When it comes to my peers, I am always the one playing catch up. They’re more… how do I put this… developed. They own more than two bras and maybe have a cheese grater in their kitchen drawers. I wear the same bra every day and still live in a dorm room. There’s no competition. I just watch them from the sidelines, occasionally asking annoying questions about what womanhood is like, to which they reply: “One day, you’ll understand.”
It’s not like I haven’t been desperate to develop. I’ve always wanted to leave my girl-status behind and go all Shania Twain singing Man! I Feel Like a Woman. But the fact of the matter is that, for a long time, maturity hadn’t quite hit me. As much as I craved to learn the secret to being a badass lady-chick, I was just a late bloomer. I was trapped in the realm of the training bra. Pity me.
When I would admit my late blossoming to people, they would often gasp, saying things like, “Wow…I mean… getting ‘it’ at 20 years old is like really late, right?” I would nod my head and mumble “Uh huh,” as if I didn’t already know how stunted I was, as a woman. Even my mom was perplexed.
Then one day, it happened.
I was walking down Angell Street and I just knew, like a sixth sense: I told myself, this is your time—you’re a fucking woman now goddamn it. I exhaled sharply, turned left, and stared onwards into my future.
Yes, I am proud to announce that on September 27th the world of womanhood slapped me in the face and I got it: the drive to get an internship.
Freshman year is a whirlwind of adjustment, excitement, and a complete flooding by new things—Clubs! Classes! Sports! Unit wars! The Ratty! Gail! Your first Jose card swipe! The souped-up Ben & Jerry’s machine! Spicy-withs! Your first gender-neutral shower experience! Pretending every weekend that this is the weekend you’re going to Boston! Being convinced you’re going to double concentrate!—Etc., etc. You’re consistently so overwhelmed that you don’t even have time to think, let alone to be sad. Upon your first day on campus sophomore year, however, everything changes. A dark, depressing, haunting spirit swarms through the sophomore dorms, infiltrating the minds and souls of all sophomores: The Sophomore Slump. Continue Reading…
Ever walked by the Tin Foily People Circle (is that the actual name? probably not….*) and wondered which one was most like you? Take this quick quiz to find out!
I ran into my friend Anna the other day while walking through the Main Green. I think she yelled “Hi,” and after taking a graceful moment to recognize her, I responded with what bodylanguageproject.com calls “the tight lipped smile with low intensity.”
Apparently, the tight lipped smile with low intensity is a very dishonest smile and masks the distaste an individual has for the recipient–a rather unfortunate description because this is the smile I give to literally everyone. Continue Reading…
Hi, my name is Christina, and I am a mailaholic.
I love getting mail. I loved getting mail in high school, when colleges I’ve never heard of sent me gilded letters declaring that I was very special indeed, and that they wanted
my money me. I still love getting mail, but since coming to Brown I have discovered something more exhilarating and sinfully more expensive: packages.
Walking through the Main Green, I often pass students sauntering from the mail room, hauling several packages at a time. Who do they think they are? I can get packages too. I too am a proud consumer of this godforsaken capitalist country. Continue Reading…
At Brown, there’s a nagging pressure to have a unique style and general vibe; unfortunately, we’re not all as “different” as we may choose to believe. Before leaping into my first year at Brown, I purchased the obligatory “I enjoy quinoa” accessory: The Birkenstock. But upon arriving on campus, I was hit with the harsh reality that every third person was wearing the exact same shoe as I was: the identity crisis ensued. If I wasn’t “the cool, hippie, vegan girl,” then who was I? Not only were there people who were more socially and politically conscious than I was– they dressed like it too! I primed myself for a college experience where my personal style, academic achievement, and all aspects of my life would be consistently validated. I was shaken to my core when I happened upon the realization that I’d have to work to make myself seen.
Former Brown University president, Henry Wriston, once proclaimed The Blue Room as “the boldest experiment [he had] ever seen.” That was in 1939.
Today… not so much. Sure, it’s a social hub, a muffin hub, and an after-4 p.m. hub. It may scream “let’s meet for awkward coffee,” “sure, I get work done in here” and “I’m social, bitch!” But, bold? Nah. BLUE? Not even. It’s as blue as a JetBlue terminal… which is to say, not at all. It’s floor to ceiling white. This might be a call to The Blue Room’s 1970s nickname, which was, I kid you not, the “Airport Lounge”—a name that says: I’m just gonna pretend that I’m boarding a flight to Budapest and never coming back! Sorry, econ exam. Continue Reading…
You know those college students who say things like:
“I wanna go to the Bahamas for Spring Break but I’m so PooR I’ll just probably have to go on a road trip up the California coast instead :/”
“I’m addicted to online shopping but it’s so baaAAaAad because I’m soo pooOoOor.”
“I’m LIVING that hashtag broke college student life… Yes, I’ve been to Europe at least twice. What, you haven’t?”
“Lolololololol I should get a job, too, but I’m so lazy! But it would be nice to not be ?poor?”
“I don’t know why I just keep buying things even though I’m So Poor.”
*Invites you to a pricey restaurant that you then tell them you can’t afford to go to* “Haha yeah me either. Broke college student lyfe, amirite?” *Proceeds to go anyway*.
However, one must take only a singular look at their outfit to know that their jeans fit too well for them to not be, like, super fucking rich. Continue Reading…