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It’s a Girl Thing

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, The Tabloids

The Dangers of Online Bikini Shopping

April 27, 2017

I hate online shopping. I don’t understand how people do it. The clothes never look as good as they did online, or they don’t fit, or they arrive two weeks later than they were supposed to, or all of the above. I avoid online shopping at all costs, and would much prefer to waste hours at the mall in order to find several items that I am 100% sure about buying, than to spend 20 minutes accidentally spending crazy amounts of money on 4 pairs of shoes that I most likely won’t be able to squeeze my feet into and will consequently have to return. Also! I hate returning things. Why has no one invented a high-tech solution where you can just snap your fingers and get your money back and be freed from the object you don’t want taking up space in your room. Like are you seriously telling me I actually need to repackage and re-mail this thing I don’t even want all by myself, in order to get my own money back??! The inhumanity.

Well, recently I discovered there is something even worse than online shopping, and that would be online bikini shopping. Last month, with spring break around the corner, I joined many college girls across the country in making the horrifying realization that I have absolutely zero bikinis. (Yeah, yeah you USC/Tulane people don’t have these problems and the rest of us losers in the arctic tundra are not at all jealous of you). With barely a week until break, I was up to my neck in midterms and knew that I wouldn’t have time to make the dreaded trip to the mall. So, I began the endeavor of scouring the world wide web for 2 pieces of polyester that would rack me up (ha ha punny) some Instagram likes, because as we all know likes are the only thing that matter in defining self-worth.

Well, enter a certain bikini website that shall not be named, but may or not be an incorrect spelling of a geometric shape. After identifying my favorite $90 bikini, I proceeded to checkout only to find that they were out of my size. More specifically, they were out of my size in the top but not the bottoms, which somehow made it a much more annoying, glass-half-empty type of situation. Now, I was about to do the normal thing and “X” out of this page and move on to a new website, when I noticed a little “chat” box in the bottom left corner. I could chat with a customer sales rep! Right now! And they would help me! So exciting.

So I did. First, I was asked to enter my first name, and in a really weird and semi-embarrassing moment, I decided to use a fake name. I use my real name on literally everything I do all day long, so I could not tell you why I felt that the one time I should protect my ~sacred identity~ was on a bikini website that only asks for your first name.

So I said my name was Kylie (I told you this was embarrassing) because I thought it sounded like the name of a girl who might buy a bikini online from a company named after a geometric shape. Like can we be honest for a sec, any name ending in -ie or -ee or -ey or -eeey or -ieie is like def better bikini material than my really generically spelled name.

“Kylie” was soon connected to a rep named Maggie, who followed her script by apologizing profusely for not having my size, and then asking me if I was sure about my size. It occurred to me that, never having tried on one of these mystical bikinis, I was not in fact totally sure about what size I would be. I relayed this info to Maggie.

Maggie asked me if I had a tape measurer that I could measure myself with. I said yes! Of course!

Disclaimer: I do not own a tape measurer. After 30 seconds of texting my roommates I learned no one in our house did either. But not wanting to disappoint my new friend Maggie, (I mean had already lied to the poor girl about my name – I needed to redeem myself somehow), I proceeded to scour my apartment for anything I could measure myself with.

Ten minutes later I found myself wrapping a piece of floss around my body. Meanwhile, every 3 minutes Maggie would message me “Are you still there?” “Hey Kylie – still there?” as if I was a victim of a deathly accident, on the verge of losing consciousness, instead of a girl standing alone in her room trying to determine how many inches a piece of dental floss was.

Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that a piece of floss could not tell me what my bikini size was, and I had to bid farewell to Maggie. Maggie told me she would email me if my size arrived sooner, and asked for my email, which I gave her. My email definitely contains the name “Abby” and not “Kylie.”

Maggie did not comment on the discrepancy.

A few days later, I found myself rushing to the mall in between classes to find a suitable (ha another pun) bikini. The irony, I know. I could have skipped lying about my name and wasting all that dental floss.

Lo and behold the only acceptable one was designed by KYLIE Jenner. Am I psychic?? Yes, obviously. I clearly predicted my fate. Everything in my life was supposed to lead up to this moment. So I bought the bikini and brought it to spring break. Also it was like $30 instead of $90 so thanks @ kylie jenner.

The moral of this tale is to avoid online bikini shopping, and floss, and overly eager sales reps that you meet via a chat feature, and also maybe lying about your name.

Images viavia, and via.

It's a Girl Thing, On "The Hill"

Athleisure & Me

April 26, 2017

I peered out of my Grad Center window this morning and was blinded by pastels. I saw lacrosse shorts and cute-yet-impractical button-down-the-front skirts galore. After some tedious calculations, all signs seem to point to the fact that YES, it is mating season spring!

As I write this from my prime Ratty booth, I can’t help but admire the array of chic warm-weather styles there are out there. Denim with so many holes in it that it creates its own ventilation system… Flip flops– or if you’re cool enough, crocs… And of course, the romper (a cute yet intimidating item of clothing).

I’d rock all these swanky outfits, I tell myself, if only I could turn off the furnace that is my body. In essence, I perpetually look like I just came from the gym.

I have considered many options, but the only viable solution I have is to finally embrace the nation’s love affair with athleisure. A vaguely athletic style will distract onlookers from the lovely sheen of oil across my forehead, but more importantly, it will open up room for debate. Did she just come from track practice or the library? Does she do Pilates or eat Jo’s takeout in her bed? Who knows! Certainly not me.

The athleisure industry is looking me straight in the face, telling me it’s okay not to give a shit about what I put on in the morning because I could be an athlete (but I’m definitely not).

With this in mind, I sit on the Main Green happily sweating onto a Blue Room sandwich. “Leg day,” I tell the people that walk by, “Gotta get that protein, right bruh?” I then take a sip from my water bottle because my coach wants me to be hydrated for game day my body just wants more of that good stuff to sweat. I respect my body because, after all, it’s a temple.

Since becoming an athleisur-ite, I’ve noticed many others of my species roaming around Brown’s campus. There’s a fairly large population of us rocking baggy sweatshirts and hats. I’d just like to right one common misconception: we don’t do this for style. We don’t think leggings are chic. We’d wear floral sun dresses if we could. If only pit stains were less prominent than flowers. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Images via and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

Always A Text Away!

April 25, 2017

Staying in contact with family and friends is an objectively good thing.  It’s nice to know a bit about what shenanigans your family is engaging in while trying to subsist without your lovely presence, and to receive advice on why you NEED to binge-watch Westworld right now, c/o your friend who stays up to date on Philo’s capabilities.  Occasional back and forths like these are informative and allow you to feign a bit of closeness, even if your family is thousands of miles away.  But group chats can spiral out of control (i.e. Britney circa shaved head phase).

Group chats in general have some irritating (to say the least) consequences.  They eliminate any possibility of ever leaving your ringer on again if you don’t want to consistently receive glares from everyone around you.  And leaving your phone on vibrate isn’t much of an option either, unless the prospect of having a vibrator in your pants at all times is something you’re into—in which case, to each their own.  Group chats also make it incredibly dicey to be a dodgy asshole.  You’re placed in a tough spot when someone from a group chat has individually texted you, you need to text something in the group chat (planning when you’re departing for chyken finger Friday obvi), and you also are attempting to ignore that individual text.  Now, you are faced with the horribly hard decision of either being a decent human being and texting the person back, or staying true to your asshole tendencies and clearly indicating you’re ignoring that text by texting in the group chat.  Tough stuff!  Sometimes group chats can even make you sad.  When nobody responds to your carefully crafted text in the group chat, it’s a tad disheartening :’-(

Group chats with your friends have their own particular set of issues.  Somehow, induction into one has come to symbolize some form of friendship—don’t you love the way us millennials do things??  I have heard horror stories about how in the middle school game these days, getting kicked out of a group chat is the ULTIMATE in petty girl drama.  And I thought the Google Buzz days were wild…  Perhaps an equally shitty experience would be catching your friends texting in a group chat without you out of the corner of your eye and having to act like you didn’t see it while actively fighting back the tears–stay strong.

Family group chats have niche problems as well.  You probably feel an obligation to be a good kid and laugh at the things your parents send in your group chat.  But you can only fake laugh so much at the Mr. Krabs meme your parent discovered approx. 4 months late in their quest to be ~hip~.   Maybe your best bet is to just mute all of your group chats.  But, let’s be real, inevitably you will cave and this will be you:

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It's a Girl Thing, Satire

We’re Obsessed With This Liquid Lipstick Collection Inspired by the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862

April 21, 2017

The. Wait. Is. Over.

After six torturous months, we’ve finally got our hands on them. And we’re never letting go.

In case you haven’t heard/ don’t have internet connection/ live under a rock, Old Crone Cosmetics just dropped their  highly-anticipated Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862-Inspired “Granted” liquid lipstick collection. It’s got 12 gorgeous shades ranging from pinks to nudes to reds to yellows (say what?!) and everything in-between.

Ever since BH Cosmetics dropped the Galaxy Chic Palette in 2012 and Too Faced the Funfetti Collection in early 2017, it feels like makeup fans everywhere have been lying in wait for the next big thing. And (you heard it here first) “Granted” is it. It’s fearless, it’s flawless, and it’s inspired by one of the finest pieces of legislation concerning proceeds of federal land sales this country has ever seen.

While the full collection retails at $350, (yikes!) you can get each individual color for $40 a pop.

Sorry bank account, but every woman deserves to feel like a bit of an “act donating public lands to the several states and territories which may provide colleges for the benefit of agriculture and the mechanic arts” now and again.

But enough talking! Let’s get to the colors…


The Populist Girls

A near-natural blush that’s perfect for the “no makeup” look. This look was very popular during the implementation of the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862.

Model Farm Model

A pepto-bismol pink that’s a playful nod to Iowa University’s roots as “State Agricultural College and Model Farm” under the Morrill Act of 1862.

Grant My Wish

A sunny tangerine that, like the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862, will make any young man go west.

Morrill Dilemma 

An orangey-red as timeless as Vermont Senator Justin Smith Morrill and the bill to which he lent his name: the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862.

Wish You Were Engine-Near

A provocative hot pink that just might keep a few engineers from graduating–unlike the Morrill Act of 1862, which increased the number of degreed engineers over 100 fold in a 50 year period.

Higher Ed Red

A sophisticated red that will make you feel right at home at elite colleges like MIT and Cornell that were made possible by the Morrill Act of 1862.


A warm cocoa that just might inspire you to get down and dirty like the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862 inspired agricultural programs in colleges across the country.

Civil Whore

A rich and sexy burgundy that derives its name from the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862’s historic backdrop.

Acres Away

A bold midnight purple that’s perfect for a night out on those Morrill Act of 1862-borne college towns.

Corn Belt

A surprisingly on-trend mustard that brings to mind all of nature’s bounties–facilitated by the Morrill Act of 1862 or otherwise.

Army Candy

A striking military green that will make you ROTC (a program that colleges had to keep to maintain their land-grant status under the fine Morrill Land Grant Act of 1862) ready.

Secession Obsession

A futuristic gray that has its roots in the uniforms of confederate past. While southern states didn’t support the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862, it still passed because the opposing states seceded.


So….yeah. We’re head over heels. Fingers crossed they release a collection for Morrill Act of 1890!

Let us know what your favorite color is in the comments, that is, if you can pick just one…


Images via, viavia, and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

People Who Throw Spaghetti Against the Wall to See if it’s Done

April 13, 2017

There are three big things that I remember seeing in the movies before I saw them in real life: sex, communion, and throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done. Needless to say the last one horrified me the most.

Even in the context of a rom-com, I couldn’t imagine anyone who eats so little spaghetti and is such a devil-may-care character for this to be a reasonable thing to do.

“But” some people will say “it works.”

You know what also works? Tasting the spaghetti.

And what happens after you throw the spaghetti against the wall? Do you leave it there? Do you clean it up? Do you display it like a trophy from a big-game hunt? Do you leave it as a snack for Santa?

Imagine, for a moment, if we extend the logic of throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done to anything else: “Just throw the green beans against the wall to see if they’re soft enough.” “Just slap the steak against the fridge to see if it’s medium-rare.” “Just toss the children I’ve been fattening up in the basement to see if they’re ready.” Completely absurd.

“But” some people will say “it’s just fun.”

Throwing spaghetti against the wall is fun in the same way that riding a unicycle to work is fun. It’s fun in the same way that lighting your entire house with tea lights is fun. It’s fun in the way that cutting your toenails with a chainsaw is. That communicating by carrier pigeon is. Throwing spaghetti against the wall is fun in the same way that driving a 1979 Ford Pinto in bumper-to-bumper traffic while smoking a cigarette, pissing into a beer bottle, and not wearing a seatbelt is fun.

Throwing spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done represents an absolute compromise of common sense in the name of whimsy and makes a spectacle for spectacle’s sake. It’s a self-indulgent performance art that derives pleasure from its own absurdity, recklessness, and sheer disregard for other humans.

It is my firm belief that the people who throw spaghetti against the wall are the same people who would’ve thrown tomatoes at medieval people in the stockades.

I would not trust someone who throws spaghetti against the wall to be the godparent of my child, to watch my cat for a weekend, or to wear black to a funeral. These people are unadulterated loose cannons that make the choice to live their lives in a rose-colored haze and slowly depreciate the resale value of their house. These people find delight in subverting social mores bringing a whirlwind of chaos wherever they go. Just like Zooey Deschanel, Steve Jobs, and Lucifer did.


Image via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

I Analyzed the Flag Animations on the Google Docs/Sheets/Slides/Forms Landing Page for No Reason and Now You’re Gonna Hear All About It

April 11, 2017


Ever wanted to dig deep into the nitty gritty details of an advertisement and see if it just falls into pieces? This project does just that with the google full google suite (docs, sheets, slides, and forms) and is going to tell you all about it. You’re in my playground now, kiddo.



In case you haven’t made the mistake of going to instead of–here’s what the landing pages look like.


where faceless milktoast yuppies look at houses



where faceless bikers all wearing the same helmet ride into the doom canyon



where a meditative child in pristine beekeeping attire stands in front of a slightly taller child with no face



where two hands lightly grasp a campfire treat. These two hands may or may not belong to the same person and you can convince yourself either way if you stare at it long enough. Also no faces.

These landing pages have an inoffensive little flag animation that resembles people typing into a google doc and replacing the central adjective. The question remains, however, what happens when we examine each name, adjective, and their respective frequencies?



I’ve honestly got no expectations for this.



Under strict scrutiny this seemingly-well constructed ad will wither and die. Or reveal some kind of easter egg.



I examined these four landing pages for about seven whole minutes and here’s what I found:

  • Every page has a rotation of three flags that always appear in the same order: yellow to pink to blue and back to yellow again.
  • A complete rotation lasts about 15 seconds, with 5 seconds per flag
  • Some names re-appear while other names are one-hit wonders
  • Reappearing names have consistent flag colors
  • These names are all lame and white
  • With the exception of Sage, which is pretentious and white

I then made a chart displaying how often each “person” appears and what adjective they type in:



Google’s ad campaign is at once completely haphazard and bizarrely repetitive. Words repeat but not often enough for it to seem purposeful. Characters repeat but with no consistency or reliability. It’s absolutely maddening.

From the data collected in the chart, however, I was able to divine the character of each “person” Google created:

Pam: Pam’s the one that does all the work for the group project. She’s everywhere you want her to be and everywhere you don’t want her to be, but you’ve got to admit that she’s got zeal. She’s got a son who’s looking at Northeastern and isn’t afraid to let you know. When men ask for Pam’s number she gives them her business card.

Tom:  Tom’s the type to be mad that his flag color is pink and only knows two adjectives, apparently. His two favorite things are his La-z-boy chair and his fishing rod collection, but if you ask him in person he’ll say they are “Friday nights with the boys” and “making a difference.”

Kim: Kim think’s she’s hot shit when it comes to conflict resolution because she did debate team in high school but breaks down when her sandwich is stolen from the fridge. She’s the kind of person to ask “oh, how are you?” while walking away because you both know she doesn’t give damn about the answer.

Sage: Sage reads articles in the New Yorker and then tells you that he read an article in the New Yorker. He also signs all of his emails with “cheers” because he had a British roommate once.

Jake: Jake’s a simple man. He says there’s “nothing wrong with the office coffee” and things like “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Jake has the same shirt in four different colors and has never seen a macaroon in his life.

Brittany: Brittany may or may not have stolen Kim’s adjective and her sandwich from the fridge, but you’re not going to ask her about it because there’s a rumor flying around that she’s keyed someone’s car. Brittany’s also very form over function. That’s why she spelled her name like a goddamn maniac.



My hope that this ad campaign would wither and die under further examination was met with mixed results. While on one hand there was consistency and repetition, on another hand the repetition itself seemed more lazy than intentional and kind of lame for a company worth $500 million.

While I was unable to find the great Google easter egg, I hope that in publishing this data someone may be able to catch something I have missed. Until then, Godspeed.

Image via, via, via, and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

How I Spent My Spring Break

April 7, 2017

Okay, so here’s what happened. Ryan and his brother Trey got busted for trying to steal a car. Because Ryan was still a minor, a kind DA by the name of Sandy Cohen was able to get him released from custody without a trial. Ryan went back home, where his mom’s boyfriend was being abusive AF, so he called Sandy to come help him.

Sandy took him back to his house in Newport Beach where he told him he could stay the weekend, despite his wife Kirsten’s protests. While he was there, Ryan met the Cohens’ next door neighbor, Marissa Cooper. He thought she was real cute, but she had a boyfriend named Luke who was a douchebag. Tough shit. Marissa invited him to a party at her friend Holly’s house, and Sandy’s son Seth was like “Yeah, let’s do it!” cause he never got invited anywhere and he had a thing for this girl Summer who was way out of his league but was gonna be at the party also.

Then at the party they got into a fight and when they came home Kirsten was all, “He has to leave! He’s a bad influence on my boy!” and literally everybody else was like, uh, no? But Sandy brought him back home anyway, only to find that his mother bailed and the house was empty. So back to Newport Beach it was.

Anyway, Kirsten was still unhappy with the fact that Ryan was there, so Sandy promised that first thing Monday he’d turn him in to child services. That was the last fuckin thing Ryan wanted, so he made plans to run away instead. But Seth found out and was really bummed because he finally had a friend for once, so he suggested Ryan hide in a temporarily-abandoned model home Kirsten’s development company was building, Arrested Development meets Maniac Magee style. Obviously, Marissa had to see them right as they were about to leave – these things never work as planned – so they let her come along.

But Luke found out that Marissa was hangin’ with a new man, so he showed up to the model home with his crew. They beat the shit out of Ryan, and set the house on fire. But Luke then apparently realized that he was about to commit literal murder, and, being more of an arson man, decided to save Ryan’s life instead. They went back to the Cohens’ home, where they found a bunch of police waiting for them cause a) a minor was missing, and 2) a house was burned down, both of which are known cop magnets.

Ryan got sent to juvie, but when Kirsten and Seth visited him they realized what an inhumane shithole it was, so they once again brought him home as if he were just a fuckin yoyo.  Kirsten still didn’t want Ryan to stay permanently, though, so they tried to reunite him with his mother but it turned out bish was cray, so Kirsten and Sandy decided to become Ryan’s permanent guardians instead. The whole ordeal was so dramatic and stressful that I was just like, “Fuck it,” and watched Friends instead.

Image via.

It's a Girl Thing, Love & Romance

Catfished: Lumiere Was Hotter as a Candle

March 21, 2017

Beauty and the Beast is a controversial children’s movie about Stockholm Syndrome where man lies with man, woman lies with beast, and inanimate objects lie in wait to become human again. Amidst all of this controversy I would like to raise one additional concern, and that is that Lumiere was hotter as a candle, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.

One may argue that Beauty and the Beast advocates looking past physical appearances and towards the true beauty that lies within. And that’s fair, but I would like to argue that Beauty and the Beast also claims that if you look past someone’s physical appearance for enough time, and that person happens to be under a magical curse, you will eventually be rewarded with a hottie.

So what makes candle Lumiere hotter than human Lumiere? Is it the fact that his candelabra proportions set an unrealistic standard for male beauty? That his tall, dark, and thin candle bod just isn’t attainable in a human? Is it the error of costuming and the fact that human Lumiere looks like he’s stuffed into that three piece like it’s a sausage casing? Is it because the color of human Lumiere’s wig doesn’t match his facial hair? Does Ewan McGregor, for whatever reason, just not do it for me? Who’s to say. But for some reason the artistic directors made the choice for Lumiere to be hotter as a candle than as a man and for his eventual reveal to be a total let-down. And I feel betrayed. And is that wrong?

Here we transition into the ethics of anthropomorphizing and assessing the desirability of something you can find in a Home Goods. And it’s a real gray area. While on one hand it might be my fault for being an absolute freak, on the other hand Disney has purposefully crafted Lumiere to be seen as a romantic object (pun intended) through his relationship with the feather duster.


If we draw the line at inanimate objects, is it okay to think that Simba is hot? Or is Lumiere more acceptable because you know there’s a human within? But once you know what the human within looks like, and you then want to go back to the candle—what does that make you? Someone who wants to fuck a candle?

In conclusion, I’d just like to say that Disney opened up more than one can of worms with this latest artistic endeavor, and that while I’d be candle Lumiere’s guest any day, if human Lumiere with his ring-clad pinky finger and smug little face were so inclined, I’d turn tail and run.

Image via, via, via, and via.

It's a Girl Thing

A Music Listening Guide for Queer Girls

March 16, 2017

Are YOU gay/bisexual/queer?

Do YOU identify as a woman?

Are YOU sick of media with representation that either A) ends in the queer character dying [I’m looking at you specifically, The 100] or B) sucks major ballsack????

Do YOU have a mini panic attack every time you have to come within a foot of a pigeon? (No? Just me? Okay.)

If you found that you answered yes to all of these questions, well this is your lucky day. I have compiled a list of some of my fav queer female artists for YOU. Yes, YOU! (Look, you probably already know who I’m about to list, considering the short list I’m working with here, but just roll with it.) (Also if you’re legitimately looking for underground artists that you haven’t heard of, then you should turn those expectations down a good few notches.)

NUMERO UNO: Hayley Kiyoko

Who dis chick: Yes, this is that girl from the DCOM Lemonade Mouth. You’ve probably seen her music video “Girls Like Girls.” It’s great. Actually, all of her music videos are great. Go watch them.

What should you listen to: All of it. It’s all fantastic. She just released a song called “Sleepover” and it’s great for some casual simping. (Simping: slang for listening to music while feeling bad for yourself. Most commonly used to connote that you’re reminiscing on a relationship. Used in a sentence: Rihanna’s Love on The Brain got me simping.)

When you should listen to this: After your aunt tells you and your girlfriend for the tenth time that night what cute friends you guys are.

Would I die for her: Probably


Who is DIS: Tbh I don’t really know much about her, but her music is dope. I highly recommend it for running. Although, I do not highly recommend running in general. In fact, I discourage it. Save yourself the excruciating pain.

What you should listen to: Her new album SweetSexySavage is perfect pump up music for any activity. I already mentioned running, but maybe you’re doing laundry. Fold your T-shirts as you twerk to ‘CRZY.’ Or pretend you’re the hoe you wish you were as you listen to ‘Distraction.’

When you should listen to this: As you pretend you’re going to talk to that cute girl in your biology class tomorrow, when we both know you’re not.

NUMERO TRES: Nicki Minaj

Who EVEN is this: Okay we all know Nicki Minaj. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But, what most people don’t know, or like to ignore, is that this 1/3 of the holy trio (Rihanna, Nicki Minaj, and Beyoncé) is bisexual.

Don’t believe me? Go listen to “I endorse these strippers.” In it she raps, and I quote, “I tell the hoes when they strip that they can play with my clit” and “boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs, lotta boobs, man I make the baddest bitches send me nudes.” (And if I am wrong, please don’t tell me. I would rather live in denial than live in a world in which Nicki Minaj isn’t bisexual.)

When you should listen to this: Literally all the time. You can’t turn it off. It’s illegal.

NUMERO CUATRO: Lauren Jauregui

Okay, but who is this: THIS is ¼ (lmao bye Camila) of Fifth Harmony. She came out in a really poignant letter to Donald Trump voters. It was pretty iconic. If all you know about Fifth Harmony is that they have some songs on the radio and an awful name, I suggest you get to know them better. They are a group of women of color who are taking down the patriarchy one hit bop at a time.

What you should listen to: She and Marian Hill recently came out with a song called “Back to Me” and it is DOPE. Also I just recommend all of Fifth Harmony’s music for a fun time with your pals. My personal favs are “Everlasting Love” (for a casual simp), “Reflection” (when you need a LOVE YOSELF tune), “No Way” (for a serious simp), and “All In My Head” (just for the good times).

When you should listen to this: Every month on the full moon. It’s perfect for background music as you practice your brujeria.

Image via.