The current fashionistas are blaming the photoboy-arthead they all booked at staggered times [due to FN DEMAND] because they never learned the actual jobs they took over, aging out the real fashion heads with much fanfare.

All the techhead number-runners dispassionately gutting divisions they didn’t comprehend as they Consolidate getting to call themselves titles with Naan an idea what went into said title equals the road right to this.

& before anyone yells… CONDÉ NAST WAS ALWAYS A JUGGERNAUT. Lots of masthead (magazines) under one umbrella was usually the case. But we were all gangs keeping the shit running. Every mag had its thing and that thing drew its eyeballs.

It was a jungle in a biosphere of literal beauty.

& they’ve DOGE’d it, filled it with…folks who didn’t see this coming from the whole “barely an original idea in the collective bone marrow of the entire lot of’em” roots of them.

Those fingers spread for Torque in smacking moFos.

Things that the man who loves me knows:

I fucking love him too. Even when it looks like all I really love is my work. My work even loves him 💓because I feel free loving him To fully Do that work 💕 .& he has that selfsame grace from me.

Things that the man who loves me knows:

That bear, Minime and all my bookbabies are real angels assigned to me...and my godly brethren will torment to the brink any who come at my actually quite Pollyanna-esque ass ...because I'm actually a fucking sweetheart, have been through enough insanity to justify being a much worse human than I ever choose to be...and that I really just want every fucking one of us to make it 'home' to the specs we came here on, without coming back unless we want to, respectively.

... and that I'd kill whole bunches of malevolent folks just so the brunt of us can fn get on with it. If it wouldn't make me miss my mark for portaling in to this bitch this time.

Things that the man who loves me knows:

To be faithful, how to cook and make love...as well as fuck the daylights outta me, when needed. & to clean up after himself, do laundry, write in cursive(lol)...he knows that living like a grown assed imbecile would be a slight to his mother, not any woman who would love him.

...Things that the man who loves me knows:

I have joyfully been fighting boys for sport for 45+ years...almost like my grandma was some Mongolian princess who refused to get married unless her suitor could...you know lol and it's in my blood (even though her mom's family was from Guangzhou). The entirety of my God given athleticism is keyed to dancing and gleefully amazon-ing out on boys like the egalitarian I was raised to be. Yet~ all the open this/ but imma girl~ schtuff still stands 🫠. It's a sweet, demented combo that he loves because he gets me.

...Things that the man who loves me knows:

His way around a sheet mask etc., He's gonna get caught in the crossfire of my beauty treatment addictions and predilections because I am eeoc when it comes to them...and have an obscene Atila the Hun being introduced to Roman baths kink. Happily Bathing bloody warriors are my filthy vestal virgin pleasure.

...Things that the man who loves me knows:

I truly love men. & that my eye for beautiful men is not to be fucked with. Artistically speaking. It's my mother tongue trade. And it translates to him being secure as fuck in his own beauty in my eyes so as not to be a spazz.

...Things that the man who loves me knows:

I will choose a battleaxe or scythe every given opportunity. And have a sick love for...cutlery overall. Even as an occasional misanthropic germaphobe in this life.

...Things that the man who loves me knows:

The Church of the Raglan Sleeve, innately. Long before God had him pathing with me. No conversion therapy required. You just gotta come in knowing better, your own body line-wise at this point.