Latest posts
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The Devil Still Wears Prada—And Apparently, Meryl’s Not Done Devouring Souls
Just when you thought Miranda Priestly had retired to a glacial mountaintop to judge the world in couture silence, she’s back. Meryl Streep—yes, the original dragon in Chanel—has officially signed on for The Devil Wears Prada 2. The high priestess of pursed lips and scathing monologues will return to her throne, which is reportedly made
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Screw Perfection. My Books Are Live. Amazon Knows Where to Find Them.
For years, I did the thing we’re all taught to do: polish the manuscript, pitch the agents, wait for permission. I submitted. I revised. I shelved entire books waiting for the “right time.” Spoiler: it never came. So I stopped waiting. I’m self-publishing. And I’m terrified. And proud. And exhausted. And—finally—free. These books are raw.
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The Rainbow Delusion: Why Queer Representation Clearly Needs a Little Less Glitter and a Lot More Gaslighting
Representation matters. Or so we’ve been told—usually by someone holding a Diversity & Inclusion pamphlet in one hand and a pitchfork full of budget cuts in the other. But nothing says progress like a major studio loudly patting itself on the back for including a gay character that blinks ambiguously in the background of a
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Pray the Gay Away: A Conversion Therapy Survival Guide (Now With 60% More Trauma and Zero Science)
Welcome to Conversion Therapy™—the only place where Jesus moonlights as a licensed therapist and heterosexuality is somehow contagious if you cry hard enough. Buckle up, buttercup. It’s time for a full-bodied, unlicensed, medically discredited journey through the spiritual carwash known as “turning you straight.” Spoiler alert: It doesn’t work. Unless the goal is PTSD, self-loathing,
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Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Heal: The Ghost Policy Still Marching in Combat Boots
Ah yes. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell—that beloved Clinton-era gem of half-measure equality. The 1993 military policy that essentially told queer Americans, “You can serve your country, but could you please do it invisibly?” Because nothing says “thank you for your service” like “now lie about who you are, suppress your identity, and don’t you dare
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Shaken, Not Spanked — Amazon’s James Bond Wishlist Proves MI6 Now Accepts Interns
Amazon, the same company that turned free shipping into a moral compass and made Jeff Bezos bald with power, has unveiled its wishlist for the next James Bond. The contenders? Jacob Elordi (Euphoria), Tom Holland (Spider-Man), and Harris Dickinson (Triangle of Sadness). Which is fitting, because this casting list feels like a triangle of cinematic
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From Lincoln to ‘Lizard King’: A Brief History of How the GOP Went from Emancipation to Trump Fan Fiction
Let’s be clear right off the bat: this isn’t some tweed-jacketed seminar on 19th-century civics, nor is it a loving tribute to parchment, powdered wigs, or that one guy in the background of Hamilton who died before intermission. This is a confused, exhausted, deeply sarcastic look at how the party that once freed enslaved people
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The Diddy Trial: America’s Favorite Celebrity Crime Story to Not Care About But Should
Put Him in Jail Already, We’re Busy In the ever-shrinking window between actual consequences and brand-new allegations, Sean “Diddy” Combs continues to shuffle through the American justice system like it’s a red carpet walk—slow, smug, and vaguely sponsored. The latest trial, which should be the pop culture event of the decade, is barely a blip
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The Trauma Olympics: Why I’m Retiring My Jersey
Let me start with this: I’ve seen some shit. I’ve been kicked out at 16 for being gay, subjected to conversion therapy, survived cancer, buried friends, lost my nursing license for reporting a mistake I didn’t even make, and watched my dreams crumble while overdressed in a Holiday Inn Express lobby. I’ve weathered abusive relationships,
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Bee-yond the Beard: Why Food Awards Matter and Who’s Really Stirring the Pot
Once upon a time, if a chef wanted to be taken seriously, they had to toil quietly in the kitchen, perfecting duck à l’orange, whispering sweet nothings to soufflés, and praying some mysterious, trench coat-wearing Michelin inspector would bless their establishment with a star or two (or three, if they had made some sort of