Tim Hofman: ‘I couldn’t care less about my failed studies’

In his book Goede Moed (Good Courage), journalist and presenter Tim Hofman advocates for a less fear-driven life. If fear plays a smaller role in your life, what space does that create? A conversation about dropping out of university, failure, making your own choices, self-reflection, and living with threats: ‘Shooting me dead is the baseline.’

It’s past ten on a Friday evening when we speak to Tim Hofman (1988) in an empty classroom at Tilburg’s MindLabs. Just before, he was a guest at the event Brabant (weer) toekomstverliefd (Brabant in Love with the Future Again). And it didn’t go unnoticed. When Hofman spoke, there wasn’t a single spot left on the steps of the LocHal venue.

It’s been a turbulent year for Hofman, who was confronted last year at the BNNVARA building in Hilversum by a man who intended to shoot him. The man was recently sentenced to five years in prison and psychiatric treatment.

After his talk, the presenter hurried to a stand selling copies of Goede Moed. Once the last person in the signing line received a personal note from Hofman, he made time for Univers despite his visible fatigue.

You’re usually the one asking how others are doing, but how are you really doing now?
‘Good. If you’d asked me a year ago, with the attempted murder, I’d have answered differently, but now I’m doing well. I feel good at work and in my own skin. Socially, I’m working on seeing people more.’

You say that with a bit of a guilty smile.
‘I’m aware that I can get stuck in a work bubble, but that’s no longer the case all the time. That’s nice.’

You’ve faced serious threats.
‘Yes, but as far as I know, there aren’t any now. It helps that I’m no longer on Twitter, and my DMs are off everywhere else.’ Laughs: ‘So you can’t insult me anymore. But seriously, if someone like that shows up again, I simply wouldn’t know.’

On the other hand, there’s also a lot of appreciation for what you do.
‘I notice that often, and it’s nice. It’s not meaningful in itself, but it’s pleasant. I think it’s a misconception that you deserve applause for everything in this field. That feels very entitled, so I think it’s good to be called out sometimes. But my baseline is: don’t shoot me dead.’

Have you considered quitting?
‘Of course. Because what’s the price I’m paying? But I always come back to the same conclusion: I won’t stop. Fear is part of it, but it’s not in my nature to give in to it. This past year, I’ve seriously thought about quitting a few times, but I’m glad I didn’t.’

You started three university programs but dropped out due to anxiety disorders. In your book, you describe performance anxiety as ‘a persistent fear,’ ‘a poison that blocks potential.’ How did you deal with that?
‘Performance anxiety, like any fear, is very unkind to impose on yourself. It’s an abstract thing: we’ve decided that certain things are failures. That stems from living in a hyper-capitalist society obsessed with efficiency. Everything must be fast and efficient, leaving no room for failure.

‘Failure is often a projection of what you think others expect from you. Or what others make you believe you should be or should achieve. It’s a bit of a punk idea, but for me, giving in to the concept of failure feels like giving in to someone else’s expectations. That mindset works for me. I ask myself: do I even consider this a failure? And what actually happens if you fail? Not much.’

Except that you might freeze up.
‘But that’s tied to expectations. That’s a societal problem too. There’s so much pressure to fit an ideal of who you should be and what you should achieve. It stops being about your own wishes or limits. A good friend of mine has a child, and she doesn’t ask her what she wants to become, but who she wants to be. I thought: yes, that’s how it should be.’

Another societal problem: everyone struggles to slow down.
‘This constant pressure to keep going, the idea that standing still means falling behind, is an expression of our obsession with growth. But rest and stillness create space for reflection. The idea that personal growth is the ultimate goal is very harmful. That you’re not allowed to just be…

‘It’s also fueled by influencers constantly telling you that you’re not good enough, that you need to grow, and that if you buy their junk, you’ll be prettier and better. Honestly, just fuck off.’

Do you work so hard because your studies didn’t work out?
‘No, I couldn’t care less about those studies. They just weren’t right for me at the time. I don’t feel anything about it—except for the student debt. I remember calling my parents—this isn’t an argument for dropping out, by the way—to tell them I was quitting. I thought they were going to disown me.

‘I’d kept up a bullshit story for four years at Christmas: yeah, it’s going fine, no, I’m switching programs. Meanwhile, I hadn’t earned a single bachelor’s degree. So I called my dad and said: maybe get Mom too. She thought I’d killed someone or something. I remember exactly where I was, sitting alone in a tram shelter in The Hague, waiting for Line 6, when I said: I’m quitting school. And then there was silence. I thought: here we go.

‘My mom finally said: I suspected as much. What are you even doing at university? It doesn’t suit you at all. I thought: well, you could’ve said that earlier. This ties back to performance anxiety and making choices, doesn’t it? About who you think society expects you to be. But after that conversation, I was done with it.’

You had a student debt of 40,000 euros.
‘My dad said: you should have a drink to celebrate, then live your life accordingly and make sure you pay off that debt. I realize this is a privileged perspective, but it was a different time—2010. The housing market was different then, and student debt didn’t weigh as heavily on your life. I worked a lot and worked hard to pay it off.’

Your book begins with the BOOS episode about sexual misconduct at The Voice. John de Mol repeatedly referred to “the proper channels” where women could have reported their experiences. You said this places responsibility on the wrong people. What did you mean?
‘First off, I’m speaking as a man. I find it immoral that women who are victims of misconduct are expected to go to a superior. It’s not easy—sometimes even impossible—to report something like this. It takes energy, forces you to dig through trauma, and often the person in charge either shares the blame or is a man. The system isn’t built for this in a patriarchal society.

‘What I argue is that men should look in the mirror and think: we need to ensure women don’t have to report these incidents. The responsibility for changing oppressive systems lies with the group of perpetrators, in this case (mostly) men.’

Why is it so slow to sink in?
‘People, especially men, find it scary to view society through this lens. But it’s less frightening than they think. Look in the mirror and ask yourself: where do I stand? What are my privileges, and where am I on the ladder of power? I have all the privileges and then some: I’m male, white, cis, heterosexual, financially secure, living in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, with media influence and leverage.

‘It’s my responsibility to assess where I stand and how I relate to a woman. I’m in a position of physical dominance, and the patriarchal system is designed for me. So I have to ensure that the woman is safe.

‘Another example: I’m white. This means that when I interact with a person of color, the solution to racism lies with me. You can’t put that on someone experiencing racism; that just adds another problem for them to deal with.

‘And dare to correct yourself. As a man, you live in a patriarchal world, one designed by and for men. Sexist behavior is learned. But admitting you’re sexist or have said sexist things isn’t the end of the world. Start tomorrow by not doing it anymore—what’s the worst that could happen?’

Why do we find it so difficult to call others out on their behavior?
‘We live in a culture that prioritizes “keeping things pleasant.” But you can’t challenge the status quo by prioritizing pleasantries. From what I understand from many women, when they are inappropriately touched in a club and male friends are present, if they call it out by saying: “Hey, you’re touching my butt,” they are seen as the ones ruining the vibe, while the perpetrator stands right there.

‘In the Netherlands, we have a culture of victim-blaming. You see it on shows like Vandaag Inside: the women are seen as complainers, but yeah, didn’t they bring it on themselves?’

In your book, you quote Desmond Tutu: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” That seems to resonate strongly with you.
‘He says: if you stand by and watch injustice, you’re part of it. It’s a harsh judgment, but it’s true. I think it would benefit society if we began to view passivity as an active stance. Inaction means you’re actively choosing not to contribute to a solution. If you don’t intervene when someone next to you is subjected to racism, you’ve actively watched and thereby helped maintain racism. This cultivated passivity is a real problem.’

Students are expected to be socially active, do a board year, graduate cum laude, land their dream job, and immediately buy that fantastic house. We put that pressure on each other.
‘That’s a good point because once again, it places responsibility on the person feeling the pressure. For me, this boils down to compassion. That you’re not angry or disappointed if something doesn’t meet the expectations you may have had.

‘It’s hard to push back against a system that makes it impossible to buy a house and pressures you to maintain a certain social status. You really shouldn’t blame yourself for those things.’

_Advertentie.