I have spent more sleepless nights writing essays and crafting projects from thin air than I’d like to admit. I’m often stationed at my desk for these marathons, but by nature of their irregularity, I also pull them off in unexpected places — on the floor of other people’s bedrooms, in deserted McMahon lounges and at airport gates. I once came home from a night out and wrote until dawn, listening to my friends snore. 

Many college students pull all-nighters, but most would not recommend them. They shudder when the topic comes up, like the phantom of their exhaustion has chilled the air. I know someone who believes that all-nighters make you sick and cautioned me against them, much like a parent telling their child not to go outside with wet hair.

I can’t dispute the medical facts: Sleep deprivation in young people is linked to poor mood, impulsivity, inability to self-regulate and high stress, all of which are symptoms I have consistently exhibited since the age of 13. In the past three years, what I believe to be new side effects have infiltrated my actual dream state — I now experience sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming and auditory hallucinations while barely conscious on a semi-regular basis. 

Despite this, I have no scruples with all-nighters. Maybe they aren’t what the doctor ordered, but I recommend them anyway. In fact, I believe that all-nighters benefit the human spirit, even if they harm the body. 

Reclaiming time and focus proves that human willpower can conquer technology that has exploited our mental bandwidth for profit. I think of it as an act of protest — one that can feel radically freeing. 

In the age of the attention economy, all-nighters are an endurance test we need. Social media use has drastically reduced our attention spans, with platforms like TikTok and Instagram supplying endless feeds of short-form content to keep users engaged. The resulting overstimulation and burnout are often mentioned in the context of students’ declining academic performance and fears of a “post-literate” society. 

It seems that people are less inclined than ever to sit with their thoughts in silence and solitude. They struggle to read whole books and watch movies without checking their phones, much less devote extended periods of time to homework. I see a connection between this trend and an overreliance on artificial intelligence (AI), which has come to dominate public discourse concerning the future of labor and education.

Admittedly, it has never been easier to be a lazy student. I could make ChatGPT do my dirty work and be in bed by 8 p.m. We have all the performance-enhancing technology we need to subvert the challenge all-nighters once posed. If we wanted, we could abandon the practice completely, and shirk the consequences of procrastinating forever. The question is: should we?

I encourage fellow slackers to dig deep instead. Endure the full weight of your commitment and make original work, even if you have to sacrifice some shut-eye. Reclaiming time and focus proves that human willpower can conquer technology that has exploited our mental bandwidth for profit. I think of it as an act of protest — one that can feel radically freeing.  

You may discover the satisfaction of acting in a manner that is transgressive, ill-advised and divorced from reality. All-nighters are punk.

When thinking about intense endurance tests, consider the performance artist Tehching Hsieh, whose durational works pushed the limits of the mind and body. 

Hsieh subjected himself to sleep deprivation for his “One Year Performance 1980-1981 (Time Clock Piece),” in which he punched a timesheet on the hour, every hour, for one year straight. During the artist’s infamous “One Year Performance 1978-1979 (Cage Piece),” he lived in a locked 9-by-11.5-foot cage with only a bed, basin, pail and lightbulb. He did not read, write or speak to anyone for the entire year. One of his friends visited daily to deliver meals and remove his waste. 

All-nighters don’t physically compare to those situations, of course. But they do echo the unnaturalness of Hsieh’s endeavors. When working through the night, your objectives are simple: resist sleep, finish the task. You must do this in relatively stationary isolation and defy normal functions of human life. 

Like Hsieh, you are the artist and prisoner of an undertaking that many would never voluntarily choose. Critics dismissed Hsieh’s work as pointless acts of spectacle. They couldn’t make sense of his perspective — that of an outsider with little knowledge of or interest in other artists, who seemed to suffer for suffering’s sake. 

My friends and family object to my procrastination and self-induced doom spirals with similar exasperation. Why can’t I pace myself? Have I tried the Pomodoro Technique? Wouldn’t moderating my extreme habits save me a whole lot of grief? These questions bob to the surface during my all-nighters, usually when I feel like I can barely hold my head above water. 

Their skepticism is valid. I wouldn’t be writing this if it had changed my behavior, though. I accept that sleepless nights are an inevitable outcome of the way I work — at least for now. (I will come clean and tell you that I started this article during an all-nighter I pulled to write a history paper. It’s helpless.) That is why I feel compelled to mount a defense and to search for a silver lining.

For that, I return to Hsieh. His work granted him a level of control and sovereignty that he said was liberating.  

“Doing life and doing art is all the same — doing time,” Hsieh said in an interview for Randian. “The difference is that, in art, you have a form. This approach gives me freedom.”

I argue that an all-nighter can do the same for you, if you approach it like Hsieh would. You may discover the satisfaction of acting in a manner that is transgressive, ill-advised and divorced from reality. All-nighters are punk. All-nighters are Dada. Why submit to an order when all we have is time?

I also believe in all-nighters for a simpler reason: the sanctity of the “college experience.”

As universities reckon with the impact of technology on students’ social lives and motivation, it’s clear to me that all-nighters should never die. Staying up to finish an assignment or prepare for an exam, half out of your mind under fluorescent lights, is a timeless exercise. Are we really going to let AI dependency expunge a tradition that has shaped campus culture for centuries? Is there not something vacuous about an academic life without friction?

You are a college student. Toil!

Are we really going to let AI dependency expunge a tradition that has shaped campus culture for centuries? Is there not something vacuous about an academic life without friction?

Furthermore, some of my most treasured memories at Fordham come from commiserating with friends on 15-minute study breaks in the dead of night. Whether you earn a miraculously high grade or take a low blow, the record will fade while the stories live on. It’s worth it to stay up for this sense of fellowship alone.

That said, all of my posturing about the possible spiritual reward of an all-nighter assumes you’ll make it to morning. Luckily for the uninitiated, fending off sleep is an inexact science with a lot of cheat codes. 

For those of you feeling inspired to attempt your very own all-nighter, here are a few tried-and-true methods that might come in handy.

A friend of mine chased sour candy with Sprite to stay alert on a road trip. A costume design student I met swore by a vile-sounding cocktail of vodka and Monster (an energy drink that could pass for gasoline in both color and composition) — only to be consumed responsibly by those over 21.

If those homestyle fixes don’t sound appealing, you can always opt for over-the-counter goods like 5-hour Energy, caffeine pills or a hot brew. 

I’m a minimalist. My must-haves for an all-nighter are water and earplugs.

Whichever route you take, you are almost guaranteed to hit the wall between 4 and 5 a.m. I encourage you to maintain your concentration to the very end. When day breaks, you will feel limitless.