To make the most of it, read aloud in Lorelai’s voice and pace. Have fun, record yourself, and share with the tag #lorelaismonologue

‘Okay, so picture this: You wake up one morning and think, Hey, you know what would be fun?
Spending the next six years obsessing over the cultural meaning of concrete. And not, like, cute, quirky concrete—just…concrete. Brutalist buildings that look like giant parking garages.

I mean, look, I get it. Architectural humanities are like the fancy antique shop of academia—dusty, fascinating, overpriced, and filled with things no one quite knows what to do with.

People will ask, “What’s your dissertation about?” and you’ll say, “I’m studying how postwar architecture reshaped collective memory,” and then they’ll nod like you just told them your hobby is ironing shoelaces.

And the funding? Ha. If you want to experience true humility, try applying for a grant to study the emotional impact of suburban sprawl while your STEM friends are out here building satellites and buying second homes. You’ll be over here like, “If I win this fellowship, I can finally afford to buy a lamp that isn’t from the clearance bin at Target.”

But—here’s the thing. You do it anyway. Because you love it. Because even when you’re sitting in a library that smells like mildew and overdue dreams, there’s a tiny spark in you that thinks: This matters.

And you’re right. It does.

It matters that someone is willing to spend years asking why buildings make us feel the way we do, why cities look the way they look, why the stories we tell about space end up shaping our lives.

It matters because in a world obsessed with efficiency and profit, the architectural humanities remind us that not everything is about square footage and return on investment.

Also, let’s be honest, you secretly love the drama. The footnotes. The conference presentations where the projector refuses to cooperate. The fact that your supervisor can dismantle your 60-page draft with a single, well-timed “Hmm.”

And if all else fails, you can always say you’re doing “research” and spend the afternoon scrolling through photos of mid-century houses you can’t afford. Which, by the way, is a completely legitimate scholarly pursuit. (I mean, how else are you supposed to understand the cultural significance of floor-to-ceiling windows?)

So yeah, maybe the architectural humanities PhD is impractical. Maybe it’s a little bit masochistic. Maybe it’s the academic equivalent of eating Pop-Tarts for dinner because you’re too tired to cook—fulfilling in a weird, sugar-coma way.

But it’s also brave. And kind of beautiful. And if you’re doing it—or thinking about doing it—just know that somewhere out there, I am raising my giant coffee cup in solidarity.

Because life is short. And if you’re going to be broke and exhausted, you might as well be broke and exhausted doing something that lights you up inside.

Now, please pass the coffee. You’re gonna need it.’