Brianne Hogan

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.

brave. bawdy. decidedly not depressed.

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

advice guru. lube lover. workaholic.

sommelier. noser. author. roxane gay fan.

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

Jenny Trout. Abigail Barnette. Jennifer Armintrout. Missing anyone?

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

The chin hairs were the first hint of my impending senior discounts and early-bird dinners.

From fierce bunnies to books, Sonja rocks the art world.