The Parlour is a new weekly newsletter and column for paid members that invites you into a space for unfiltered, of-the-moment queer slice-of-life writing. Think of it like a diary passed between your favorite queer writers!
I’m a slob in the kitchen. I’m a slob in most domains of my life, but especially in the kitchen. I’ve always known this, but living with Lola made me forget just how bad I was.
I’ve known for a long time that my mom’s lack of emotional availability was a setup for my romantic relationships.
I can have imposter syndrome and be a good therapist. In fact, I wouldn’t be a good therapist if I didn’t at least try to practice what I preach.
Even after we come to terms with our impairments, we’re still dogged by self-doubt.
I’ve been fixated on rocks lately, among the landscapes.
I’m 30 today! AH! I write that statement with an equal amount of dread and excitement bubbling in my chest.
Chicago, Winter 2015. I’m doing a cringe-worthy, cliche version of Living In Chicago In Your Early Twenties.
I was fronting Pride campaigns and being put on a pedestal as some sort of representative of the queer community when all I’d done was fit into mainstream beauty standards and fall in love with my best friend.
As a queer Asian person, the year of the snake really excites me.
Partying as a teenager is hard in New York City, where very few people have houses and almost everyone has nosy neighbors.
As a mother and a career-driven individual who holds power in various aspects of my own life, I immediately related to Babygirl’s Romy.
At 17, my lack of kissing was a sensitive subject for me. It wasn’t for lack of trying.
I went through my mental catalogue of friends back in LA and sent my check-in texts. Almost all of them did the exact same for me this past fall during one of the longest and worst hurricane seasons to hit the southeast in recent years.
I believe in making out at the club, at the dance party, in the backseat of your car, in the corridor to the stairwell of your building, in the movie theater, at concerts, on the beach, at sports events, and at the brewery where making out isn’t really the vibe but you’re so hot for it you do it anyways.
I can be femme and strong and gay and comfortable and hot and relaxed, all embodied in one outfit.
Wearing a mask felt similar to how I usually identified as a stone top.
“You tell everyone you see that night, including but not limited to all the friends you came with, another friend you run into, a stranger on the street, your dog and your Uber driver, that you are not going to have sex because you don’t want to ruin the friendship.”
I have nothing to prove 2023 was the first year of my life when I didn’t see snow on the ground other than my memories.
I never thought a horror movie would be the key to healing from my first lesbian breakup, but Love Lies Bleeding got your girl together.