Kate Ryan

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

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

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.

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

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

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

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?