Kate Ryan

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.