Brianne Hogan

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I've cried on subways from Toronto to New York. I cried bombing an interview, going to a party that I didn’t want or because my sweater was itchy.

The cards showed me the Tower and the Ten of Swords, which is basically bleak shit worthy of jumping off a tall building.

sommelier. noser. author. roxane gay fan.

I sent out Christmas cards this year, which I wrote upon with an actual pen. But it wasn’t always like this.

If you’re looking for a health and wellness guru, look no further than Ani Phyo.

brave. bawdy. decidedly not depressed.

The turkey was rubbery. The mac ‘n cheese was cold. But somehow the meal was delightful.

Dry humping my pillow and imagining it was David Duchovny seemed a much hotter alternative than doing the real thing.

I’ve decided that I no longer want to depend on an exchange of cultural consumption or “comparing lives” currency in order to feel good about myself.