Ah, the classic question: how many sociologists does it take to change a light bulb? Of course, before we can answer that, we first need to tackle the more fundamental issue: what even is a light bulb? And, more importantly, how do we know it’s a light bulb at all?

Stage 1: Ontological Anguish

Before anyone can actually change the bulb, the group must first reach a consensus on what a light bulb truly is. Is it merely a glass orb filled with tungsten and gas, or is it a symbol of enlightenment – a fragile beacon of modernity trembling in the face of post-industrial darkness? Perhaps, as the phenomenologists among them might argue, the light bulb only becomes a light bulb when it is perceived as such within the context of human experience.

Meanwhile, the Marxist at the back insists that the light bulb is simply the physical embodiment of alienated labour – a commodity produced under oppressive conditions and sold for profit in a world where darkness is socially constructed as ‘undesirable’ for the benefit of capital.

Stage 2: Epistemology Strikes Back

Next, they must confront the epistemological conundrum: how do we even know the light bulb is out? Are we relying on subjective, anecdotal reports, or do we have empirical evidence – a peer-reviewed observation of its dimness, perhaps? The post-positivists among them propose a rigorous, double-blind study, while the postmodernists argue that the very notion of ‘light’ and ‘dark’ is a discursive power structure that privileges those with functioning retinas.

Somewhere in the corner, a constructivist is arguing that the darkness might not even be real but rather a socially mediated construct shaped by our shared linguistic frameworks. This leads to a heated debate about whether light is an essential property of the bulb or merely an emergent property of our capitalist need for 24/7 productivity.

Stage 3: Reflexivity (or, How to Make the Light Bulb About You)

At this point, the sociologists pause for a moment of reflexivity. Can they ethically change the light bulb without first examining their own biases? What assumptions are they bringing to this task? Are they perhaps imposing their Western, electricity-dependent worldview on a light bulb that never asked to be ‘on’ in the first place? The critical theorist points out that even the act of flipping a switch is a form of symbolic violence, reinforcing the dominant paradigm of ‘light’ as inherently good and ‘dark’ as a problem to be solved.

Stage 4: Publish or Perish (or, the Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul)

Having debated the light bulb’s ontological status into the ground, the group decides to pivot towards something they can actually publish. Research grants are written up for projects like “The Liminal Spaces of Luminosity: Power, Privilege, and the Illusion of Electrical Freedom” and “When Brightness Becomes Oppression: A Critical Ethnography of Domestic Lighting Practices.”

One particularly ambitious junior lecturer proposes a posthumanist take – “Rethinking the Light Bulb: Interspecies Ethics and the Photonic Rights of Inanimate Objects” – which immediately attracts the attention of a funding body keen to tick the ‘impactful and innovative’ box.

They then spend the next three years turning these grand ideas into densely worded journal articles that will be read by approximately seven people, five of whom are the authors themselves, and one of whom will use it as a teaching aid in a third-year sociology seminar.

Stage 5: Practical Realities (or, Why the Room is Still Dark)

Eventually, someone suggests they should just call maintenance, but this is quickly dismissed as ‘problematic outsourcing of labour’ that fails to address the systemic issues underpinning the entire light bulb industry. Another suggests crowd-sourcing the light bulb’s replacement, but this sparks a furious debate about the ethics of unpaid emotional labour.

By this point, the bulb itself has become a minor academic celebrity, with a dedicated Twitter account and several hundred followers tweeting about the ‘lived experience’ of darkness. Someone even creates a TikTok series – “A Day in the Dark: The Struggle of the Unlit Bulb” – which briefly trends in niche academic circles.

Stage 6: Did the Light Bulb Ever Get Changed?

And so, after all this theorising, funding, and reflexivity, we arrive at the ultimate question: did the light bulb ever actually get changed? The sociologists stare at each other, unsure if this was ever really the point. After all, is the goal of sociology to change the world, or merely to understand it?

In the end, a philosopher who just happened to be passing through the faculty corridor wanders in, flips the switch, and realises it was just a fuse. The sociologists immediately add him as a co-author.

Next week: why did the sociologist chicken cross the road… or maybe not.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in.  Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

The great Easter sugarstorm has passed. Crumpled foil glints beneath the sofa like the detritus of a deeply middle-class bacchanalia. Somewhere, a toddler is attempting to barter half a Mini Egg for more screen time. But as sociologists — or at least people pretending to be until someone asks us about statistics — we must ask:

What does Easter chocolate truly represent?

To put it plainly: everything. And by “everything”, I mean consumption, identity, moral panic, and class reproduction — all dressed up in springtime marketing and a suspiciously chirpy rabbit.

Parental Chocolate Panic: Moral Regulation in Mini Egg Form

Let’s begin with the modern phenomenon of chocolate avoidance. Not due to allergies or hardship, but as a moral project. These are the parents who, when asked what their child received for Easter, say with just the faintest whiff of pride: “Oh, we don’t really do chocolate.”

This is where Michel Foucault strolls in like an over-caffeinated Easter uncle, pointing at power relations and shouting “discipline!”. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault identifies how power operates not through violence but through the subtle regulation of bodies and behaviour.

Here, the child’s body becomes a site of preventative governance. Sugar is treated as sin; the refusal of chocolate is a form of biopolitical care. These parents manage their children’s bodies in line with neoliberal ideals of productivity, health, and self-control — even during a festival devoted to cocoa-stuffed hedonism.

The result? A generation of children who may never know the thrill of unhinged consumption — but who can hold a plank for 90 seconds and enjoy fermented beetroot.

Yogis Not Yolkies: Aspiration and the Cult of Self-Optimisation

What’s especially interesting is the way Easter becomes a site for enacting aspirational class identity. Parents who substitute chocolate with craft kits, yoga classes or almond butter truffles are engaging in what Pierre Bourdieu would term “distinction” — the performance of “good taste” as a way of differentiating oneself from the perceived vulgarity of mass consumption.

The classic chocolate egg, once a symbol of indulgence and affection, is increasingly replaced by experiences. Easter baskets contain gratitude journals, tiny mindfulness bells, or handmade beeswax crayons shaped like bunnies performing sun salutations.

This is less about chocolate and more about symbolic violence — the imposition of dominant cultural norms under the guise of virtue. It’s the rejection of sugar not simply for health, but as a performance of superiority. As Bourdieu might say, it’s not just that they prefer “better” chocolate; it’s that they want their children to prefer it too, and to look slightly smug while doing so.

Chocolate Hierarchies: Class, Capital and Cocoa Stratification

Easter chocolate is an edible taxonomy of class, structured by taste, branding, and symbolic value. Bourdieu again gives us the tools to navigate this cocoa-coded world through his concept of cultural capital — the non-financial social assets that promote social mobility, like taste, manners, and knowing the difference between Lindt and Lidl.

Let’s build our chocolate class system:

High Cultural Capital (Connoisseur Class)

• Hotel Chocolat Ostrich Egg, 70% cacao, packaging possibly made from ethical air.
• Function: Demonstrates aesthetic and moral discernment; reflects the intersection of economic capital and ethical consumption.

Middle-Class Aspiration (Respectable Indulgence)

• Lindt Gold Bunny, bells, ribbons, possibly arranged in a vignette on Instagram.
• Function: Offers prestige without excess; straddles mass accessibility and boutique refinement.

Mass Chocolate (Popular Taste)

• Cadbury’s, Galaxy, Nestlé, fun-size multipacks, two-for-one deals.
• Function: Represents authentic, unpretentious joy. Sociologically, it signals cultural legitimacy through tradition, not trend.

Unbranded/Value Chocolate (Economic Capital Only)

• Supermarket own-brand chocolate, sometimes so vaguely labelled you wonder if it’s real.
• Function: Fulfils the role of the treat without the frills; signifier of pragmatic, not performative, consumption.

The Anti-Chocolate (Carob, quinoa clusters, cacao nibs in hessian)

• Function: Emphatic rejection of dominant taste culture. Chocolate becomes symbolic of everything wrong with late-stage capitalism, so it’s replaced with textured alternatives that taste of obligation.

Each chocolate gift is a signal — not just of taste, but of ideology. A child unwrapping a white chocolate bunny from Waitrose is not just consuming sugar; they are absorbing a micro-lesson in class reproduction.

Marxist Interlude: Commodity Fetishism with Gooey Centres

No sociological feast is complete without Karl Marx poking his bearded head around the corner, muttering about alienation. Marx’s concept of commodity fetishism — where social relationships are obscured by relationships between things — is practically dripping from every Easter display in Sainsbury’s.

We no longer think of chocolate as something made by workers, transported across continents, wrapped in machinery and profit margins. We see it as a bunny. A delightful, grinning bunny. Its origins, politics and production vanish beneath pastel packaging and springtime whimsy.

Consumption becomes an unquestioned ritual. As Marx would say (probably while unwrapping a Creme Egg reluctantly), we’re more invested in the object than the labour behind it. Easter becomes an act of collective commodity worship, with each egg a talisman of seasonal joy and structural inequality.

A Society Wrapped in Foil

So, what have we learned from this over-analysis of chocolate? That no egg is just an egg. Each one is embedded in a lattice of class, culture, performance and power. Whether you’re rationing eggs like wartime biscuits or bulk-buying Creme Eggs like it’s a spiritual obligation, you are performing your position in society.

Easter, then, is less about resurrection and more about reaffirmation — of roles, values, and consumption norms.

And if your child got a mung bean smoothie instead of a Kinder Surprise? Don’t worry. There’s always Halloween.

Right. Back to my pile of Creme Eggs, whoops, I mean work…

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in.  Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

Christmas Day had arrived, and it was a particularly frosty December afternoon. The Parker family’s annual Christmas dinner was in full swing. The table, laden with turkey, trimmings, and an excessive amount of Brussels sprouts, was as festive as ever. However, this year, something was very different. In a surreal twist of holiday magic, a group of renowned sociologists had “joined” the Parkers at the table for dinner. Equipped with their theories and a distinct lack of seasonal cheer, the sociologists were ready to turn the Christmas dinner into an intellectual battlefield.

Act I: Setting the Christmas Dinner Table

As crackers were pulled and paper hats donned (grudgingly, by the sociologists), Mr. Parker attempted to lighten the mood. “Well,” he said, passing the gravy, “let’s all be merry and bright!”

Karl Marx scowled from his end of the table. “Merry and bright, indeed. Christmas,” he began, with the dramatic air of someone about to ruin a perfectly good roast potato, “is nothing but the opium of the masses. A capitalist spectacle designed to keep the proletariat docile.”

Mrs. Parker, slicing the turkey, raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re not having pudding?”

“It’s not about the pudding,” Marx retorted. “It’s about the commodification of everything sacred. Even Santa Claus is a tool of the bourgeoisie.”

“So no pudding, then,” she concluded, unfazed.

Max Weber, seated primly to Marx’s left, adjusted his napkin and chimed in. “While Marx has a point about capitalism, I must interject. The true spirit of Christmas lies in the Protestant work ethic. Consider Santa’s naughty-and-nice list. What is that if not a reflection of hard work and moral rectitude?”

“Rubbish!” Marx snapped. “Santa rewards those who uphold capitalist ideals!”

“Gentlemen, please!” said young Ellie Parker, eager to save her stocking from being labelled a tool of oppression. “Surely, we can all agree that Christmas is about family and tradition?”

“Indeed,” Émile Durkheim interjected, finally looking up from the cheese board. “Christmas is a sacred ritual that reinforces social solidarity. The Christmas tree, for example, is a totemic object that unites us. Even the act of sharing a meal strengthens our collective consciousness.”

“A totemic object?” Mrs. Parker said, glancing at their slightly wonky artificial tree. “It came from Tesco.”

“Exactly!” Durkheim said, mistaking her tone for agreement. “Tesco provides a shared cultural experience!”

Act II: The Main Course (of Arguments)

The turkey was carved, and the conversation turned increasingly heated. Erving Goffman, who had been silent thus far, surveyed the table with an amused smile. “It’s all performance, you know,” he said, gesturing at the crackers and festive napkins. “Christmas is nothing but dramaturgy. Take gift-giving, for example. It’s a carefully choreographed performance to convey status and affection.”

Mrs. Parker laughed. “You mean we’re all pretending to enjoy this?”

“Precisely,” Goffman said, nodding. “The forced cheer, the awkward small talk, the competitive decorating… it’s all an elaborate play.”

“Speaking of forced cheer,” Michel Foucault interjected, “let’s talk about power.”

Foucault leaned forward conspiratorially. “Take the Elf on the Shelf,” he said. “It’s a tool of surveillance. A panopticon designed to create docile children.”

“What about the family dynamics at this very table?” he continued. “Notice how power shifts depending on who controls the gravy boat.”

“This is why we don’t invite academics,” muttered Mr. Parker under his breath.

“Let’s not forget,” Pierre Bourdieu interjected, sipping his wine with a knowing smile, “that Christmas is a battleground of taste and distinction. Consider the pudding. Is it homemade? Store-bought? Organic? Such choices signal our cultural capital.”

“It’s from Marks & Spencer,” Mrs. Parker said proudly. “Does that count as cultural capital?”

“It depends,” Bourdieu replied. “Was it the luxury range?”

Act III: Dessert and Reconciliation

As pudding was served and brandy set aflame, Harold Garfinkel leaned back in his chair. “You know,” he said, “Christmas is a fascinating example of ethnomethodology. It’s all about shared understandings. Take gift exchanges. The unspoken rules, the subtle breaches…”

“Like when Uncle Dave gives socks every year,” Ellie added.

“Exactly!” Garfinkel said, delighted. “A breach! Yet we accept it, because it reinforces social order.”

By now, the family was laughing, the arguments giving way to camaraderie. Even Marx accepted a second helping of pudding, muttering something about “redistributing dessert.”

Conclusion: Deck the Halls with Sociological Satire

And so, the Parker family’s Christmas dinner came to a close. The sociologists, having thoroughly deconstructed every aspect of the holiday, raised their glasses in a final toast. Despite their disagreements, one thing was clear: Christmas, for all its absurdities, had a way of bringing people together — even if only to argue over the last mince pie.

A footnote on collective nouns…

I have never come across an official collective noun for a group of sociologists, probably because no-one ever seriously considered this idea before. Some of my suggestions would be:

• A discourse of sociologists
• A paradigm of sociologists
• A critique of sociologists
• An inquiry of sociologists
• A theory of sociologists
• A framework of sociologists

Take your pick! Have a Happy Christmas and an Outstanding New Year!

You may also be interested in these Sociology articles:

• 
  The Tyranny of Eye Contact: A Neurodivergent Field Guide
  A neurodivergent take on the social minefield of eye contact, masking, and the unfortunate realities of looking anywhere but someone’s face—including, yes, accidental boob stares.
• 
  How Many Sociologists Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb?
  Ever wondered how many sociologists it takes to change a light bulb? Turns out, it’s not that simple. Dive into the philosophical chaos as academics debate the true nature of darkness, privilege, and the social construction of light.
• 
  Yolks and Hierarchies: The Great Eggonomic Divide
  What does your choice of Easter chocolate say about class, culture, and control? A sociological deep-dive into post-Easter parenting, chocolate hierarchies, and the curious case of carob eggs.
• 
  The Sociology of Theme Parks: Manufactured Joy and Queue-Based Hierarchies
  Easter at a theme park: overpriced balloons, endless queues, and manufactured joy zones. Dive into the sociology of theme parks — where capitalism meets candyfloss-fuelled chaos.
• 
  Grounded Theory: Making It Up As You Go Along (But With Integrity)
  Grounded Theory: the beloved chaos engine of qualitative research. This witty deep dive explores the strange brilliance of making up your theory as you go—complete with NVivo-induced despair, reflexive diary entries, and the comforting lie of theoretical saturation.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in.  Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

Sociology might sound like one of those academic words people throw around to sound clever at dinner parties, but it’s actually much simpler—and a lot more fun. At its core, sociology is the study of how society works (or doesn’t). It’s the science behind why we queue so politely, why we laugh at memes, and why billionaires feel the need to buy yachts the size of small countries.

The best part? Sociology has a dream team of thinkers—Marx, Weber, Durkheim, Foucault, Bourdieu, and Goffman—who help us make sense of the chaos. They might have fancy names and even fancier theories, but their ideas are surprisingly relatable (and sometimes unintentionally funny). Let’s break it down in plain English, with a good dose of humour.

Karl Marx: The Original Ranter

Karl Marx is the bloke who saw inequality everywhere and said, “This isn’t right.” His big idea was that rich people (the bourgeoisie, if you want to impress your friends) own most of the stuff, while the rest of us (the proletariat) do all the work for not much reward. Sound familiar?

Marx believed society was built around class struggle, and he’d probably have a few things to say about modern life:

• Unpaid internships? He’d call it exploitation.
• The cost of renting a one-bedroom flat? Thanks, capitalism.
• Billionaires building rockets? Classic example of inequality gone wild.

What Marx really gave us was a way to look at inequality and ask, “Does it have to be this way?” And if you’ve ever muttered “Well, that’s not fair” under your breath, congratulations—you’re halfway to being a Marxist.

Max Weber: The King of Stress

Max Weber (pronounced Vay-ber, for those wanting to sound fancy) had a different take. He wasn’t just worried about inequality; he was worried about how life was becoming all work and no play.

Weber introduced the idea of the iron cage, which basically means modern life traps us in a cycle of endless to-do lists, strict schedules, and soul-sucking bureaucracy. Sound familiar?

• Your 9-5 job with back-to-back meetings? Iron cage.
• Standing in the self-checkout queue while a machine lectures you to “remove your item”? Iron cage.
• Feeling guilty for taking a break? That’s the Protestant work ethic, Weber’s term for why we glorify being busy.

Weber helps us see that while efficiency is useful, it’s also OK to say, “You know what? I need a nap.”

Émile Durkheim: The Optimist

Durkheim was sociology’s cheerleader. While Marx saw conflict and Weber saw stress, Durkheim believed in the power of togetherness. He coined the term solidarity to explain how shared values and traditions bring people closer. Think of a good old-fashioned pub quiz or clapping at the end of a pantomime—that’s solidarity in action.

Durkheim also warned about anomie—a fancy word for when people feel disconnected from society. It’s what happens when we lose those little rituals that make life meaningful. His advice? Stay connected, whether that’s through a WhatsApp group, a weekly trip to the pub, or a shared laugh over a meme.

Michel Foucault: The Power Detective

If you’ve ever had the feeling someone’s watching you, Foucault is your guy. He argued that power isn’t just about who’s in charge—it’s everywhere, shaping how we think and act.

Take the concept of disciplinary power:

• Why do you instinctively lower your voice in a library?
• Why do you feel a bit judged when your smartwatch reminds you you’ve only done 2,000 steps today?
• Why does social media make you feel like you should be more productive?

That’s Foucault’s world, where power works quietly, nudging us to behave in certain ways without us even realising. His big message? Question who’s influencing your choices, even when it’s subtle.

Pierre Bourdieu: The Taste Police

Pierre Bourdieu was the guy who looked at your choices—your clothes, your music, your hobbies—and said, “That’s not just personal preference; that’s cultural capital.”

In simple terms, Bourdieu believed our tastes are shaped by our upbringing and social class.

• Love artisan coffee? That’s cultural capital.
• Prefer instant coffee? Still cultural capital, just a different kind.
• Secretly love reality TV but pretend to like documentaries? That’s Bourdieu in action.

He also talked about habitus, which is basically your social autopilot—the instincts that guide how you act in different situations. Bourdieu’s takeaway? Your choices are more about where you come from than you think.

Erving Goffman: The Social Performer

Ever feel like you’re a slightly different person depending on who you’re with? Goffman understood. His theory of dramaturgy said life is basically one big performance.

• At work, you act professional: “Let’s circle back on that idea.”
• With your friends, you’re more relaxed: “Fancy another pint?”
• At home, it’s pyjamas and biscuits: “Who am I kidding? This is the real me.”

Goffman’s big idea was that we’re always managing impressions, whether it’s on social media, at a job interview, or even in a family group chat. And that’s not fake—it’s just being human.

Why Sociology Is Brilliant (and Surprisingly Fun)

Sociology might sound academic, but it’s actually just a way of looking at the world with fresh eyes. These thinkers help us understand the big and small stuff:

• Marx explains why inequality feels so frustrating.
• Weber helps us see why we’re all so stressed.
• Durkheim reminds us of the importance of connection.
• Foucault shows us how power works quietly.
• Bourdieu reveals how class shapes our choices.
• Goffman makes sense of why we act differently around different people.

And the best part? Once you see the world sociologically, it’s hard not to laugh at how weird and wonderful it all is.

Conclusion: Sociology Makes You Smarter (and Funnier)

Sociology isn’t just about big words and clever theories—it’s about understanding life. It’s about questioning the things we take for granted, like why we queue, why we meme, and why your flatmate refuses to replace the toilet roll.

So, the next time someone says sociology is just “common sense,” smile, quote Foucault or Marx, and enjoy watching their confusion. After all, society is strange, and sociologists are here to help us make sense of it—with a laugh along the way.

You may also be interested in these Sociology articles:

• 
  The Tyranny of Eye Contact: A Neurodivergent Field Guide
  A neurodivergent take on the social minefield of eye contact, masking, and the unfortunate realities of looking anywhere but someone’s face—including, yes, accidental boob stares.
• 
  How Many Sociologists Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb?
  Ever wondered how many sociologists it takes to change a light bulb? Turns out, it’s not that simple. Dive into the philosophical chaos as academics debate the true nature of darkness, privilege, and the social construction of light.
• 
  Yolks and Hierarchies: The Great Eggonomic Divide
  What does your choice of Easter chocolate say about class, culture, and control? A sociological deep-dive into post-Easter parenting, chocolate hierarchies, and the curious case of carob eggs.
• 
  The Sociology of Theme Parks: Manufactured Joy and Queue-Based Hierarchies
  Easter at a theme park: overpriced balloons, endless queues, and manufactured joy zones. Dive into the sociology of theme parks — where capitalism meets candyfloss-fuelled chaos.
• 
  Grounded Theory: Making It Up As You Go Along (But With Integrity)
  Grounded Theory: the beloved chaos engine of qualitative research. This witty deep dive explores the strange brilliance of making up your theory as you go—complete with NVivo-induced despair, reflexive diary entries, and the comforting lie of theoretical saturation.

Happy

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in.  Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk