-driven… Your supervisor is there to guide you but you've got to come up with all the questions yourself, and figure out how to test them. I feel like it's really important to make the most of both these aspects; you want to do a great research project and find out something interesting that the world didn't know before. But you also want to make sure you're making the most of this time to meet people, take on skills, try things out and get outside your comfort zone. This is really important in making yourself as attractive as possible to future employers and a well-rounded researcher.” What are your future plans following your PhD? “I would like to take these skills and apply them in an in-house ecologist or research position. I’d like to do work where there's a chance to both conduct research and apply what we know to achieve better outcomes for wildlife. So, for example, working on the practical application of artificial light, working with people who make decisions about installing artificial light fixtures and helping them to find better ways to balance the needs of humans and the needs of wildlife.” Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

2022: A YEAR IN SCIENCE 23 March 2023 Message from the Editors in Chief By Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko, Patrick Grave, Yvette Marris A short message from the Editors in Chief Svante Pääbo: Talking to the Past By Lily McCann The world of today might seem completely alien to an archaic human, but 2022 Nobel Prize winner Svante Pääbo is pioneering work using archaeological DNA to decode genetic links to help us understand humans of the past. Meet the New Kid By Julia Lockerd Imagine a machine joins your art class, creating new art from an AI algorithm fed by original human creation. No need to imagine — AI has already refined art in 2022. From Fusion to Submarines: A Nuclear Year By Andrew Lim In 2022, nuclear science stood between old fears and new possibilities. What’s next for politicians, scientists and the public? Behind the Mask By Yvette Marris 2022 brought new stories of healthcare workers struggling in our post-pandemic world, but the big picture goes beyond the COVID wards.

< Back to Issue 9 Time Perception – The Chaos Binding Your World Together by Furqan Mohsin 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Noah Chen Edited by Arwen Nguyen-Ngo Take a moment to clap your hands together. Do you hear the sound of the clap right as your hands come into contact? This does appear to occur at the same time. Yet the sound of the clap travels much slower than the light from your hands, and your brain differs in the time taken to process sound and light. So how does the clap appear to be in sync? Our ability to measure time is the glue that holds our perception of the world together. It ties our senses, our memories and the events of our lives into a coherent narrative. Yet this system is rarely thought about, and, in many ways, peculiarly disconnected from reality. For instance, time tends to flow faster when we feel excited (1), slow down when we move slowly (2) and even seems to flow differently when we look at the colour red (3). Our window of time tends to expand when we’re taking in a high density of important information (4) and contracts when we are in a state of flow (5). Overall, our subjective experience of time is malleable, ebbing in and out of alignment with real, objective time. This indicates our perception of time is shaped by our environment and internal state rather than a direct readout of physical time, and our best neuroscientific theories of time perception support this. Though scientists have theorised our brain uses a central clock or metronome, more recent evidence suggests our mechanisms for perceiving time are distributed across our brain (6). For example, there seem to be distinct mechanisms involved in tracking time of less than a second, compared to more than a second (7). Each sense also seems to have its own timing systems, meaning vision, hearing and touch modalities are able to track their own time (8). Rather than syncing to a central clock, many researchers believe the measurement of time is implicit in the timing of neural processes and inferred from external signals (9). It’s not a metronome – it’s an orchestra without a conductor, each player keeping the other in check. This means our flow of time is dynamic, stitched together from our environment, alertness and the neuronal activity of the brain itself. Our subjective experience of time and the inner workings of time in the brain are very different from the steady, constant flow we perceive physical time to be. Yet, time as an objective feature of the universe is dynamic in its own way. We all share the basic experience of “being” in a present moment. According to our best understanding of physics, however, time is tied to space, with no point in spacetime being uniquely privileged (10). This means there is no singular present moment we all share. Rather, depending on their position and motion through space, different people can experience different chains of events in time. In essence – different people experience different presents (11). Time is also inherently directionless. Fundamental equations in physics are time-symmetric, meaning the laws of physics work in reverse (12). Our experience of time as a directional flow is fundamental to how we see the world, but this flow is a product of entropy (13). This refers to how arrangements of particles in a system are overwhelmingly likely to progress from states of order into states of increasing disorder. An apple decays and doesn’t revitalise. Ice cubes melt and don’t reform. But this is also not a fundamental force, like we perceive the flow of time to be. It is a statistical tendency that emerges only on the large-scale interactions of an uncountable number of particles. In summary, time in physics is far from an independent arrow. It is interweaved with space and has direction only through the relationships between particles. Yet it remains an integral aspect of our reality. If objective time is so different from our intuitions, how do we explain our experience of time? Why do we experience a seemingly shared present moment, and a sense of time flowing forward steadily? Ultimately, this is because our experience of time is constructed. We need the experience of a present moment to draw together events in the world (14). The clap of your hands, in the truest sense, is a collection of particles. But by interweaving the myriad streams of brain activity and sensory stimuli, the mind places this clap within a moment. Just as we, as a species, place ourselves within a moment. Time in the brain is represented through a shifting, organised chaos of neural activity and interconnected systems. Within physics, it is bound with space and progresses forward through a dance of particles organised through thermodynamics. Collectively, we tell stories and plan futures through a shared sense of time that has been somehow ordered from the chaos. If you’re ever without a clock and wondering how much time has passed, remember, you are not alone. References Gable PA, Wilhelm AL, Poole BD. How Does Emotion Influence Time Perception? A Review of Evidence Linking Emotional Motivation and Time Processing. Front Psychol . 2022;13. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2022.848154 De Kock R, Zhou W, Joiner WM, Wiener M. Slowing the body slows down time perception. eLife . 2021. doi: 10.7554/eLife.63607 Shibasaki M, Masataka N. The color red distorts time perception for men, but not for women. Sci Rep . 2014;4(1):5899. doi: 10.1038/srep05899 Matthews WJ, Meck WH. Temporal cognition: Connecting subjective time to perception, attention, and memory. Psychol Bull. 2016 Aug;142(8):865–907. Hancock P. A meta-analysis of flow effects and the perception of time. Acta Psychol (Amst) . 2016;142(8):865-907. doi: 10.1037/bul0000045 Ivry RB, Schlerf JE. Dedicated and intrinsic models of time perception. Trends Cogn Sci . 2008;12(7):273–80. doi: 1 0.1016/j.tics.2008.04.002 Paton JJ, Buonomano DV. The Neural Basis of Timing: Distributed Mechanisms for Diverse Functions. Neuron . 2018;98(4):687–705. doi: 10.1016/j.neuron.2018.03.045 Rammsayer T, Pichelmann S. Visual-auditory differences in duration discrimination depend on modality-specific, sensory-automatic temporal processing: Converging evidence for the validity of the Sensory-Automatic Timing Hypothesis. Q J Exp Psychol . 2018;71(11):2364-2377. doi: 10.1177/1747021817741611 Buhusi CV, Meck WH. What makes us tick? Functional and neural mechanisms of interval timing. Nat Rev Neurosci . 2005 Oct;6(10):755-65. doi: 10.1038/nrn1764 Buonomano D, Rovelli C. Bridging the neuroscience and physics of time. arXiv . 2021. doi: 10.48550/arXiv.2110.01976 Baron S, Miller K. An Introduction to the Philosophy of Time. 1st ed. Polity; 2018. 280 p. Carrol S. Time. In: The Biggest Ideas In The Universe: Space, Time and Motion. Dutton; 2022. p. 304. Buonomano D. Your Brain Is a Time Machine: The Neuroscience and Physics of Time. 1st ed. W. W. Norton & Company; 2017. 304 p. Eagleman DM. Human time perception and its illusions. Curr Opin Neurobiol. 2008;18(2):131–136. doi: 10.1016/j.conb.2008.06.002 Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 4 From the Editors-in-Chief by Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko, Patrick Grave, Yvette Marris 1 July 2023 Edited by the Committee Illustrated by Gemma van der Hurk Scirocco, summer sun, shimmering on the horizon. Salt-caked channels spiderweb your lips, scored by rivulets of sweat. Shifting, hissing sands sting your legs. You are the explorer, the adventurer, the scientist. A rusted spring, you heave forward, straining for each step, hauling empty waterskins. ----- The lonely deserts of science provide fertile ground for mirages. An optical phenomenon that appears to show lakes in the distance, the mirage has long been a metaphor for foolhardy hopes and desperate quests. The allure of a sparkling oasis just over the horizon, however, is undeniable. The practice of science involves both kinds of stories. Some scientists set a distant goal and reach it — perhaps they are lucky, perhaps they have exactly the right skills. Other scientists yearn to crack a certain problem but never quite get there. In this issue of OmniSci Magazine, we chose to explore this quest for the unknown that may be bold, unlucky, or even foolhardy: chasing the ‘Mirage’. Each article was written entirely by a student, edited by students, and is accompanied by an illustration that was created by a student. We, as a magazine, exist to provide university students a place to develop their science communication skills and share their work. If there’s a piece you enjoy, feel free to leave a comment or send us some feedback – we love to know that our work means something to the wider world. We’d like to thank all our contributors — our writers, designers, editors, and committee — who have each invested countless hours into crafting an issue that we are all incredibly proud of. We’d also like to thank you, our readers; we are incredibly grateful that people want to read student pieces and learn little bits from the work. That’s enough talking from us until next issue. Go and read some fantastic student writing! Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE

< Back to Issue 9 Living Pixels by KJ Srivastava 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Max Yang Edited by Nirali Bhagat We’ve all seen those hypnotic videos of colour-changing animals – a cuttlefish pulsing stripes across its body, a chameleon melting from green to gold, or an octopus vanishing into coral like a magician’s smoke bomb. Their skin shifts hues like it’s nothing. But how do they actually do that? Take starfish, for instance. They don’t seem to have eyes, yet somehow they “know” what their surroundings look like. Cephalopods, your octopuses, squids, and cuttlefish, go even further, creating patterns that match their environment with uncanny precision. How can they pull that off if they can’t even see any details around them? Seeing Without Eyes? A chromatophore is a specialised cell found in animals, and even some bacteria, that contains pigment or reflects light. You’ll find them across the animal kingdom: in fish, frogs, chameleons, and even in certain bacteria (yes, microbes get to have fun too). Depending on the species, chromatophores come in different flavours. Some are pigment-based, like those filled with melanin (the same as in human skin), while others use microscopic structures to bend and reflect light, acting like natural nanotech (1). Under white light, chromatophores are often classified by the colour they show off – red, brown, blue, green, and the iridescent in-betweens. In vertebrates like fish and reptiles, these cells sit in neat layers under the skin, filtering and bouncing light to produce a kaleidoscope of shades. Chromatophores 101: Nature’s Colour Cells In creatures like octopuses and cuttlefish, chromatophores are tiny, elastic sacs filled with pigment. These sacs are surrounded by radial muscle fibres which are wired to the nervous system. When the animal wants to display a colour, it sends a signal that contracts those muscles, pulling the pigment sac open like an umbrella. The expanded pigment becomes visible on the surface. Relax the muscle and the sac snaps shut – colour gone! So instead of pigment just sitting there passively, the cephalopod is actively controlling its skin colour with muscle contractions, at speeds fast enough to create those mesmerising rippling patterns. All these changes are actively, neurally controlled; they're not automatic like blushing. They're often voluntary, and dynamic, responding to things like light, mood, temperature, and stress (2). In fact, cephalopod chromatophores are sensitive to direct electrical stimulation. One study found that when researchers applied oscillating electrical patterns to the squid Sepioteuthis lessonia, the pigment sacs expanded and contracted in synchronised, wave-like patterns under 1.5Hz; essentially, we can rhythmically ‘play’ these cells like an instrument! (1) Chromatophores in vertebrates work a bit differently. Instead of opening and closing sacs, the pigment inside the cell moves around, spreading out when the colour needs to be more visible, clustering together when it doesn't. Still responsive, still cool, just a little less… flashy. Layers, Pigments, and Light Tricks Here’s where things get really interesting. Chromatophores aren’t all for show. They’re sensitive to light, chemistry, and electrical signals, which makes them incredibly valuable for science and technology! Some fish chromatophores, for example, visibly change colour in the presence of toxins like cholera and pertussis. They detect these threats in real time, with the colour change varying with concentration, meaning you can even tell how much of a toxin is there, not just whether it is present (3). That makes them powerful candidates for biosensors, living tools that can monitor environmental or biological conditions. Why is it a big deal? Unlike traditional sensors made of synthetic materials or inert components, chromatophore-based systems are made of living cells. They keep reacting, adapting, and functioning over time, giving them an edge in sensitivity, flexibility, and longevity (2). While chromatophores already act as living, colour-changing pixels, researchers are exploring how to use them in adaptive camouflage technologies. Imagine a bandage that shifts colour when it detects infection, the moment bacteria start to grow, not just after the infection has spread. Or ocean sensors that monitor salinity and pollution, while blending seamlessly into coral reefs so as not to disturb marine life. All of these possibilities are made an achievable reality by these remarkable sacs of pigment! These amazing cells offer a glimpse at what happens when evolution builds something both beautiful and functional. Next time you see a chameleon vanish into a leaf, or an octopus ripple with light like a living mood ring, take a second to think about what’s really going on under the surface. Behind every colour shift is a tiny symphony of biology and physics, all working together in real time. And the best part? It’s still magic. It doesn't stop being magic when we figure out how it works! References Lei Y, Chen W, Mulchandani A. Microbial biosensors. Analytica chimica acta . 2006;568(1-2):200-10. doi: 10.1016/j.aca.2005.11.065 Tan L, Schirmer K. Cell culture-based biosensing techniques for detecting toxicity in water. Current opinion in biotechnology . 2017;45:59-68. doi: 10.1016/j.copbio.2016.11.026 Plant TK, Chaplen FW, Jovanovic G, Kolodziej W, Trempy JE, Willard C, Liburdy JA, Pence DV, Paul BK. Sensitive-cell-based fish chromatophore biosensor. InBiomedical Vibrational Spectroscopy and Biohazard Detection Technologies 2004;5321;265-274. doi: 10.1117/12.528093 Kim T, Bower DQ, Deravi LF. Cephalopod chromatophores contain photosensitizing nanostructures that may facilitate light sensing and signaling in the skin. Journal of Materials Chemistry C . 2025;13(3):1138-45. doi: 10.1039/D4TC04333B Previous article Next article Entwined back to

Issue 1: Science is Everywhere Foreword from Dr Jen Marti n From the Editors-in-Chief Hear from the founder and leader of the UniMelb Science Communication Teaching Program! A few words from our four Editors-in-Chief on the inaugural issue of OmniSci Magazine! 2 minute read 2 minute read Columns The body, et cetera Conversations in science Chatter Wiggling Ears By Rachel Ko Let’s take a trip down evolution lane to uncover the story behind everyone’s favourite useless party trick: ear wiggling. 3 minute read Behind the Scenes of COVID-19 with Dr Julian Druce By Zachary Holloway In conversatio n with Dr Julian Druc e. 6 minute read Silent Conversations: How Trees Talk to One Another By Lily McCann What do trees talk about? 5 minute read Science Ethics Cinema to Reality Humans of UniMelb Should We Protect Our Genetic Information? By Grace Law How much is our genetic and biometric data worth? And why are others so keen to get their hands on it? Can We Build the Iron Man Suit? By Manthila Ranatunga Ever wondered what it takes to build the Iron Man suit? Research - Is it For Me? By Renee Papaluca Hear from current research students about their experiences studying science at UniMelb. 4 minute read 4 minute read 4 minute read The Greenhouse Unpacking the Latest IPCC Report — What Climate Science is Telling Us By Sonia Truong Unpacking the latest UN IPCC report on the science behind climate change. 5 minute read Features Our Microbial Frenemies By Wei Han Chong Diseases and pandemics have always been the source of great disasters throughout history, so why don't we do away with them? 7 minute read Where The Wild Things Were B y Ashleigh Hallinan Biodiversity loss is perhaps just as catastrophic as climate change, so let's consider the role of ecosystem restoration in battling this ecological emergency. 6 minute read Understanding the Mysterious Science of Sleep By Evelyn Kiantoro Sleep, our favourite way to wind down and relax. But why do we sleep? Moreover, what are dreams? 6 minute read The Rise of The Planet of AI By A shley Mamuko When does tech become fully integrated into our lives? 7 minute read The Intellectual’s False Dilemma: Art vs Science By Natalie Cierpisz The age-old debate once again resurfaces. Art and science. Two worlds collide 6 minute read Climate Change, Vaccines & Lockdowns: How and Why Science Has Become a Polarising Political Debate By Mia Horsfall How should scientific research and political legislation interact, and what role should they play in public discourse? 6 minute read Sick of Lockdown? Let Science Explain Why. By T anya Kovacevic The mechanisms behind lockdown fatigue - and how to treat it. 6 minute read Let's Torque Competition Winner Bionics: Seeing into the Future By J oshua Nicholls Let's explore the ground-breaking technology that could help Australians suffering from visual impairment. Let's Torque is the premier science communication organisation taking STEM to Victorian schools and undergrad students. They host a science communication competition annually. 5 minute read Let's Torque website

< Back to Issue 2 Man-Made Science: On the Origins of the Gender Gap Scientific practice remains doused in centuries of unreasoned and illogical discrimination against women. But what is the best way to unravel the complexities of such an intricate web of injustice, intellectual theft and suffering? by Mia Horsfall 10 December 2021 Edited by Natalie Cierpisz & Ruby Dempsey Illustrated by Janna Dingle Alice Ball was born in Seattle on July 24, 1892. She would grow up in Washington, achieving top marks in school before studying Chemistry at the University of Washington. She would have her article "Benzoylations in Ether Solution" published in the Journal of the American Chemical Society. Ball then pursued a Masters of Chemistry at the University of Hawaii, where she would study chaulmoogra oil and its treatment of leprosy. Ball revolutionised the application of the oil, discovering its water solubility in its ester ethyl form, enabling it to be dissolved within the bloodstream. At the time, this revolutionary treatment was the best available for leprosy, having resoundingly positive impacts on more than 8000 people. Ball would die at the age of 24, and Arthur L. Dean, the future President of the University of Hawaii, would publish her findings, the treatment coming to be known as the “Dean Method”. It was not until 2000 that Alice Ball was formally recognised as having pioneered the method. Ball is not a rarity in the history of recognition of women in science. Women have been rendered oblique in the fabric of scientific contribution, pushed into corners by their male counterparts. You are not a scientist, they say. You are a worker, a contributor to a broader scientific framework that lies beyond the tips of your fingers. Your worth does not extend past your utility, your body and brain useful insofar as we dictate. Make no mistake, your work is not yours to own. These women, these scientists, these thinkers are perpetually framed in this lens, their stories framed in the contexts they were stolen from. Throughout history, women have been slotted in around men, in the world, in language, crammed in, letting femininity compress and fold over herself. The notion of feminist and masculinist lenses of science is not inherently divisive despite the dichotomised nature of their terminology. Rather, examining the feminist lenses of science contributes to a richer understanding of the epistemic value of science itself. The dangers of not examining said lenses are not only very real, they are tragic. Historically, women have occupied lesser paid, more arduous, and more dangerous positions within STEM industries, the most famous instance being the large number of women who contracted radiation poisoning from painting watch-faces with self-luminous paint. However, there is no unified definition of a “feminist lens of science”. Various feminist philosophers and critics have taken hugely diversified approaches to exploring the hierarchal structure of scientific industries. A more limited feminist approach looks purely at the consequential issues of exclusion, examining issues of employment and discrimination and attempting to rectify these after they have occurred. This is a relatively contained approach to gender disparities within STEM, in contrast to more encompassing ideologies of socialist or existentialist feminism that examines the reason women are excluded in the primary instance, and how their exclusion permeates scientific practice. Existentialist feminism upholds that sex-based discrimination occurs not as a result of biological differences, but due to the social valuation of those biological differences. It is, as Sue Rosser points out, “man’s conception of woman as Other” that leads to ostracisation. In a similar vein, socialist feminism defines knowledge as a product of human investigation rather than an innate property of scientific practice. As a consequence, knowledge is inevitably influenced by social values and indeed, cannot exist without bias. As Rosser points out, this has a very tangible impact at industry level, where “the social shaping of technology has often been conceptualised in terms of men, excluding women at all levels”. So long as the notion of conventional masculinity saturates scientific practice, the proportion of women who not only pursue science but who are recognised for their work will remain diminished. It is no coincidence that of professionals working across STEM industries, only 28 per cent are women. Sexism is not merely a product of academic culture, it is ingrained within the practice of science itself. The study of evolutionary biology is a prime example, where Darwin posited in 1859 “the average standard of mental power in man must be above that of women”. A decade later, Antoinette Brown Blackwell proved this to be an illogical conclusion, much of the research conducted was conducted with this in mind. As a result, foundational assumptions about the makeup of “human nature” were built upon these misguided foundations. It was not until much later that this groundwork was actively revised in mainstream science. Primatologists Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey and Biruté Galdikas demonstrated that there was very little, if anything, biologically different in the “moral and intellectual” capacities of men and women by investigating the evolutionary significance of female primates. Despite this, science, particularly in the life sciences, remains endowed with sexism that has arisen as a consequence of systemic inequality. One ramification of the surplus of male bioscientists that has been historically upheld is the stigmatisation and mystification of female anatomy and the differences of treatment for various diseases. That is, the predominance of male scientists results in lack of female subjects in medical experiments, leading to “under-diagnosis, inappropriate treatment and higher death rates for cardiovascular and other disease in women”, as Rosser points out. Such a lack of research not only directly results in higher suffering in women, but it is also indicative of a broader culture of apathy and negligence in the treatment of women. Much of these issues arise as a consequence of what is known as the “gender data gap”, a term coined by feminist journalist Caroline Criado Perez. Essentially, our default human is male and our data disproportionately accounts for them. This impacts every area of life, from women being 50 per cent more likely to be misdiagnosed after a heart attack (heart-fail experiment subjects are primarily male) to being 17 per cent more likely to die in a car crash (crash-test dummies are designed with masculine anatomy). These implications are severe, particularly in the realms of psychology, where diagnoses and psychological science has been used as a weapon to marginalise and obscure the autonomy of women. The etymology of the word “hysteria” has its roots from the Latin word for “uterus”, the construction of the word sexist from its conception. Since then, women who have advocated for change have consistently been deemed mentally unfit to serve within social spheres. This notion has bled into psychological practice and shapes much of the diagnostic procedure we see today, however subliminally. Further, the conduct of psychological studies is perhaps inescapably plagued by bias and assumption. This exists within every area of science but is particularly poignant in psychology, where successful post-publication replication is at its lowest. Whilst the reasons for why replication is so low within this field is contested, it undoubtedly means that psychological studies are subject to greater subjectivity in regards to their theoretical frameworks. This, in turn, enables researchers’ own biases and assumptions to saturate the work they conduct. Psychological studies examining sexism often treat it as a distinct social phenomenon that occurs in particular settings rather than a pervasive behaviour ingrained within institutions and scientific practice. One study examines the British Psychological Society’s guidelines surrounding ethical scientific practice, but particularly in regard to the prevention of sexism. The primary issue found here is that the guidelines preventing sexism are concerned more with the wellbeing of the subjects than the epistemic frameworks of the studies themselves. This results in a relatively poor understanding of the way androcentrism has permeated science’s theoretical framework, not merely its applications. When we look at the impact of sexism in psychological and medical sciences in tandem, it becomes evident the way sexist institutions have bled not only into the repercussions of scientific research, but in the very frameworks we use to conduct research. The systemic issues ingrained within the practice of science become tangibly visible in the gender disparities that exist within the sciences. In the US, women earn half of total science and engineering bachelor’s degrees, but only 39 per cent of postdoctoral fellowships and 18 per cent of professorships. Female academics from around the world are pioneering solutions to the persistent gender-discrimination problems facing the scientific community. Liisa Husu suggests that the key to tackling gendered scientific practice is by examining the “non-events”, the things that seemingly do not occur. These include a lack of referencing for female colleagues in publication, lack of recognition or attribution for work (both contemporary and historic). The lack of attendance of female professors and academics at conferences is another contributing factor, as such events not only enable cross-collaboration and open practice to occur without impediment, but facilitate connections to be formed within the academic world. The establishment of ethics committees that oversee scientific publications are also hugely influential. For example, in the US, the National Institutes of Health Funding implemented a regulation that women must be encompassed in “human studies”. These regulations need to be enforced and upheld with rigour and commitment. They cannot be perceived as extraneous or superfluous to the research conducted. This can be aided by requiring pre-publication replication or at the very least, evaluation by researchers independent of the original study. Our standard human is not a white, 70 kg man in his 30s. Our people are bold and bright and diverse and our science has no choice but to reflect that. The face of the scientific community has for too long been dominated by a voice that has been ignorant and apathetic to the suffering it has inflicted. To accept and enable these inbuilt systemic biases to persist is a gross injustice to the communities that have suffered as a result of silence. You are a scientist, we say. You are a beating, breathing, vibrant contributor to our collective pursuit of knowledge. Your voice is vital and worthy of being heard. And heard it will be. References: Arnhart, L., 1992. Feminism, Primatology, and Ethical Naturalism. Politics and the Life Sciences, 11(2), pp.157-170. Australian Government. 2021. Second national data report on girls and women in STEM. [online] Colwell, R., 2020. Women Scientists Have the Evidence About Sexism. [online] The Atlantic Condor, S., 1991. Sexism in Psychological Research: A Brief Note. Feminism & Psychology, 1(3), pp.430-434. England, C., 2016. One in five men have erectile dysfunction. 90% of women experience PMS. Guess which one researchers study more?. Espach, A., 2017. What It Really Means When You Call a Woman “Hysterical”. [online] Vogue. Ferro, S., 2013. Science Is Institutionally Sexist. Here Are 4 Ways To Help Fix It. [online] Popular Science. Plato.stanford.edu. 2020. Feminist Epistemology and Philosophy of Science (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). [online] Rosser, S., 2005. Through the Lenses of Feminist Theory: Focus on Women and Information Technology. Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, 26(1), pp.1-23. Samuel, S., 2019. Women suffer needless pain because almost everything is designed for men. [online] Vox. Slawson, N., 2019. 'Women have been woefully neglected': does medical science have a gender problem?. [online] the Guardian. Previous article back to DISORDER Next article