Brianne Hogan

sommelier. noser. author. roxane gay fan.

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

advice guru. lube lover. workaholic.

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.

public speaker. author. entrepreneur. loss-to-love alchemist.

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

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.

Three of my grandparents died within seven months of each other. And I didn't even have a driver's license.