’Tis the season to be abstemious. Here’s what MR PORTER is going without this Lent.

Traditionally marked by some form of fasting, Lent remembers the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert being tempted by Satan. Whereas Christians might decide to give up food such as meat, fish, milk and eggs to mark this, others like to hijack this symbolic penance and liberate themselves of a totally random luxury, such as swearing or Uber. Two things, come to think of it, Jesus would have probably appreciated when the devil was giving him such a hard time.

You may find yourself in neither of these camps, either because you follow another religion entirely, or simply due to the fact that you’re entirely cynical about the whole thing (read: too attached to all of your precious vices). Whatever the case may be, and whether you use it as a source of scorn or inspiration, read what the MR PORTER staff are giving up for Lent this year, below.

EDITOR, THE DAILY

I think I’m going to have to give up using acronyms, just for a little while. It all began fairly innocently, with a LOL here and a YOLO there, but then it all started to go awry. Suddenly, I found myself wandering round the office saying things such as “Hey, NHC!” (nice haircut) and “Has anyone seen my BOPs?” (bits of paper – not even grammatically correct) or “I’ll read it OTWTTT” (on the way to the Tube – not only unintelligible but doesn’t actually save the speaker any time). Now, barely anyone knows what I’m talking about and I keep forgetting who is in on the joke. (Essentially, no one.) So they’re off the menu for a while.

DEPUTY EDITOR

There comes a point in every man’s life when he has to decide if he is going to give up lager or give up his figure. I think it comes in the latter part of your twenties, when the first flushes of youth are on their way out and a spare tyre of flesh around your belly is on its way in. It is a sad day, of course, to lose a friend you have spent so much time with since the age of 18, but there it is. To paraphrase John the Apostle: “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his friends for his belly.”

SUB-EDITOR

It all started at summer camp at the age of about eight, when my 20p tuck-shop allowance wouldn’t stretch to the coveted, top-shelf polystyrene cups full of rainbow selections of pick ’n’ mix. Having to make do with a Flump and a Freddo made me long for the day when I had money of my own to waste on hundreds (and thousands) of nutritionally empty bite-size treats. Sixteen years later, it’s time to admit I might have a problem. Or at least for me to find a slightly more sophisticated vice.

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

My name is Andrew and I’m a social smoker. I’ve tried my very best, but for 20 years I’ve never been able to attain proper smoker status. The thought of a cigarette before 5.00pm makes me wretch, but when the sun goes down and I have a gin and tonic in hand, the cravings start. I become that person, scrounging his way around a party, declaring he loves menthols (the menthol economy only survives thanks to lily-livered semi-smokers like me). But the time has come to stop giving in and start giving up. I’m in my mid-thirties. I’m not doing my lungs any favours. And unlike the menthols, it ain’t cool.

COMMISSIONING EDITOR

As the annual period of self-denial begins, it won’t be booze or binge eating that I’ll be sacrificing this year, but another vice that I’ve become addicted to: Tinder. After abandoning the idea of finding The One in the real world, I downloaded the app in the hope of finding a potential suitor in the digital one. I never expected it to become an integral part of my daily routine – during my commute, on my lunch break or while watching House Of Cards. There’s never a bad time to get my swipe on. Passing judgement has become a daily pastime and Lent is the perfect opportunity to kick the habit.

Keep up to date with The Daily by signing up to our weekly email roundup. Click here to update your email preferences