By Vihaan Bhatnagar and Edward Lander
The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) building at College Street and Spadina Avenue is a hulking grey tower with small dark windows. Its geometric concrete facade might be daunting to some, but to Jordyn Leschiutta, it’s familiar.
The now-19-year-old has been coming here every six months since they were 14. Today, they’re here for an electroencephalogram (EEG), a test which will measure the electrical pulses in their brain. Once inside, a staff member places a plastic helmet resembling a hairnet over Leschiutta’s head with wires extending from electrodes on their scalp to a machine by their side. They’re asked to complete a series of activities while the device records.
After about an hour, the researchers have gathered what they need and Leschiutta is ready to go. For their time, they’ll be paid about $100.
“I’m like, hey, I might as well use my brain for research if I can”
The second-year criminology student at Toronto Metropolitan University (TMU), is in their final year of a five-year research study with CAMH called the Toronto Adolescent and Youth (TAY) Cohort Study. Its goal is to better understand who is at risk of developing mental health challenges early on.
Leschiutta first heard about the study while they were a patient at CAMH themself—doctors told them they’d have the chance to contribute to research that could help young people like them who struggle with mental illness.
“I’m like, hey, I might as well use my brain for research if I can,” they said.
The study isn’t invasive. It consists of two parts, soft tests like questionnaires, interviews and iPad games—and medical testing like MRIs, EEGs and blood tests.
Leschiutta says their motivations aren’t monetary—they would have done it for free. But the compensation, which will be just over $1,000 total by the end of the study, has been advantageous. They’ve used the money to buy textbooks, school supplies and everyday expenses.
They get the money and contribute to a good cause while CAMH gets to study their brain. For Leschiutta, that sounds like a win-win.
Students have been renting their brains and bodies to science for decades.
Until the 1970s, 90 per cent of pharmaceutical trials in the U.S. were conducted on incarcerated people—it was a similar case here in Canada, according to a 2024 CBC article. When regulations rendered this practice largely illegal, pharmaceutical companies turned to new test subjects—those who were in need of money. This typically meant unemployed people or those with low incomes, like post-secondary students.
Colleges and universities are also hubs of research in all kinds of fields, and when willing test subjects are needed for studies, researchers often need to look no further than to the thousands of students roaming their campuses.
There’s a long and storied history of student participation in research studies and the lengths they will go for the cash it provides. In the infamous 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment—a psychological study that turned violent after having college students pose as prisoners and guards—participants were paid only USD$15 a day—about USD$119 in today’s money.
As the cost of living increases and students have more trouble finding stable work, the drive to get by on gigs has only gone up. Young Canadians are currently facing one of the highest unemployment rates in years and according to a poll from Embark—a not-for-profit that provides RESPs to students—one in four Canadian students have considered dropping out of school because of a lack of funds. It’s not hard to see why quick cash in exchange for the often low commitment of a research study is alluring to students with financial woes.
While turning from student to test subject can be rewarding, it’s not always so rosy. Many of these opportunities are hard to get into, require a great deal of time or come with real risks.
Nagina Parmar, a part-time lecturer in TMU’s Department of Chemistry and Biology, says most risks come with pharmaceutical studies, particularly phase I trials—which are the first tests on humans after animal testing is complete. Parmar cited a 2016 French clinical trial in which a participant died from an adverse reaction to the drug being tested. This, of course, is the worst possible case.
Parmar is an executive member on TMU’s Research Ethics Board (REB), an independent committee that oversees research studies at the university that involve human participants.
Many of the studies Parmar and the REB oversee are observational ones—those which measure qualities in participants, rather than test a treatment or drug.
Parmar says many participants in these studies are students who attend the school—both because it’s convenient for researchers to connect with them but also because they’re often interested in participating in said research. Some of her own students have participated in studies regardless of whether compensation is provided.
Researchers face a challenge when determining the amount of compensation for a study—if compensation is to be given at all.
It’s about finding a balance, says Parmar. Researchers must ensure compensation is enough to retain participants, but not so much that it will “influence people to ignore the risks.” They must also consider participants’ individual needs—things like expenses for parking or comped childcare.
Whether it’s for personal or financial fulfillment, many TMU students have taken the plunge and signed themselves up for research studies.
On the day of her first focus group, Ashley Byrne is led into a room with desks lined up in rows—it reminds her of an exam room. Dividers fixed to the desks prevent her from seeing the other participants. In front of her is a wall with a small sliding door. When the trial begins, the door rises to reveal a tray with a hamburger on it which is pushed out towards her. The trial is for McDonald’s, she is told. To her side is a computer with a survey to let the testers know whether or not she’s satisfied with the burger. She’s not. It’s too big, has too many patties and sits in her stomach like a rock.
Byrne, a second-year sport media student at TMU, has been a test subject for food science studies for around a year now. Like many of the other participants she’s met in focus groups for these studies, she’s in it for the money.
Byrne first heard about the trials from a family friend after she quit her job in 2023. Though the family friend is a crossing guard by profession, she gets by “almost full-time” on the trials, according to Byrne.
“Byrne began to worry the intoxication was affecting her performance in the study. She felt like she was losing track of which drink was which”
Byrne was told it would be a good way to tide herself over financially until she found more stable work—she was convinced.
The focus groups she takes part in are conducted by a company called Applied Consumer & Clinical Evaluations (ACCE). On their website, ACCE describes itself as specializing in “sensory science, the very core of consumer and product research”—in other words, taste testing new food and drink products before they hit the market.
Byrne participates in-person at ACCE’s facility, a single-storey red brick building in the far West end of Mississauga. The facility contains two “state-of-the-art” focus group rooms, each with an attached viewing area for researchers on the other side of one-way glass, according to ACCE.
Over the past year, Byrne has participated in about 10 focus groups with ACCE. But since securing a job as a Walmart cashier this summer, she’s only done one—a taste test for a Cadbury chocolate product.
On top of the pay, another benefit is the convenience. It’s a relatively simple task—fun, even. She likes being able to share her thoughts on the products.
According to a 2021 article in The Wall Street Journal, focus groups—a method of gathering information on consumer interests—are having a resurgence. Though many experts predicted that data from consumers’ online activity would replace them as a primary method of market research, this hasn’t been the case. Studies have found that consumer data gathered from browser history is often unreliable or simply incorrect. The straight-from-the-horse’s-mouth aspect of an in-person focus group is difficult to replicate.
“It’s just like extra money for an incredibly easy thing to do”
Companies know this—and they’re willing to pay good money for this kind of data, so much so that ACCE alone has 390 clients, according to their website.
After it’s all over, Byrne is paid around $30—not terrible for an hour of work, she thinks. Finding a new job was difficult for her, it was taking months. So why continue struggling though a hostile job market when she could make quick cash taste testing candy and fast food?
The money Byrne has earned from the focus groups is not nearly as much as she made at her job but she says it’s been a helpful boost. She finds herself using it as pocket money.
Byrne says the trials have gone smoothly so far—she’s only had one that didn’t.
She signed up for a three-day test of a new alcoholic beverage—a vodka soda—and was given several versions of the same product, each with varying percentages of alcohol and different flavour combinations. Most were lemon, she says.
Byrne had to drink five small cups each day. As the study progressed, and she consumed more alcohol, she noticed herself becoming increasingly intoxicated. Byrne began to worry the intoxication was affecting her performance in the study. She felt like she was losing track of which drink was which and the results would no doubt be skewed because of it.
“How is anyone supposed to do this with so many drinks at once?” she said.
For this study, ACCE paid for a designated driver for Byrne—she chose her dad. He received a cheque for $60 at the end of the three days. She received one for $150.
“It’s just like extra money for an incredibly easy thing to do,” she said.
For some students, the cash is just a bonus. Second-year TMU student Saffron Binder participated in two studies this year, one for a PhD candidate’s dissertation and another for a masters students’ thesis.
Every year, Canadian universities pump out thousands of doctorate degrees. In 2021, they granted 8,157 of them, according to Statista. Many of these PhD candidates’ projects require test subjects to prove their theses. Luckily, university campuses are ripe with students willing to participate.
Both of the studies Binder took part in were related to COVID-19. Binder is a public health student and applied for the program because of a passion for preventing the disease—which she believes is being largely ignored at the expense of many people’s health.
When someone shared the callouts for the studies in a COVID-19 community group chat she’s part of, Binder was up for the task.
Only the masters student’s study about creating safe online communities for the COVID-19 conscious, was paid. She didn’t mind, she was interested in furthering the research, not reaping the financial reward.
The task was relatively simple too. The study opened with a virtual one-on-one interview with the researcher and the latter half was generative. Binder was placed into groups with other participants and—using a virtual note-taking tool—they brainstormed ideas about how to build community and reduce harm in their spaces. Binder received around $30 for each of the four sessions.
Since discovering these studies, Binder has been on the lookout for others.
“If there’s any studies on [COVID-19] that are applicable to me, I try to volunteer for it,” she said. “Because I think we need more research into [COVID-19] in general.”
During an appointment for the TAY Cohort study last year, Leschiutta saw a poster calling for participants to join another CAMH mental health study. Now in university, they figured the extra cash couldn’t hurt and it was, once again, for a good cause.
This one, called the Depression Early Warning (DEW) Study, aims to track what depression looks like day-to-day in young people who have been diagnosed. Leschiutta signed up.
They’re currently in the final months of the DEW Study, participating concurrently alongside the TAY Cohort. For two to four weeks of every month, they wear a digital device resembling a watch that records physical activity, heart rhythm data and sleep patterns. During select weeks, they complete surveys called “electronic mood diaries” on their cell phone. Every three months, they have a check-in with researchers where they’re instructed on which tasks they’ll need to undertake next.
When Leschiutta completes a portion of the DEW Study, they’re paid in gift cards. The dollar amounts differ depending on how long they wore the watch and how many mood diaries they completed.
The gift cards are for all kinds of retailers and services—grocery stories, Amazon, Walmart. “All of the things,” they said.
Leschiutta is near the end of both their studies, but when they wrap up they say they’ll apply to more—especially as they qualify for new ones as they get older.
The same goes for Byrne—who recentley secured a new job as a cashier at a Walmart that opened in her neighbourhood this summer. Since then, she’s only done one focus group—a taste test for a Cadbury chocolate product.
Though she’s back to work, she doesn’t see a reason to stop.
To Byrne, it feels like she’s struck gold—she’ll be signing up for more.
Correction: a previous version of this article stated that Nagina Parmar is an executive chair of TMU’s Research Ethics Board. Parmar is an executive member. This error remains in the print edition of this article. The Eye regrets this mistake.
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