It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

What I Think You Think My Purple Hair Says About Me

October 4, 2017

I once wrote right here for The Rib about this weird, narcissistic idea I have. Essentially, I thought that not changing my hairstyle was the only “constant” factor that kept this wacky weird world from transitioning into the next stage of apocalyptic human life on Earth. I.E. I truly believed that because I had decided not to change up my grown out brown locks to something drastic like a blonde pixie cut, I knew I was the sole factor that continuously kept WWIII from erupting. I know that’s weird. In my defense, I feel like movies train you to think that every little thing matters and that one tiny thing could disrupt the whole space-time continuum. I just happened to think that one tiny thing was my hair. Yes, I do see a therapist, why do you ask?

Recently, I dyed my hair purple. So, yes, as you may be able to deduct, I 100% stopped giving a fuck about the world. And the world, in such cases, has a fun way of getting even with self-obsessed pricks like me. For one, it gives us very few brain cells. So when one’s egotistic-ass-self dyes their hair a dark purple, it makes one forget basic chemistry so that when one has a thought like: “Man, a quick swim in a chlorinated pool right now –at this very moment,  merely minutes after I have permanently bleached and dyed my hair– seems hella refreshing and, also, like a great idea!” your little brain cells don’t even budge. So if you’re vain fuckin’ self wanted a dark, mysterious, sophisticated, brown-purple hue, you will instead get a tacky, overdone, RISD-wannabe, mason jar-lovin’, vinyl-record listenin’, lavender-gray mane.

Which is just so not me.*

All I wanted was a “natural” purple!  I wanted people to see me and think, “She could  be so into experimental queer theater, but, gee, I don’t know, I really can’t tell– she could also be like, the new diversity hire at Goldman Sachs, you know? Because that purple is more than just artsy. It is… refined. Is it even purple, or is it brown with a violet aura of je ne sais quoi?

But instead, I got “hipster” lavender. So people  see me and think, “Okay, so clearly, this bitch thinks she’s in a Wes Anderson ‘film’. How many fucking Pitbulls do you think she claims to have rescued? You know she just can’t wait to get some weird part of her body pierced. Also, I know she’s fifty feet away but, do you smell quinoa and kale farts?”

This is exasperating. I already am fake edgy, some claim. I don’t want the lavender hair to push me over the “edgy” edge! I try to stay in the mainstream! I keep my tattoos in check and my mason jars at home, and yet somehow I now have to face Wannabe Manic Pixie Dream Girl prejudice! I don’t want to be cool! Or edgy! I am the least edgy person I know! I watched High School Musical last night! I would never pierce my nipples!

But I want you to think I could.

And that’s  the difference. I naïvely thought purple hair would allude to my Experimental, Free-Spirited, Sagittarius self. Yes, I would never pierce my nips (because of the nipple noodle story), BUT I want you to think I’d at least consider it. And with purple hair, you might have. But with lavender hair, everyone just assumes I have three nipples and three lovers, and that they all have gauges. It’s fuckin’ insulting.

Purple hair was going to make me mysteriously sexy. Instead, lavender hair unambiguously renders me a fucked up lover. Because lavender hair says “I do anal.”  While purple hair only asks, “Does she do anal?”

I know. I know. I look like I’m a septum piercing away from selling you LSD. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it until I can dye my hair a perplexing purple once again.  But who knows, maybe this life won’t be so bad.  For example, I no longer have to move around people on the sidewalk. They are the ones who move around me because god forbid I’m carrying one of my Edgy Girl Sex Ropes, accidentally whipping them away from me and into oncoming traffic. Or maybe, they’re just really scared I’ll talk to them about veganism. In any case, I guess I’ll just never “have” to deal with new people again.

I could get used to that. So maybe catch me with granny-gray hair soon. And with a tattoo on the inside of one of my fingers. Chainsmoking by the MCM building. Wearing a The Lumineers t-shirt.

*I know people will contest this. W/E. Look for me at Knead Donuts, ready to fight you.

Image via Sarah Clapp.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Dear Seniors, Please Don’t Leave

April 30, 2017

As this semester wraps up, many of us on campus are getting ready to say goodbye to the Class of 2017, which sounds like fake news if we’re being honest, because 2017 sounds like a fake year. 2010? That sounds more real. That’s more like it. I’m not sure why I feel this way, but I honestly believe that Justin Bieber’s “Baby” came out yesterday. Why the release of that one song seems to have frozen time for me I don’t know, but it doesn’t change the fact that I genuinely feel like anything that has happened after the Biebs bowl cut epidemic has either happened a) way too fast to actually be real or b) as part of one of those very weird, long, too-vivid dreams I used to have in middle school.

BUT, if I learned anything from 2016, it’s that this is all, somehow, real (!!!!!). It’s actually happening. Our friends are going off to grad school. They’re finding apartments. They’re getting jobs. They are moving cross country, or abroad, or even staying in Providence, (but getting the hell outta here, they say).

To this I say: how… fucking… dare you? Continue Reading…

Life & Other Drugs

New Administration, New Me?

February 6, 2017

Every semester I change up my hairstyle. At first it was a coincidence– I always cut my hair when I’m at home, to keep the ole noggin’ looking fresh, I suppose. After a while, I kind of made it “a thing.” I started freshman year with sidebangs, came back second semester with layers, sophomore-slumped in a fringe, slumped even further in accidental blonde locks (by the way– I did not have more fun) and started junior year, as previously reported right here on The Rib, with “the chop.” But 2017 has given me no new hairspiration. Yet.

Usually, changing up my hair is a way for me to mark the novelty of a new semester or a new year. And newness, for me, is usually always good. Or exciting at the very least. I can’t be the same person I was a month ago if I have bangs now, right? Your whole personality changes the moment your hair does– every chick flick ever has taught us that.

But then November 8, 2016 happened, and the things I usually crave– excitement, unpredictability, novelty, inexpensive guac– are also things that terrify me now. So I keep thinking: what if me dyeing my hair is like the one thing that sets off the darkest timeline– the tiny, but gravely significant incident that Marty McFly would have to come undo? What if me not getting a buzzcut this semester is the only thing keeping us from World War III?

I know. That sounds like a lot. Frankly, yes, I might just be a narcissist, because who in their right mind would think that the literal fate of the world revolves around them? (Me.) I get it! But! I also have been watching a lot SciFi (the news– I’ve been watching the absolutely unbelievable, straight-out-of-the-Twilight-Zone NEWS) so maybe my thought process isn’t that odd?

I digress.

Since keeping my hair short and boring is the only thing preventing The Second Coming, I’ve been trying to brainstorm ideas to safely venture into the unpredictable once again. This is all I have so far:

  1. Go to the Ratty with a trusted friend — THESE DAYS YOU NEVER KNOW what it will look like.
  2. Think about the state of democracy– THESE DAYS YOU NEVER KNOW what it will look like.
  3. Try eggnog. Again.– Post-election and pre-finals, I don’t know, I just kind of forgot to do my annual tasting to see if I still think it’s the most disgusting thing in the world. (Edit: I have tried it and it is. But there’s that novelty I was looking for, I guess! Riveting.)

Please let me know if you have suggestions. Otherwise, I’ll likely turn to extreme sports. Like skydiving. Or getting into a capped class, you wild beasts.

Image via Annie Warner.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, Love & Romance, Satire

How to Come Back from Heartbreak (And The Presidential Election)

December 1, 2016

The week that Donald Trump was elected president of the United States was a tough one. I had two papers to write, one presentation to prepare, a Rib article to edit, and, oh yeah, I was supposed to somehow move on as if it were normal that a racist Islamophobic misogynist cheeto was given command of the most powerful nation on Earth. To top it off, there was a “thing” with a person that ended with me feeling kind of like a giant pigeon was taking a crap on my heart.

I know what you’re thinking.

Daniella, this is The Rib. I don’t come here to be reminded of how awful XYZ is. I’m here for some good ole lighthearted hahas. Also, I’m kind of concerned for your well-being.

I know! I know. I’m actually in a great place right now, thanks for asking. And the reason I’m doing well is actually what I want to share with you today, and that is that I’ve found the secret to curing broken hearts, and that is:

The most effective way for dealing with the absolute shattering of your heart — by college boys or by blonde reality star toupee-wearin’ boys— is listening to bad disco music.

That’s right. Listen. To. ABBA.
Continue Reading…

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, Listicles, On "The Hill", Satire

How to Be Smart and Sexy for Halloween

October 31, 2016

Hey, girlfriends! Happy Halloweek! What a fun, sexy time for us! But also, what pressure, amirite ladies?


On the one hand, Halloween can bring so much greatness to your otherwise stressful (#midterms) life. The weather is getting chillier, the leaves are turning a beautiful orange, and there’s a really good excuse to eat a ton of chocolate. All the stores are decorated (dare I say) spoopily, there are parties galore, and there are numerous opportunities for costumes.

But what you’d think would be a relaxed, fun couple of days for everyone can actually be a really stressful time. Not only do you have to be respectful of other peoples’ cultures and be, you know, not a jackass*, (soo hard, right?!) you also have to be, if you are a female-identifying person, kind of a slut! You know what I’m talking about. Women fare better when they are the “Sexy Pirate,” “Sexy Nurse,” or “Sexy Pizza.” Sex does indeed sell, racking up those Instagram likes and Facebook “love” reactions. Still, you can’t dress up as any old “sexy” costume, like “sexy cat” or “sexy librarian.” People see right through that. You are expected to put some thought into your sexy costume, because just dressing as the slutty version of a regular costume means that you are unoriginal, or god forbid, “basic.”


Here’s a classic example: Aaron Samuels liked Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls because she wasn’t like “the other slutty girls.” Lindsay is the funny, relatable, not-blatantly-but-somehow-still-hot girl-next-door who wears a gross ~scary~ costume instead of lingerie and bunny ears. Aaron Samuels knows — it’s bad to be “just hot.” You should be extremely relatable and hot!

This brings us to the issue at hand: Women are faced with unattainable expectations for Halloween costumes, and it’s all bullshit. Do you know how hard it is to come up with original, funny, capital s Sexy costume ideas? Original + funny = usually not sexy. Like, it’d be original and funny to dress up as the dat boi meme, but alas, dressing like a dope green meme frog on a unicycle can hardly be thought of as sensual.

What also sucks is that a guy can give 2% effort and still be thought of as some sort of hot, funny, sexy Halloween genius. i.e. how many of us died when Jim from The Office dressed up as Facebook– by writing the word book on his face in black marker? But if a girl were to also give 2% and just buy a Tinker Bell costume off Amazon, she’d be like every other girl who dressed up as Tinker Bell– clichéd, and just wanting to dress like a ho. And how dare a girl try to live life and enact her sexuality? What is this, a brothel?!


After spending some time with some Reese’s Pumpkin-Shaped Peanut Butter Cups and some wine, I figured out how to cheat the formula. Here’s a very feasible, not-at-all bad, definitely not ridiculous list of costumes that check off all three smart, sexy, and original boxes on your ideal costume list:

    1. Slutty Ghostbusters — Ghostbusters are already funny and smart (they bust ghosts!). But they could show a bit more cleavage. Fuck respectability and their PhDs; we want boobs, not just BOOs!
    2. Sexy Egg/Bacon — Could be a couples’ costume, or you could choose your fave solo breakfast food. It’s not particularly funny or smart, but who doesn’t love breakfast food? However, I’d like to note that it is hard to make bacon sexier than it already is.
    3. Slutty Cereal Killer — The classic costume pun. Adorn yourself with the corpses of mini cereal boxes, but make the mini cereal boxes just lingerie.
    4. Sexy Albert Einstein — Who’s smarter and funnier than this guy? Have you seen his hair? Ha!
    5. Slutty Higgs boson — Tell them you’re dressed as the God particle. Shit’s crazy smart. And sexy.
    6. Sexy One Night Stand — This is the one where you literally dress up as a singular nightstand. Make yourself a cardboard table that you can wear. But like, a sexy cardboard table.
    7. Slutty Bachelor’s Degree — We’re all in college trying to get one of these, though it’s laughable that it’ll be of any use in this economy! (So study for your tests after the week’s over, kids!!)

*Don’t culturally appropriate this Halloween! Duh!

Images via, via, via, and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, Satire

Sorry My Family Comments On All Your Statuses

October 21, 2016

Dear Facebook Friend,

Hey, it’s me, the girl you kind of hate now, because her random family members, who you don’t know, always interact with you on Facebook. I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to tag me in statuses, photos, and memes. You produce real evidence that I “go out,” and “have friends,” truly showing the rest of the world that it’s not just me and the air plants in my dorm room.

I apologize that because of your valiant efforts to be kind and social, you’ve also been wronged. By me. Well, by my family. See, Latinos can be very chismosos, or as we say in Drumpf’s America “nosy.” Although, I suppose many non-Latino families also have a Nosy Natalia or two. (Is that an Expression Name, like Debbie Downer or Texting Tina? Hmm.)  

And when a family member is nosy, they will comment on virtually (haha) anything they see online, causing you to have an endless amount of unsolicited notifications.

They’ll comment on your interest in X,Y, and Z events. They’ll like that you tagged me in a photo about which of Zayn’s eyes I am. (Left). They’ll share that photo of our apple picking trip. Yeah, the one I’m not in. The one with you and your boyfriend. Because to my relatives, whether I’m in the photo or not is irrelevant! I’m sure they’d even throw a “wow” reaction at your online Turbotax returns if they could.

I apologize that they think we’re dating. To be honest, that’ll probably be a thing as long as I’m single. And even when I have a partner, they’ll probably still think I’m cheating on said partner with you. Again, so sorry!

I guess it’s kind of nice though, that you get all of this attention from my family. I mean, are you getting notifications from people who aren’t my Uncle? And isn’t he kind of cute the way he types like he’s sending a telegram?




I was thinking, since this seems to be the only way my family likes to communicate, that I’d write a telegram of my own on this whole kerfuffle.







Image via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

My Strange Addiction: Live Music

October 7, 2016

It’s been two weeks. I can’t remember the last time I saw my family. Or my friends. I’ve been too consumed by my dirty habit to even be able to stop and smell the Blue Room muffins and chat with a bud or two. I have spent long nights at the library, trying to make up for the time I’ve spent fueling my obsession instead of doing homework. I’ve lied to people about my whereabouts. I am in deep, deep debt. I even ditched class.  I think about my mania all day.

Hi, my name is Daniella. And I go to too many concerts.  

To be exact, I’ve been to 5 concerts in less than 14 days. (And that’s just this semester).

Now before you toss all sympathy for me aside, allow me to explain myself. Continue Reading…

On "The Hill", Satire

We Are All Blueno

September 29, 2016

I hate tomatoes. I hate them with an intense passion and cannot possibly fathom why anyone would enjoy their freaky texture and their tart flavor. The worst part about hating tomatoes is that out in the world there are people –real people– who freaking love tomatoes. They love them. They would marry a tomato if they could. They even invent ways in which you can grow tomatoes in your own home so you too can frighten both yourself and your neighbors, as if this election cycle isn’t doing enough of that.

That sounds a bit extreme, right? Imagine having that amount of hatred for a blue teddy bear.

Well, that’s kind of what’s happening on the Brown campus right now. It’s essentially bullying, and it needs to stop.

Continue Reading…

Life & Other Drugs, Listicles, On "The Hill"

What Your Carry On Says About You

September 14, 2016

Welcome back from summer break, y’all! Hope you’re really feelin’ all the back-to-school vibes forced upon you by colorful Target commercials and CVS BOGO sales. For some, 2016-2017 could be the year we finally figure out our concentration or how the Nelson works. Or maybe this year will be a total 180–whether that means a semester abroad, or switching to one a day contacts. For a select few, this will be the year of the first spicy withs or the last spicy withs. But what we all have in common, regardless of where we are in our collegiate lives, is baggage. Travel baggage, that is.

Specifically, carry ons.

Continue Reading…