Shamonica Magazine

Call it artistic appreciation or some misplaced side effect of what I like to call my “late stage penis envy” but I cannot stop taking pictures of these cigar man signs all over downtown San Francisco. I am so charmed by them. My friends, sometime a cigar IS only a cigar, but then, sometimes, cigars are people.

Do y’all remember that catalogue International Male? Admit it, you do. I recall getting my hands on a few copies in the early 90s, and me and my friends would FREAK OUT over the pleather pants, the sheer and shiny euro-shirts, the horrifying excess of leopard print everything, and the weird manpanties and mangerie that the catalogue seemed to specialize in. High cut saucy manpanties those were. And all the models were so horribly, orangely tan.

  I LOVE objectification. I am basically checking everybody out all the time. Regardless of sex or gender. I am like a randy teenage boy and a middle-aged female vampire all rolled into one. Also, as I like to say because it is very true: I am a gay bear, trapped in a woman’s body. It [...]

The first time I ever stepped foot into Sephora, that fluorescent temple of glam, I was bewildered by all of the endless shimmering piles of beauty “essentials.”  Things that are indispensable qualifications for the job of owning a lady face. I thought: Shit in heaven! I have no idea what being a female entails. I’ve been doing this [...]

Shit, I remember when we used to spend whole days at the mall just fucking off, sneaking into movies, spraying body shop mango spray, smoking cigarettes in front of Planet Hollywood, and generally trying to be kick-ass hooligans. Ultimately, we’d get caught in the service halls trying to draw a penis on a wall somewhere, [...]