Titania McGrath: BAD Patriarchy

Under the cacophony of social justice clap-backs; during the rise of the Congresswoman as Teen Vogue blogger; during Gadsby’s tragicomic rise in popularity, something even more hideously humorless happened: Titania McGrath, the pseudonym of a satirist who tweets like a radical feminist writing for Teen Vogue, was suspended by Twitter for being funny, actually, funny.

McGrath, who has an on-brand avatar that looks like a depressingly progressive yoga teacher, is basically undisguisable from who McGrath is making fun of with her gags, like her SlutWalk to protest Islamophobia meme. McGrath’s tweets provide a necessary release for English-speaking people tired of being humiliated for being pale, apathetic to veganism, or simply pro-comedy. I suppose this is why Ricky Gervais likes McGrath’s tweets. I suppose this is also why she was reprimanded by the POC police at Twitter.

McGrath, whose real identity is as mysterious as the gender of a 20-year-old Islamic Evergreen student-activist in a burka, has told us something we can actually unveil: This week, UK publisher Little, Brown is releasing her first book, Woke: A Guide to Social Justice, a work of satire designed to teach young girls how to be authoritarian herbivores and spoiled student-activists.

McGrath was reinstated by Twitter after a 24-hour ban where, presumably, Twitter’s moderators had no idea she was a parody of the woke puritans they continuously shove down our throats with nauseating “Twitter Moments,” the pop-up ads of the Trump-era. McGrath currently has over 182,000 followers on Twitter; about 80 percent are in on the joke, while the rest are precisely why McGrath is the most magnificently played troll of bourgeois society, well, since the invention of that misogynistic and phallocentric genre of theater known as vaudeville.

A self-described “radical intersectional poet,” Titania agreed to be interviewed on the grounds that she was given unprecedented editorial control over her semi-nude photoshoot, like Beyoncé in the September issue of Vogue. The only difference being that Titania McGrath isn’t a deep-state plant.

[Disclaimer: The paragraphs above and the interview that follows are works of political satire. They are not meant to be protested or taken literally. … Unless you really enjoy protesting, in which case, “Rock On!” … You do you.]

Penthouse: Do you believe Twitter banning your account was the result of a clerical error?

Titania McGrath: Absolutely not. Twitter is run by crypto-fascists who seek to suppress woke voices and enable the far right. If that weren’t the case, why wouldn’t they ban all accounts that I disagree with?

They reinstated your account in 24 hours. Were you at all annoyed by their lack of resolve?

Once I was banned, the online woke community was in [an] uproar. My disciples were barraging Jack Dorsey and his minions with complaints, and some activists had chained themselves to the gates of Twitter HQ smeared in menses as a protest again this obvious act of misogyny. Inevitably, Twitter caved under pressure, which just goes to show how weak they are.

Will you ever change your avatar?

I change it every other week. You just haven’t noticed because I only have one facial expression.  

Why are you blonde?

I do not identify as a blonde. Please do not assume my hair color.

Do you view Margaret Thatcher as a feminist icon?

I view her as a wretched harpy who was only a “woman” in a strictly biological sense.

Have you read History vs Women by Ebony Adams and Anita Sarkeesian?

I have no interest in written works that I have not directly authored.

Who would you have included in their list of “heroic” women erased from history?

Titania McGrath.

Do you ever feel guilty when someone takes your tweets seriously?

I am incapable of guilt. But more to the point, why wouldn’t they take my tweets seriously? I am dismantling the patriarchy, one tweet at a time.

Do you believe men’s lifestyle magazines should focus more on [other genders’]?

The concepts of “men” and “women” are outdated expressions of biological essentialism. There is no such thing as sexual dimorphism. Men need to get this into their thick skulls.  

Is misogyny different in British and American men?

Males are males, irrespective of their country of origin. To even identify as male involves a seething hatred of women.  If a man hasn’t transitioned to female, he’s a misogynist.

What do you believe is the appropriate punishment for the following misogynists: 1) Aziz Ansari. 2) Louis CK?

1) Death by hemlock.
2) Death by fire.

Comedian Ricky Gervais has liked a number of your tweets. Do you care?

I did not consent for this straight white male to retweet or like any of my tweets. I consider it an act of sexual violence.

Please define “woke.”

I don’t need to. I am the living definition of woke.

Who is the publisher of your book?

Little, Brown. It’s the most radical book they have ever published. In a sense I regret accepting an offer from such a mainstream company, but on the other hand, it was a generous advance and I’m saving up for a new broodmare.

Will your book be available at Revolution Books (located near the campus of UC Berkeley)?

I hope so. I wish to offer whatever support I can to those brave students and Antifa activists standing up against the tyranny of free speech.

Who is the target demo of your book?

The book is aimed at those who fail in their wokeness. Anyone except me in other words.

Are you more inclined to read the Guardian or the Daily Mirror?

What a fucking stupid question. In terms of newspapers, I only ever read the Guardian. They’re the only publication that prioritizes feelings over facts.

You’ve accused British Prime Minister Winston Churchill of being a white supremacist. Fair enough, but does he have any redeeming qualities that woke people can appreciate?

None whatsoever. Winston Churchill did more to enable the spread of fascism than any other figure in human history.

Do you believe joining “Food Not Bombs” should be mandatory?

I’ve never heard of “Food Not Bombs.”  But you can’t eat a bomb, so it sounds sensible to me.  

What’s your favorite vegan restaurant?

Tabitha Loxley’s Herbivore Snug. I perform slam poetry there on Friday evenings after my amateur hemp-weaving class.

Do you plan on having children?

Reproduction is unnecessary. If Darwin was right, we are likely to evolve out of such primitive behavior.

Have you ever had consensual sex to Mort Garson’s “Plantasia”?

There is no such thing as consensual sex. All sex is rape.

Be the judge: Is Axl Rose actually “woke”?

Given that his name is an anagram of “Oral Sex” his very existence is an act of rape. 

Is it fair to say that Hannah Gadsby’s comedy is only funny if you’re a manic-depressive?

Hannah Gadsby is a genius. If you find yourself laughing at stand-up comedy, it probably isn’t sufficiently progressive.

Do you view politically-incorrect comedy as a gateway to the alt-right?

It’s not a “gateway.” It’s a direct form of fascism. Politically incorrect comedians are literally Hitler.

Who is your favorite female comedian?

I like it when Kathy Griffin points out that Donald Trump has small hands and orange skin.

Comedian Sebastian Maniscalco recently referred to Apple AirPods as “bitch” pods. Should someone take him down?

The state should intervene in such cases of hate speech. The death penalty shouldn’t be out of the question.

What’s your favorite Jim Carrey movie?

I have no interest in movies that do not feature a trans black lesbian in the lead role.

Is the gay actor Stephen Fry alt-right for standing up against political correctness?

By refusing to do so, he can no longer claim to be gay.  All LBGTQIA+ people think exactly the same way and forfeit their queerness if they stray from the righteous path.  It’s the same reason that Kanye West ceased to be black once he declared his support for Donald Trump.

Have you ever wished death upon someone because of a simple disagreement?

Every single day of my adult life.

Do you believe Oscar Wilde, as evidenced by the character of Lord Henry in The Picture of Dorian Gray, was a misogynist?

All men are misogynists. All works of fiction by males should be incinerated.   

Was Wilde a colonizer?

In a sense. When a male author puts pen to paper, they are normalizing the pernicious notion that writing is a specifically male endeavor. Even an illiterate woman would make a better writer than Wilde.   

How can I, as an accused misogynist, be a better ally?

Kill yourself.

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.” Oscar Wilde

The original Penthouse story did not include the Oscar Wilde quote, but we felt it particularly appropriate. And for the record, the photos we could NOT show in this venue were hysterical.

RIP Jordyn Woods

She was gone before we knew her. This week, Kylie Jenner’s live-in best friend Jordyn Woods, 21, was cancelled. Her quick death began on Sunday, February 17. On that fateful evening, Woods made out with Khloe Kardashian’s boyfriend-cum-baby daddy, the C-list NBA player Tristan Thompson. Jason Lee, a Hollywood Unlocked blogger, spotted Woods. After she met the Jenners through the Smiths, Woods had become a Keeping up with the Kardashians regular, a reality star in her own right. The next morning, Lee published a clip on his site. Within minutes, Twitter cancelled Woods.

Khloe confirmed the news. While she unfollowed Woods (but not Thompson who had cheated on her), the Kardashian-Jenners’ friends/employees went into attack mode. As Harpers Bazaar reported, Malika Haq wrote, “STRONG FACTS.” “Amen!!!” Larsa Pippen said. Adding gas to the witch burning, Kim Kardashian posted a video of herself lip-synching “find your own man.”

Nevermind that Kim allegedly homewrecked Kanye West and Amber Rose’s happy relationship and Khloe allegedly first fucked Thompson while his then-girlfriend was pregnant. (The Kardashians have denied the rumors.) As always, context doesn’t affect a cancellation. “[sic] Why is she a simple cunt,” tweeted one woman. “enjoy it cunt,” said another. Offline, Khloe fired Woods as a model for her Good American jeans line, and Kylie discounted Woods’s lip-liner.

Woods achieved these jobs after years in the Kardashian orbit. Raised in Calabasas, Woods grew up around celebrities. Her mother was a celebrity manager. As Kris Jenner manages her children, Elizabeth Woods managed Jordyn. She befriended Kylie in middle school, and they quickly became best friends, which in Kardashian world means Woods quickly became a Keeping up with the Kardashians guest star. By the time she was a legal adult, Woods was a cast member. She moved into Kylie’s guest house and helped raise her baby, Stormi.

It’s fair for them to cut Woods off—she betrayed the family—but along with losing her livelihood, Woods is getting smeared. (Two traumas for the price of one.) Only Lena Dunham defended her, tweeting, “Can you imagine if who you’d made out with when you were 21 had massive public shaming consequences?” Although all 21-year-olds fuck the wrong people, the public attacked Dunham.

Today, Woods will appear on Jada Pinkett Smith’s The Red Table, hoping to restore her reputation. Woods wants to climb out of the hole, but as all cancelled people eventually learn, she’s not in a hole. Being cancelled is being buried alive. All Woods can do is grieve.

UPDATE: After this story was published, Woods appeared on Jada Pinkett Smith’s Red Table Talk. Twitter subsequently uncancelled Woods (a social media first) and then cancelled Khloe Kardashian, who is pushing 40, for shaming a 21-year-old. Woods has been resurrected and likely will get her own makeup line. Kylie, watch out!!!

We Love Michael Cohen

Here at Penthouse magazine, we’ve known President Donald J. Trump’s ex-lawyer Michael Cohen for some time. Last year, while fact-checking our definitive profile of Stormy Daniels, we called him. He admitted he was a New York lawyer named Michael Cohen, but refused to “confirm or deny” that he was the Michael Cohen. We pushed him further, but the second he heard “Stormy,” he said, “I can’t comment, but I do love Penthouse.” Then he hung up.

It was a brief moment, but it summed up why America digs Cohen. When he lies, he winks, letting you know he’s fibbed.

Cohen displayed this trashy, immoral charisma at his Wednesday congressional hearing. In his opening statement, he said, “I lied but I’m not a liar.” Cohen then called Trump a “cheat” and a “conman.” When asked what that made him, Cohen replied, “A fool.” Representative Jackie Speier presumed Cohen threatened “an individual on [Trump’s] behalf” on 50 occasions, but the disbarred attorney corrected her: It was “probably” 500 times.

Republican congressmen were less open about their assholery. Instead of questioning Cohen, Representative Jim Jordan accused Cohen of lying. Yesterday, Jordan and other Republicans doubled down, asking the attorney general to investigate Cohen for perjury. Although these GOP foot soldiers were clearly protecting their political boss, President Trump, they insisted they just loved Lady Justice. As middle schoolers say, “Suuuuuuuuuure!”

Trump’s Republican cohort are disguising their crookedness with a righteous air, like Democrats who preach wokeness then union bust when they enter the private sector. In a nation of self-righteous crooks, Cohen is a blatant asshole. During these hypocritical times, that makes him honorable chap—and Penthouse’s Man of the Moment. Congrats, Cohen. If you’d like a free subscription to Penthouse Gold, contact us!

Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux is Back

And what is a rock star these days, really? The term’s been degraded and neutered with overuse, its totemic influence sapped by rock’s downfall from the position of power it held in global pop culture for half a century.

“Rock star” is a compliment issued in a human resources manager’s email. It’s a line in a rap song. It’s a guy buying a $900 John Varvatos biker jacket where the punk club CBGB used to be.

“Honestly, it’s a term of privilege,” Herrema continues, a twinge of exasperated disdain rising in her voice to join the raspy evidence of a million cigarettes. “Like someone saying, ‘You’re a rock star’ to the head coach of a pro football team or something. It’s this thing to bestow upon people who don’t play music. That always seemed so cheesy to me.”

Herrema’s contempt for the term—her refusal to act overly reverential toward rock ’n’ roll in general—is, of course, just more reason to consider her a rock star.

Musicians trying to uphold rock’s crumbling mythological stature have a way of looking desperate and, sadly, it’s become almost the default mode for an entire generation of rock ’n’ rollers living in a world that’s moved on to hip-hop and dance music. (It’s worth noting that Herrema was one of the few rock musicians in the nineties who seemed comfortable around rap music.)

Herrema has spent her career—pretty much her whole life, really—making scuzzy, druggy, capital letter Rock ’n’ Fucking Roll that taps into something close to the genre’s beating, molten heart. It’s music that’s never been affected by trends, never been tailored to a particular audience, and never strayed from her artistic vision, which she shares on a deep level with Neil Michael Hagerty, her longtime creative (and one-time romantic) partner in her best-known—or maybe just most notorious—band, Royal Trux.

At times, when rock ’n’ roll’s drifted furthest from its core, it’s seemed like Jennifer Herrema is one of the few people on Earth keeping it from spinning out entirely.

Times like right now, for instance. The genre’s in sorry shape, with its mainstream aspect defined by monumentally banal arena acts like Imagine Dragons and Muse, and an underground crawling with bands that would rather dig around for obscure nuggets of rock history to revive than come up with a new idea.

To rock fans desperate for a real kick, the new Royal Trux album, White Stuff—the band’s first release in nearly 20 years following a Harrema-Hagerty reunion—registers like a glitter-caked weirdo stumbling into a polite discussion about which boutique overdrive pedal best replicates the guitar sound on a particular obscure New Zealand punk album from the seventies. White Stuff is the reason why we haven’t walked out on rock ’n’ roll altogether.

For her years of service, Herrema has been repaid with three decades of frowning reviews, audiences perplexed to the point of outrage, and a lifetime number of albums sold that the next Drake single will probably blow past in the first couple minutes it’s available.

If you’re like most people, you’ve never heard a Royal Trux song, never seen a Royal Trux T-shirt, or ever heard of Herrema before you started reading this article. But none of that matters in assessing her worthiness as America’s greatest living rock star. Moreover, music popularity—fame and the money that comes with it—never seemed to matter to her anyway.

“Neil and I always felt out of place,” she says, shrugging. “It’s not like it really bummed us out. There was just kinda this wall we were behind and we didn’t even understand how you get over there where all the normal people were. So we didn’t bother to try. We didn’t get the playbook or something. We decided to be happy with the way we called our own shots.”

One of the many ironies of Herrema’s career is that her entire body of work has been built on an utterly unironic embrace of cock-rock sounds and styles like the Rolling Stones’ smacked-out, early-seventies boogie and the cocaine-shiny bubblegum metal of the 1980s Sunset Strip, but has found most of its audience in the world of indie rock. And this is a world—which she fell into mostly by accident—that has a painfully complicated relationship with that kind of big, testosterone-fueled rock music and the dick-swinging hedonism it symbolized.

JENNIFER Herrema’s musical education began when she was a white girl in a majority-black middle school in funk-obsessed southeast Washington, D.C., during funk’s transition from the gooey, warm lysergic vibes of Parliament-Funkadelic into its more hard-edged, synthesized 1980s incarnation.

In high school, she fell in with a stoner crowd that used drugs primarily as a means to more deeply obsess over Led Zeppelin and Grateful Dead records. Somewhere in between, her dad started dropping her off at all-ages D.C. hardcore shows, where she found Neil Michael Hagerty and her musical destiny.

Hagerty was connected enough in the hardcore scene to play guitar in a band with one of the guys from Government Issue, a seminal D.C. punk band, but too genuinely weird to fit in with this subculture’s fairly rigorous social norms. While other D.C. hardcore kids were into political protest and a drug-free, “straight edge” lifestyle, Hagerty was living in a warehouse and dropping huge amounts of acid. One day, Herrema joined him for a three-day acid trip, and they ended up spending the next 15 years bound to each other by love, music, and drugs.

Herrema and Hagerty began making their first music together, laying down the foundation for Royal Trux, in the mid-eighties. At the same time, other former hardcore kids were starting to explore musical directions outside of the genre’s “loud fast” directives while keeping its DIY ethos, in the process creating what came to be known as indie rock.

Hagerty was recruited by one of the early indie scene’s most notorious acts, Pussy Galore, a sneeringly primitivist noise-rock band that flouted hardcore’s political correctness with outrageously objectionable song titles like “You Look Like a Jew.” Hagerty cemented the group’s reputation, and earned a well-deserved place in rock history, when he proposed the concept behind their masterwork, an album-length cover of the Stones’ Exile on Main St. that brilliantly set fire to rock music’s legacy and pissed on its ashes.

After Pussy Galore somewhat predictably self-destructed, Hagerty and Herrema started work on their Royal Trux songwriting in earnest. And as soon as their music got out there, people struggled to categorize it, or even understand what they were doing.

The era’s underground music scene was full of bands deconstructing rock in all kinds of clever ways, but no one went further with the enterprise than Hagerty and Herrema.

They tore seventies boogie rock to shreds until all that was left was a few skeletal riffs, some primordial howling, and a heavily narcotic contact high. It was a singular approach—idiosyncratic to the point of indecipherability for most listeners. The few fans they did have tended to be music critics and owners of small, taste-making record labels.

Their live shows were so shambolic they even managed to affront punk-weened audiences who considered amateurishness a virtue. Around the time of their first album, Gerard Cosloy, the indie-music visionary and Homestead Records exec, described Royal Trux as people who are “barely able to conduct daily order of affairs, whether it’s buying a newspaper or picking up the telephone, trying to be a rock band onstage.”

Still, he found them “really exciting”—more stimulating than Sonic Youth. It was probably the highest praise they received in that era.

Jennifer Herrema Photo by David Black

Herrema and Hagerty weren’t trolls, but in pursuit of their art they managed to alienate huge swaths of the underground scene. Indie rock fans were offended by their aggressively esoteric noise, their openness about the heroin habits they’d developed, and the air of celebrity and salaciousness that clung to the breathless fanzine and alt-weekly coverage of this scruffily photogenic couple’s thunderous records and narcotics use.

Royal Trux was widely accused of making pretentious, cryptic bullshit, when in fact they were always straight-up about who they were or what they were doing—two people who loved drugs and the Rolling Stones, and wanted to make druggy, Stonesy music.

They may have once been the go-to band for anyone looking to mock indie-music snobs—those connoisseurs of underground sounds who claimed to like, and sometimes actually did like, Royal Trux—but Herrema insists they themselves did not fetishize obscurity.

“Back in the day, indie music was very exclusive and [some of the bands] would try to only have a certain kind of fan,” Herrema remembers. “With Royal Trux, our M.O. was always inclusivity. We didn’t care who you were, where you were from. We didn’t even care if the only band you ever listened to was the Partridge Family.”

After taking reams of criticism for being unlistenable, Herrema and Hagerty managed to piss off a lot of the same people when they started writing songs with recognizable pop structures and hooks on their 1993 breakthrough, Cats and Dogs.

That was followed, in 1994, by Virgin Records signing them to a million-dollar deal, which some observers smirkingly viewed as proof that the major label’s alternative-rock buying spree had reached a new summit of bad decision-making, reckless spending, and unchecked greed. If these two flagrant junkies could get a record contract of that size, the thinking went, then this looking-for-the-next-Nirvana bubble had to be close to bursting.

The deal did turn out to be a disaster for Virgin, but not for the reasons everyone expected.

Instead of simply running off and shooting up their recording budget, Herrema and Hagerty used it to buy a large house in rural Virginia, equip it with a home studio, and get clean, while starting work on three of the most fractured-genius rock albums of the alt-rock era.

By the time they set out to make 1995’s Thank You, the pair turned from deconstructing rock ’n’ roll to its bones to rebuilding it into a Frankenstein monster of clashing essences–canonical “Serious Rock” like Neil Young and Exile-era Stones colliding with the kind of squealing synthesizer prog-rock and high-gloss glam metal that can make critics cringe. The Trilogy, as Herrema-Hagerty called the work Virgin bankrolled, forms a multi-album masterpiece.

Unfortunately for Virgin, the records didn’t make sense to many people outside the band, and the label had no idea how to sell them. To complicate matters, Hagerty and Herrema had no interest in being marketed, and since they had complete creative control written into their contracts, they could veto any of the label’s attempts to make them do boring, profitable things like shoot music videos or tour overseas. The fact that it would be 20 or so years before audiences were truly ready for Royal Trux didn’t help the recording giant at all.

Label execs eventually threw up their hands and let Herrema and Hagerty walk away with the Trilogy’s final album, Accelerator, which they recorded on Virgin’s dime and released through their old Chicago-based indie label, Drag City. Unlike the majority of bands that got caught up in the alt-rock buying spree, Herrema and Hagerty emerged from their major-label period in better financial shape than when they went in, but the stress of years of intense creative and romantic codependency, compounded by their famously ferocious drug habits, eventually overwhelmed them. Herrema’s crisis deepened after the death of her father. Amid rumors of relapses and rivalry, the band dissolved in early 2001.

Looking back at that difficult juncture, and to earlier years with her band and even before then, Herrema says, “Drugs have really had a big impact on my life. All kinds of them.”

Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux by David Black Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux by David Black

A friends’s older sister turned her on to weed when Herrema was 12. Alcohol and acid followed. When she got into heroin, she got into it deep, developing the kind of rapacious addiction where the user deals with abscessed veins and doctors talk about amputating fingers—the kind of habit that’s just the thinnest of veils for suicide.

“It’s like, which came first?” Herrema reflects. “The chicken or the egg? Were you clinically depressed or did you just do a lot of drugs and then got into a dark space?”

Eventually, antidepressants helped Herrema find stability and stay off smack. Meanwhile, the dissolution of Royal Trux gave her an opportunity to prove that she was more than just her partnership with Hagerty. While he went off to explore the shamanic frequencies of his next project, Howling Hex, Herrema continued refining her trash-rock vision with a new creative partner, Jaimo Welch.

“He was like 17 at the time,” Herrema recalls, “and all he really listened to was Rush and White Lion.”

With their duo RTX (which later evolved into a bigger band, Black Bananas, the only traditionally structured rock combo Herrema’s been in), they used digital production techniques to make her music even more ecstatically trashy and overwhelming.

Somewhere along the way, people started giving Herrema something at least approximating the credit she deserves. Recognition also came from a huge wave of new fans that found her through fashion. As with her becoming a rock star, Herrema never specifically set out to be a style icon, but she’s excelled at it nonetheless.

In the nineties, she perfected a look that—like her music—blended a bunch of seemingly unrelated cultural signifiers: tattered rock ’n’ roller bell-bottoms, truck-stop aviator sunglasses, ratty flannels, oversized Raider jerseys redolent of the era’s gangsta rap aesthetics, and a shaggy mess of blonde hair with long bangs that conjured a 1960s go-go girl gone feral.

Her style seemed thrown together for reasons that had little to do with how its components met the eye. For example, there was that huge parka with a fur-lined hood she seemed perpetually wrapped in, no matter what she was doing or the time of year.

“Basically, I wanted to be inside of myself,” Herrema explains. “So I kind of cocooned myself and put on shades and my hood and had my hair [that way], so I was like basically in my own world.”

Back in the day, her signature underground style earned her a spot in a Calvin Klein ad campaign shot by the legendary fashion photographer Steven Meisel. Herrema was the company’s first model for an iconic, mid-nineties look that came to be called “heroin chic.”

But her biggest fan base didn’t emerge until internet sites like Tumblr took hold, which elevated her postmodern look and appreciation for clothes sourced far from a fashion runway—Herrema once told Vogue magazine her favorite place to shop was Sports Authority—into something like a sartorial philosophy.

She’s had gigs designing jeans for skate-surf brand Volcom, and modeled and designed for Japan’s Hysteric Glamour (Sofia Coppola shot one of the ads). But her biggest mark on fashion comes through appreciation posts collecting her most iconic looks, since these images propagate online, creating new members of a growing Jennifer Herrema fashion cult.

jennifer herrema -by david black

ROYAL Trux is far from the first pioneering indie group to reunite years after the fact, once the rest of the world has caught up to them. But since Herrema is terminally averse to nostalgia and repetition, her reunion with Neil Hagerty feels less like the usual sentimental victory lap and more like returning to a path they’d each wandered away from for a while.

“I played the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland when I was a kid at school,” she remembers, while discussing her dislike of repetition. “I had to do the same lines every weekend for three months. I was like, This is so fucking boring.”

Though rock ’n’ roll might be suffering these days, it’s an art form that thrives on unexpected comebacks. It’s been declared dead dozens of times before and has always sprung back. Herrema knows that the ideas Royal Trux put out into the world—do things your way at all costs, make treasures out of other people’s trash, never back down—have taken root in the hearts and minds of a new generation of artists. And you can’t discount the idea that a new Royal Trux album could catalyze a reaction that’ll launch a thousand scuzzy rock bands and jolt the genre back to life—at least for a minute or two.

But one thing you learn in recovery is to recognize when a problem is somebody else’s to deal with, not yours, and Herrema’s quite reasonably decided that the future of rock ’n’ roll is somebody else’s problem. Besides, the reckless, anarchic spirit that rock used to overflow with—that energy she’s been chasing her entire time on Earth—is alive and well in other parts of the pop world. Take, for example, the wave of young rappers who have used internet savvy to upend the music business, to Herrema’s clear delight.

Her favorite example of this is a rapper she read about who hired a hacker to briefly make him the No. 1 artist on SoundCloud, until the platform noticed and ended the rebel takeover.

“Everything blew up and it got shut right down,” Herrema says admiringly. “But that’s all it took—like an hour—for him to be at the top spot and cause all this hullabaloo.” The underground music and fashion icon smiles. “I like that kind of uneven playing-field thing,” she says. “You can find your own ways through the nooks and crannies.”

AOC: Dreamy Sexy Socialist

Among the wishy-washy, big-money politicians that typically populate Washington, this Bronx-born badass stands out as one of the few bright spots in an otherwise drab political machine. She’s basically a Democrat’s wet dream: she’s young, she’s driven, she’s outspoken and magnanimous, and, most importantly, she’s not an old white man.

Progressive socialism has never looked so good.

This week, AOC proved that she’s more than a good-looking idealist. At Michael Cohen’s congressional hearing, she was one of the few House members who asked legit questions. While older congressman grandstanded, Ocasio-Cortez quizzed Trump’s scumbag lawyer about the president’s finances.   

Every time Ocasio-Cortez ruthlessly roasts trolls on Twitter or holds impromptu Q&A’s while making black bean soup, her already cult-like following is only bolstered, because, honestly, what’s not to love?

A true champion of the working class, this proud daughter of Puerto Rican parents has actually lived the struggle. Fresh out of college, when most of her politician peers were taking six-figure positions, she instead returned home to work as bartender and waitress to help keep her family’s apartment out of foreclosure.

At 29 years old, not only is Ocasio-Cortez set to become the youngest woman to ever serve in Congress, but she’s also already proven herself capable of standing up to corporate cronies on both sides of the aisle.

Less than a week after a one-sided victory in the polls, the freshman congresswoman was seen rallying with climate-change demonstrators waging a sit-in outside the office of fellow Democrat Nancy Pelosi. Her calls for a “Green Deal,” while lambasted by some pundits, later prompted Pelosi to tweet that she was “deeply inspired” by the display and that she would “strongly support” creating a committee to address climate concerns.

Meanwhile on the right, Ocasio-Cortez found herself in the crosshairs of everyone from Donald Trump and Tucker Carlson to political zombies Joe Lieberman and Sarah Palin, even before she was sworn into office. And if you’re pissing off this crowd, you must be doing something right.

Salem 2.0

I recently picked up a paperback by a New York Times journalist in a bookshop and read the following on the back cover: “A major metropolitan newspaper announces that half of its new employees will have to be women and the other half members of minority groups. At a Milwaukee school district, ‘inappropriate staring’ has been labeled a form of sexual harassment, punishable by dismissal. And a proposed new American history syllabus features such topics as ‘Why I Am Not Thankful for Thanksgiving,’ ‘Once Upon A Genocide,’ and ‘George Washington: Speculator in Native Lands.’” It went on to describe these incidents as representative of a new, puritanical, left-wing movement that’s sweeping contemporary America. The author—Richard Bernstein—has labeled this crusade “the Inquisition.”

Oh no, I thought. That’s exactly the book I want to write. For the last nine months, I’ve been collecting stories like these, from the two white women who were forced to shut down their business selling burritos out of a food truck in Portland after they were accused of “cultural appropriation,” to the editor of a prestigious New York magazine who was fired for publishing an article by a Canadian radio host, a man charged with sexual assault and then acquitted on all counts.

I even have a title: Salem 2.0.

But there was a journalist ­who got there before me. Damn him.

Then I took a closer look. The book, called Dictatorship of Virtue, had been published in 1995. It was 23 years old. I was relieved, obviously, but also a bit puzzled: Had the liberal left really been this batshit-crazy for decades? Were the “Social Justice Warriors” who had appeared since the election of Donald Trump—“the Resistance”—just the latest troops in a culture war dating back to the Reagan era? Was the Great Awakening (another title I’ve been thinking about) just a cyclical recurrence of political correctness? Would I have to call my book Salem 3.0 instead? That didn’t have quite the same ring to it.

I returned to my writer’s desk feeling a bit disheartened, but after some reflection, I began to perk up. There’s no question that the current moment in American culture—and across the Anglosphere more generally—is firmly embedded in an anti-Western, anti-bourgeois ideology that stretches back decades. But it’s also true that something’s happened in the past few years to turbocharge this movement and it’s gathered such momentum we seem to be on the verge of a tipping point.

Put it another way: It’s as if the discontent that had been rumbling away among left-wing intellectuals for years has suddenly exploded into a cacophonous rage. A regressive political philosophy fueled by guilt, self-loathing, and resentment that used to be confined to Ivy League universities, Hollywood liberals and the fringes of the Democratic Party has gone viral and infected millions of people in the U.S., Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

If you’re a white heterosexual male, look out.

The mob already came for me, incidentally. At the beginning of the year, I was appointed to the board of a regulatory body in the U.K., and as soon as it was announced an army of hashtag activists started trawling through my social media history to find evidence that I wasn’t a fit person to serve as a member of this august public institution.

No one had ever heard of it before I was appointed, my role was incredibly minor, and there was no salary attached, but the fact that I’d been appointed by a conservative prime minister meant there was an opportunity to score some political points. It didn’t take the online metal-detectorists long to strike gold.

Ten years ago, I was a judge on a food reality-show with the Indian supermodel Padma Lakshmi, and I’d composed a handful of tweets late at night salivating over her boobs. There were some other, equally sophomoric comments about the breasts of other celebrities. Not exactly Harvey Weinstein territory, but it didn’t stop me being targeted by #MeToo activists. An outraged mob sprung up on Twitter, baying for my blood. According to them, I embodied everything that was wrong with the British establishment: male, pale, and stale. A message was relayed from the prime minister’s office that it might be in everyone’s best interests if I stood down. I duly obliged and, shortly afterward, I was stripped of my honorary fellowship from the University of Buckingham, kicked off the boards of two charities, and had to resign from my full-time job.

That’s what gave me the idea for the book, obviously, but the fact that I was skewered by a twitchfork mob doesn’t mean I’m wrong. This latest manifestation of political activism is different from earlier versions by an order of magnitude.

For one thing, there’s the sheer, muddle-headed, Bizarro World nuttiness of it. We’re told that “hate speech” is a great evil, unless you’re advocating the hatred of men (a recent column in the Washington Post was headlined “Why can’t we hate men?”), which is absolutely fine. According to a recent poll of “woke” academics and policy experts, the United States is the tenth most dangerous country in the world for women—far more dangerous than Iran, even though Iranian women caught not wearing the full hijab by the religious police are routinely sentenced to 74 lashes. All men are “privileged”—we’re just supposed to accept that without question—in spite of the fact that 75 percent of the suicides reported in the U.K. in 2016 were men, 79 percent of homicide victims across the world are men, 93 percent of prison inmates in the U.S. are men94 percent of Americans killed in industrial accidents are men, and 99.9 percent of soldiers killed in combat are men.

And, of course, all white people are “privileged” as well, including the victims of the opioid epidemic, known as “the White Death” because the majority of the 72,000 people estimated to have died from drug overdoses in 2017 were white, and in spite of the fact that poor white boys do worse in school than any other ethnic group, there are fewer white births than deaths in a majority of U.S. states, American black women have higher college attendance rates than white men, and college-educated black women have higher incomes than college-educated white women. For the Social Justice Warrior on the left, it’s as if reality itself is a social construct, not just race and gender.

Then there’s the insidious way in which Maoist intolerance of those who dissent from progressive orthodoxy has embedded itself in company policies, bureaucratic procedures, and legal systems. I’m not just talking about the punishment meted out to James Damore, the Google employee who dared to question the company’s diversity and inclusion policy. He was fired for creating a “hostile work environment”—a decision that was rubber-stamped by the National Labor Relations Board. (So much for the First Amendment.)

I’m also thinking of the change to the Canadian Human Rights Act and Criminal Code which makes it a misdemeanor, punishable by law, if you refuse to use a trans person’s preferred gender pronoun. Jordan Peterson warned us about that last year and, of course, was immediately accused of “helping to foster a climate for hate to thrive” by trans activists, left-wing academics, and labor unions.

Twenty-five years ago, we had the “Antioch Rules,” which made it an offense at Antioch College for a man to engage in a sexual encounter without receiving “affirmative consent” at every stage of the seduction process. But that was regarded by most people at the time as an example of political correctness gone mad and parodied on Saturday Night Live. Today, following President Obama’s supercharging of Title IX, the “Antioch Rules” apply in virtually every American university, and hundreds of young men have been branded “rapists” by kangaroo courts and kicked out of college for failing to observe this absurd protocol. One poor guy was found guilty of “rape” because he couldn’t remember whether he’d asked for permission to remove his girlfriend’s belt, even though they’d dated for over a year after that initial encounter.

In Britain, there’s been a massive uptick in “hate crimes”—a new category of criminal offense created in 2007, not by an Act of Parliament, but by a group of unelected officials. If you say or write something that another person is offended by, and that person thinks you’re motivated by hostility or prejudice toward them based on a personal characteristic, you’re guilty of a “hate crime.” Doesn’t matter whether that is, in fact, your motive, all that counts is that the offended person perceives it to be.

At present, there are five “protected characteristics”—disability, race, religion, sexual orientation, and transgender identity—but the British government is thinking of adding “gender” to the list and outlawing “misogyny.” Given that some feminists think climate change is caused by “misogyny,” God knows who will end up in the dock. The executive board of British Petroleum? Earlier this year, a comedy writer called Graham Linehan was given a “verbal harassment warning” by the West Yorkshire Police for “deadnaming” trans activists on Twitter—i.e., using her original male name, rather than her new chosen name.

I could go on. Scarcely a day passes without a “cishet” white male being “called out” on Twitter for some thought crime or other. A twitchfork mob immediately forms up and within days, sometimes hours, the guy is tossed to the wolves. Recent examples include Kevin Williamson, who was hired then fired by The Atlantic after some intemperate remarks about abortion were dug up; Alessandro Strumia, a theoretical physicist at CERN who was immediately suspended and placed under “investigation” after he challenged the feminist dogma about why more women don’t do physics; and Stephen Galloway, a creative writing professor who lost his job at the University of British Columbia after he was falsely accused of rape by a disgruntled ex-girlfriend.

Still don’t believe me? A Harvard University survey conducted two years ago found that 51 percent of Americans between the ages of 18 and 29 do not support capitalism, compared to 42 percent who said they support it. That’s up four percentage points from a 2011 Pew survey where already 47 percent of the same age-group held a negative view of capitalism.

So what accounts for this explosion in ultra-liberal attitudes? How did political correctness metastasize?

One possibility, not to be lightly dismissed, is that the world has become a much more unfair place in the past few years. Of course people are protesting more—there’s more to protest about. But is that true?

The answer is no. Take racism, for instance. By almost every measure, racism is declining in the United States. In 1967, when miscegenation laws were repealed, three percent of all newlyweds were married to someone of a different race. In 2015, that number had risen to 17 percent. Next time some placard-carrying millennial tells you that all white Americans are racist, point out that more than one in ten white newlyweds has married a person of a different race.

Economically, African-American men have never been doing better. According to a recent report by the American Enterprise Institute, 57 percent of black Americans now belong to the upper or middle class, compared to just 38 percent in 1960. The share of black men in poverty, by contrast, has fallen from 41 percent in 1960 to 18 percent today. It’s the same story for Hispanic-Americans—55 percent belong to the upper or middle class—and Asian-Americans (73 percent). Police shootings? According to the Harvard economist Roland Fryer, blacks are no more likely to be shot by police officers than whites.

When comparing different countries, one way of measuring the level of racism is to ask whether people in that country would object if a person of another race moved in next-door. By that metric, the U.S., Britain, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are among the least racist countries in the world. Less than five percent of Britons said they would object, compared to more than 40 percent of Indians and Jordanians.

What about homophobia? Again, all the survey data suggests attitudes toward homosexuals across the Anglosphere have never been more liberal. For instance, just 35 percent of Americans were in favor of gay marriage in 2001. By 2017, that number had grown to 62 percent. Ditto for the U.K., where the number approving same-sex marriage has climbed from 17 percent in 1983 to 64 percent by 2016.

Gender? Contrary to the views of gender studies professors, the fairer sex has never had it so good. In the U.S., women comprise over 56 percent of students in college, while in the U.K., 40,000 more women than men enrolled at universities this fall.

As for the so-called “rape epidemic” on American college campuses, it’s a myth. Sexual assaults of female college students in the U.S. dropped by more than half between 1997 and 2013, and in the same period, young women in college were less likely to be assaulted than those who weren’t in college.

The gender pay gap? Once you control for the fact that women are more interested in lower-paying jobs than men (only nine percent of nurses are male), are more likely to take time out to start a family, and have a higher preference for part-time work, the gap disappears. Gender studies professors will tell you different, of course, but a recent survey found that they are paid, on average, $15,000 a year more than male professors in STEM subjects.

Okay, you might say. Maybe those lucky enough to live in the West are doing all right. But what about the less fortunate? No one would question that capitalism is wreaking a terrible toll on the developing world, would they? Well, yes, they would. Since 1990, more than a billion people across the planet have been lifted out of extreme poverty—113 million of them in a single year (2013)—thanks to the free enterprise system. The people millennials should be feeling sorry for are the citizens of the people’s republic of Venezuela. When Hugo Chavez came to power in 1998, 40 percent of Venezuelan households were living in poverty. Last year, that figure had climbed to 82 percent.

When you look at the data, there is less for liberals to protest about than there has been at any point in the past 50 years. So why have they gone crazy? What gives?

According to Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt (a First Amendment lawyer and social psychologist, respectively), who’ve made a study of the anti-free speech culture on American campuses, the reason for this sea change is because today’s students and recent college graduates have been raised by overprotective, liberal parents and spend too much time on the internet. These digital natives believe the world is divided between good people and evil people, are impervious to reason once they’ve made up their mind about someone, and think the best way to deal with that person is to push them out of the body politic as if they are a pollutant or a pathogen. Not literally, but metaphorically, by “no-platforming” them, heckling them, ordering them to “check their privilege,” and, if necessary, “calling them out” on social media, i.e., publicly shaming them.

In their new book The Coddling of the American Mind, Lukianoff and Haidt note that millennials couch their objections to these “bad people” in psychological rather than ideological terms. Thus, the reason they don’t want conservatives like Ben Shapiro and Ann Coulter appearing on campus is not that they disagree with their political views, but because they “trigger” them or make them feel “unsafe.” Most people would take these claims with a pinch of salt, suspecting that students are weaponizing their mental health in order to push their liberal agenda. But Lukianoff and Haidt take them seriously. They believe there is something actually wrong with young Americans: They are far more psychologically fragile than they should be, thanks to the bubbles and echo chambers they’ve spent their lives in, and cannot cope with conflict or challenge. The solution, then, is to get them to toughen up—or, at least, persuade them that engaging with someone holding different views won’t cause them lasting psychological harm.

One problem with this analysis is that it fails to account for why these authoritarian Young Turks skew left rather than right. After all, if their main concern is to avoid the anxiety they believe arises out of viewpoint diversity, wouldn’t any political creed serve as well as any other provided everyone signs up to it? Why have they embraced the teachings of Karl Marx and Michel Foucault rather than Edmund Burke and Friedrich Hayek? Lukianoff and Haidt have an answer to this. It’s because their professors are overwhelmingly left-wing.

The expert on political bias in the American academy is the political scientist Stanley Rothman. According to him, the proportion of U.S. professors describing themselves as right-wing declined from 34 percent in 1984 to 15 percent in 1999, and those describing themselves as left-wing increased from 39 percent to 72 percent in the same period. And the shift has continued—accelerated, even—in the last two decades. According to a study carried out by Econ Journal Watch in 2016, which looked at the voter registration of faculty members at 40 leading American universities in the fields of economics, history, law, psychology, and journalism/communications, Democrats outnumber Republicans by 11.5 to one on average. In psychology, the ratio is 17.4 to one; in history, it’s 33.5 to one. A more recent study of 51 of the top-ranked 66 liberal arts colleges by Mitchell Langbert, carried out in 2018, found that 39 percent of them had no Republican staff on their faculties at all.

“The political registration in most of the remaining 61 percent, with a few important exceptions, is slightly more than zero percent but nevertheless absurdly skewed against Republican affiliation and in favor of Democratic affiliation,” writes Langbert. “Thus, 78.2 percent of the academic departments in my sample have either zero Republicans, or so few as to make no difference.”

Whether Lukianoff and Haidt are correct in their core analysis, this extraordinary political imbalance in American universities must have played a part in radicalizing the generation that has come of age in the new millennium. And the same pattern emerges in other parts of the Anglosphere. In the U.K., for instance, those academics saying they would vote for right-of-center parties declined from 35 percent in 1964 to 11 percent in 2011, and those saying they’d vote for left-of-center parties increased from 64 percent in 1964 to 77 percent in 2015.

Other factors are surely at play, too. One thing that used to act as a firebreak on the spread of radical, socialist ideas was the distinction between the regressive left and the progressive left. Moderate liberals have generally treated hard-left political activists with caution, knowing that in the twentieth century, communist regimes were responsible for something like 100 million unnecessary deaths. But the line between the progressive and regressive left has always been quite fuzzy, and it’s become blurrier still since the election of Donald Trump in 2016. That event—and to a lesser extent the electoral success of right-wing populist movements across Europe, including Brexit—has polarized party politics and enabled the regressive left to capture large swathes of the moderate left.

In addition, the melding of hard-left dogma with postmodernism—what Jordan Peterson calls “postmodern Neo-Marxism”—has helped with its rapid spread in the last few years, even though that phenomenon dates back to the 1960s. It’s almost as if a group of cultural terrorists had been perfecting a virus in a lab for 50 years and then waited for just the right moment to release it.

Many progressive liberals have ended up feeling like apostates just because they have remained true to their original values, while all around them friends and allies have shifted leftwards. Some of them—such as the former Evergreen State College professor Bret Weinstein, who was hounded off campus by baseball-bat wielding thugs—have ended up as leading lights of what’s been called the Intellectual Dark Web.

Another theory, this one propounded by the African-American intellectual John McWhorter, is that the phenomenon of “wokeness” is a new, secular religion, and one reason it has grown so fast is that traditional, organized religions have experienced a steep decline in recent years. That would explain why Social Justice Warriors expect you to take so much of what they say on faith and why they treat those who challenge them as apostates—evildoers, motivated by venal self-interest—rather than worthy intellectual opponents.

It also fits with their fondness for reciting bits of dogma as if they were liturgical incantations, like the protestors at Middlebury College who responded to a speech by the conservative political scientist Charles Murray by chanting the following catechism in unison: “Science has always been used to legitimize racism, sexism, classism, transphobia, ableism, and homophobia, all veiled as rational and fact, and supported by the government and state. In this world today, there is little that is true ‘fact’.” Finally, it explains why straight white males who want to be accepted into the church of political correctness have to confess to being racist—the woke version of original sin.

So what can you do, particularly if a mob is gathering outside your home chanting “Time’s up”? (I literally had a pack of jackals on my doorstep, although, to be fair, they were all journalists.) A ray of hope was provided by a recent report for an organization called More in Common which divided Americans into seven camps: Devoted Conservatives, Traditional Conservatives, Moderates, Politically Disengaged, Passive Liberals, Traditional Liberals, and Progressive Activists. According to the report, only people in the last category are members of Team Woke. They may shout the loudest, and, in doing so, persuade the rest of us that they’re far more numerous than they are, but in fact, they only constitute eight percent of American adults. By contrast, 80 percent of people polled by the report’s authors agreed with the statement “political correctness is a problem in our country.” Social Justice Warriors, it turns out, are in a tiny minority.

The answer, then, is for the “frustrated majority”—that’s how we’re referred to in this report—to stop kowtowing to these self-appointed commissars of the public square and start standing up to them. The reason they have such unprecedented power at this moment in our culture and can cast into the outer darkness anyone who dissents from their sacred beliefs is because we’ve allowed them to have it. To quote the phrase that empowered the British people to vote to leave the European Union, it’s time to “take back control.”

Okay, where’s my typewriter? Time to get going on Salem 2.0.

Busted Bro Bernie Sanders

Men think of sex workers as wealthy goddesses, but we’re actually working class. Like most middle-income Americans, we’re afraid to discuss money, but twice a month, my column “The Working Girl Diaries” will cover porn stars’ wallets. From how class affects porn stars’ financial habits to how much we spend on lube and kitty litter, I’ve got you covered. There is no taboo (economic) topic I won’t touch. You used to think of me as the Weiner girl, but now I’m the Barbara Ehrenreich of sex!

When I sexted a congressman, I learned the hard way that no politician is perfect. Well, presidential candidate Bernie Sanders has forced me to learn that all over again.

I’ve always thought of the Vermont Senator has a working-class hero. In his three decades in Washington DC, Sanders has fought to raise the minimum wage, bolster unions, and tax the rich. His policies would help most middle-class people, but there’s one group of small business owners that Sanders has fucked up the ass again and again: sex workers.

Along with every Senator besides Republican Rand Paul and Democrat Ron Wyden, Sanders voted for the Stop Enabling Sex Traffickers Act and Allow States and Victims to Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act, a.k.a. FOSTA/SESTA. On the surface, SESTA sounds great; politicians branded the bills like Instagram influencers promoting the Fyre Festival. But the legislation limited free speech and shut down sites like Backpage, where sex workers posted ads. Although Backpage came with more than its fair share of clients, it gave women a safer way to work. Instead of prowlings dangerous streets for johns, working girls could advertise their services. FOSTA/SESTA has forced girls back into risky neighborhoods, where they face robbery and sometimes murder. Prostitutes can’t even continue to share bad client lists, which once warned sex workers of abusive men, because FOSTA/SESTA banned the practice.

FOSTA/SESTA has harmed the very community it’s supposed to protect, and sex workers expected Sanders to do better. “I called Bernie’s office when I was lobbying against FOSTA/SESTA and the aide didn’t know the bill,” says adult performer, writer and sex workers advocate Janice Griffith. “They couldn’t say whether or not Bernie had even read it or if he had an opinion.” As a sex worker and devout liberal, I wanted to ignore these stories. “Bernie’s just ignorant!” I cried. But politicians, especially progressives like Sanders, should be held to high standards. A guy as smart as Sanders should know that if you’re passing legislation that will impact a group of people, you should talk to that group of people. When analyzing education issues, Sanders has met with teachers unions. But nobody wants to meet with hookers to discuss politics. Senators only engage sex workers behind closed doors when they want sexts or blowjobs.

It’s frustrating to feel like progressives have ignored sex worker’s voices. And it’s even more frustrating that almost every Democratic candidate for the 2020 election has been pretending our marginalized community doesn’t exist. (Everyone’s intersectional until a repressed minority group overlaps with prostitutes!)

On the rare occasion a liberal politician acknowledges sex workers, he or she sides with the religious right and paint us as victims. As Out magazine reported, Senator Kamala Harris said she endorsed FOSTA/SESTA because the bill “makes it possible for victims and state prosecutors to hold online sex traffickers accountable.” As Griffith points out, “A lot of anti-sex work legislation comes out under the guise of protecting people and everyone wants to protect people on paper, but what does that actually mean.” Harris couldn’t fathom a girl choosing sex work. Maybe she should leave upper-class San Francisco for a day and speak to a working girl.

But until johns, and men who don’t buy sex, defend sex workers, politicians will continue to ignore us. “Sex workers shouldn’t be the only people making these calls,” Griffith says. “We need people who have less to lose standing with us and using their voices.” Most sex workers doubt this will ever happen. “Bernie and Bernie bros aren’t able to see sex workers as a legitimate demographic of the labor rights movement,” Feminist Stripper says. “Until that happens, we’re all, for a lack of a better term, fucked.”

Illustration by Amanda Lanzone

Dershowitz on Growing Old

I’m sprouting hairs in places where nature never intended them to grow, while the hair on my head is thinning. My stomach has grown, while my height has diminished. My gums are growing, while my teeth are disappearing. My store of anecdotes is growing, while my memory of recent events is shrinking. My interest in working harder is growing, but my energy is waning. My visits to doctors are growing, but my life expectancy is diminishing.

Growth is not linear, but there are patterns. The key is to recognize the patterns and use them to your advantage. Age provides some advantages and strengths that we can exploit. 

I remember, as a young adult, wanting very much to grow—in height, in strength, in intellectual capacity, and in success. I thought of growth as only moving in a positive direction. But now I realize that growth is multidimensional and multidirectional.

As a person who has been active all of my life and blessed with the energy to sustain my activities, I find it difficult to get used to the negative aspects of growth—of “growing” old. But as Churchill reminded us, growing old is better than its alternative. I see that alternative all around me as contemporaries die, while others become disabled. It’s as if our expiration date—our “sell by”—has come and gone.

As an old man, I value every day. A friend of mine said that when you’re 80, if you seem to wake up one morning and nothing hurts, it probably means you’ve passed on. Even pain, a companion to old age, can be a blessing. It reminds you that you’re still alive and enduring the trials and tribulations of growing old. 

Philip Roth once observed that growing old is not a battle—it’s a massacre! Your reliable old body begins to turn against you. It’s like a game of whack-a-mole where every time you cure one malady, another pops up. It is a never-ending battle whose ultimate ending is entirely foreseeable. There is darkness, not light, at the end of the tunnel.

I always seem to be waiting for test results from one doctor or another. My principle exercise is walking from one doctor to another. The trajectory is the opposite of what it was when we were young. “Growth” now means tumors, plaque, kidney stones, and bunions. No more growth of that kind, please!

I don’t want to sound morose. I have lived a good life with no serious illnesses and look forward to more productive years. At least physically, I am happy with the status quo. But I know the status quo will not persist. Nor will my physical situation get better. 

Now I want to grow emotionally. I treasure my relationships, with family and friends. I don’t need the number of my friends to grow. I have enough. But I would like to see growth in the intimacy of my relationships. I no longer value ambition for ambition’s sake. I don’t need more successes or accomplishments. I don’t have to prove anything. I don’t have to answer every criticism, of which there are still many. I no longer keep score—except for my blood sugar and PSA numbers. Quality has become more important than quantity.

Change does not come easily to me. I still think of myself as a young man on the move—until I look in the mirror. I have to fight against long-honed competitive instincts. I find it hard to say no to new challenges and opportunities. 

I’m trying, with the help of my wonderful wife, Carolyn, to be more in the moment—to go to matinees, to turn my cell phone off, to take long walks without particular destinations. My life with Carolyn continues to be a source of great pleasure and joy, and I’m excited to share more time with her.  

My eternal optimism has not waned with age. So when I gaze toward the future, I do so with expectation. I look forward to enjoying my remaining years.

Karl Lagerfeld Cancelled

The fashion industry has long peddled in sexist ads, fatphobic comments, and sexual harassment. But after the Twitteratti ran out of people to cancel this week, they exhumed the corpse of Chanel legend Karl Lagerfeld over his sexist, racist, fatphobic remarks. “If any of my friends post condolences to Karl Lagerfeld it’s an automatic ‘CANCELLED,’” tweeted one person. “Fuck Karl Lagerfeld.” Apparently, it was breaking news that a man whose icy appearance was the subject of Pinterest memes could be an asshole.

The controversy goes back to Lagerfeld’s history of blabbing out insolent one-liners, the kind that journalists quoted as they put him in headlines for over sixty years. According to a Vox article, in 2009 Lagerfeld said, “No one wants to see curvy women.” Four years later, he added, “The hole in social security, it’s also [due to] all the diseases caught by people who are too fat.” When the #MeToo movement went viral, Lagerfeld joked to Numero, “If you don’t want your pants pulled about, don’t become a model! Join a nunnery, there’ll always be a place for you in the convent.”

Within twenty-four hours of his death, CNN ran a story rebuking these one-liners. “We can’t ignore Karl Lagerfeld’s complex legacy,” wrote Hillary George-Parkin. Woke actress Jameela Jamil, who feels the need to comment on every situation, agreed. “A ruthless, fat-phobic misogynist shouldn’t be posted all over the internet as a saint gone-too-soon,” she tweeted. “Talented for sure, but not the best person.” The masses joined the giddy cancellation. “Stop celebrating Karl Lagerfeld he was gross and sexist and doesn’t deserve praise just because he designed the Chanel bag you wanted as a [sic] 15 year old,” tweeted one angry woman. “His old ass should have been cancelled long ago lmao.” When people pointed out that Lagerfeld was already dead and you can’t cancel the deceased, outrage only increased: “The bitch cancelled himself,” wrote a user.

Few acknowledged Lagerfeld’s fame stemmed from his demeaning glare. Only a week earlier, his sunglass-hidden face was starring in memes. His tasteless statements were also typical of the chicest fashionistas. Vogue editor Anna Wintour told Oprah to lose weight. French companies hired so many skinny girls, France banned underweight models. According to Business Insider, a 2016 study found that 94 percent of models classify as underweight.

Political incorrectness and barbaric labor environments are the fashion industry’s standards, but some of Lagerfeld’s comments even surpassed fashion’s outdated views. On a 2017 episode of Salut les Terriens!, he joked, “One cannot — even if there are decades between them — kill millions of Jews so you can bring millions of their worst enemies in their place.” It was a vile sentiment, but the media kept propping him. A few months later, the Guardian praised his 2018 show.

Journalists loved Lagerfeld’s offensiveness, and he was flagrant about his flagrance. As many other shock jocks and fashion elites have proclaimed, Lagerfeld said, “Everything I say is a joke. I am a joke myself.” Apparently it took his death for the digital mob to get the message. But it doesn’t really matter. Along with being dead, Lagerfeld is now officially cancelled. It’s basically a double death. RIP.

Mike Krol

“It was pretty instant once I discovered it,” the 34-year-old garage-rock musician tells Penthouse. “I knew that nothing else in the world would move me the way music did. It’s always been and always will be the most important thing in my life, and the only form of self-expression that leaves me feeling completely satisfied.”

Since moving from his hometown of Milwaukee to Los Angeles, Krol signed to Merge Records and, in early 2018, released his sophomore record with the label, Power Chords, a fuzzed-out, low-fi punk album driven by infectious hooks. As with his earlier albums (Turkey, Trust Fund, and I Hate Jazz), Krol isn’t afraid to get catchy while chronicling angry personal pain.

“[Music] ruined my life because once I started to express myself through it, I knew that it was the only thing that truly made me feel alive—and unfortunately it’s hard to write good songs, making it the cause of many late nights feeling unfulfilled,” Krol says. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way because the payoff is too sweet.”

So, does Krol hate the love that ruined his life?

“I wouldn’t ever say I hate music,” he says. “I hate certain types of music, but music itself never lets me down. The music business on the other hand—that’s a love/hate relationship for sure.”

We sat down with Krol to talk about what’s been going on since Power Chords officially dropped.

Mike Krol by Fence

What’s with Midwesterners bottling up their anger?

I think it has something to do with the weather. You spend a good chunk of the year hiding indoors from snow, rain, or frigid temperatures and accepting less than ideal conditions that are out of your control. I feel like that way of thinking inevitably creeps into other areas of your life, and before you know it, you’re just angry at everything but feeling totally powerless.

What are the lyrical themes running through Power Chords?

I’d say the main lyrical theme of this album is self-acceptance and growth. Trusting your instincts, addressing your shortcomings, and finding your voice again after feeling like you lost it. It’s about the love of music and how the discovery of a person, place, or thing can shake you to your core, and give you life and power in a way that nothing else can.

What was your writing process like during this record, and did you have to fight any demons along the way?

So many demons! Although this is technically my fourth album, it was my second on Merge, and the first album that I’ve ever released where there was an actual audience interested in and aware of what I was doing. The pressure was on, and I didn’t have my usual “dance like no one is watching” mindset. So, I definitely fell into the “sophomore slump,” where I questioned every decision made and felt like giving up and throwing the whole thing away at so many points in the process. Mostly I struggled with what I should be writing about. And so, naturally, that’s what I ended up writing about: self-doubt and criticism that ultimately grows into forgiveness and strength.

What are your top three albums since your teen years?

That’s easy. The first would be Weezer’s Blue Album. That was the gateway into my whole existence. Second would be the Strokes’ Is This It. That album came out when I was a senior in high school, and it single-handedly changed the course of my life and led me to move to New York City for college. Lastly would be Violent Femmes’ first album, which I was exposed to all throughout my childhood in Milwaukee, and being close friends with bassist Brian Ritchie’s nephew, but it didn’t really click until I moved away from home. I would put it on whenever I was homesick. It taught me more about myself than I’ll ever be able to explain.

Why did you want to learn guitar in the first place?

Purely out of necessity, because I wanted to be in a band and have original songs. My main instrument is the drums, which is what I grew up playing in school and taking lessons for. Around junior year of high school, I wanted to start a band but didn’t know anybody who could write songs. So I borrowed a guitar from a friend and figured out how to play power chords and bar chords, and I started to write the songs for my band. Then I got into home recording and using 4-tracks, and the rest is history. That was the start of my one-man-band bedroom-recording-project that I’m currently still exploring.

Do you remember seeing Penthouse magazine when you were young?

Man, I wish I had some great story about this, but I was a pretty innocent kid. Definitely a late bloomer in that department! When this article publishes, it will be the first Penthouse magazine that I have bought or been in possession of.

Woke Axl Rose

I have written voluminously and freely about Guns N’ Roses since I had my first column at L.A. Weekly. I’m now writing a book about the band. I could write a doctoral dissertation on GNR, but alas, I’m here to let my keyboard bleed. I’m here to talk about how Axl Rose—my generation’s Johnny Strabler, the bike-gang leader played by Marlon Brando in The Wild One—has become an unintentional servant of a political agenda. How’d that happen? Axl became…“woke.”

I first submit to you a provocative, not-so-woke image—Axl Rose, 1989, as he wraps chains around the wrists of his then-girlfriend, before proceeding to gag and whip her in a bondage scene. Glimpsed in brief flashes, Rose’s S&M act is the template for a Guns N’ Roses video promoting “It’s So Easy”—a video MTV decided not to air.

The footage illustrates the moral framework from which vintage Rose, once America’s most unrepressed rock star, should be understood.

Embodying an aesthetic creed that combined feminine ferocity with rampaging male lust, Axl Rose, as the video testifies, savagely stops across the stage of the Cathouse club, wearing a plaid kilt and skull-print leather jacket, howling into the mic, while a swarm of groupies tear away bits of his clothing.

For America’s youth, he delivered a machine-gun aria that tore through their ears, mowing down the lecturing housewives of Washington. Thirty years later, Rose is a wealthy, bourgeois Democrat, lawyered-up, and serving as the politically correct CEO of an American corporate rock machine.

For countless pimple-faced teenagers in an age before memes, hashtags, internet porn, or first-person shooters, it was a way to feel unrepressed and wild—catching a glimpse of Axl Rose on MTV, imagining what it would be like to be him.

Here, in videos, songs, at the concerts, was a ginger psychopath who owned an Uzi semiautomatic and once told his fans at the Ritz in New York that he was dedicating “Out Ta Get Me” to prudes who “tell you how to live,” who “tell you how to talk…people who tell you what you can and you can’t say.”

Axl Rose is now an ally for the people he once ranted against. He wears a slick fedora, designer jeans from Barneys, reflective sunglasses, and occasionally carries a cane, like Picasso, at one of his opulent art shows. He’s a completely different person. Appetite for Destruction-era Rose had the lean, tattooed physique of a hungry featherweight boxer, the face of a teen idol, and the always-running mouth of a hillbilly Rocky Sullivan, the gangster ex-con, played by Jimmy Cagney, in the movie Angels With Dirty Faces. Rather than bravely riding off into the sunset with his outlaw persona pushing him further towards the grave—à la Motörhead’s Lemmy Kilmister—Axl Rose now exists as a status-quo liberal.

Yes, the guy Danny Sugerman, Jim Morrison’s biographer and author of a book about Guns N’ Roses, once described as “symbolic of the wild and free west” has been anointed by the media as ”woke,” a characterization he doesn’t deny, and probably embraces. Today’s Axl Rose is as a moralist, one who wants his fans to view the Trump administration as ”disgraceful” and ”inappropriate.” It’s ironic, to say the least, given that the zenith of his popularity resulted from Rose being both disgraceful and inappropriate.

I struggle to reconcile the ungovernable Axl Rose I remember from my childhood (engrained in memory is a 1989 RIP magazine cover showing him brandishing a riot-grade shotgun between his legs, a phallic representation of his machismo) with the current, millennial-friendly version—a Twitter celebrity with a Chihuahua avatar who advocates for corporate Dems and functions, witting or not, as a liberal-media propaganda tool.

“WELCOME TO THE LIBERAL JUNGLE” crowed the far-left online publication The Intercept when it ran a “Woke Axl” op-ed in early 2018, using the line to tempt GNR fans to sign up for their newsletter.

Axl Rose in 2019 is shiny currency for the left, given today’s fashionable contempt for Trump and the amount of online attention that comes with being a celebrity member of the “resistance.”

Whatever his degree of actual wokeness, it would be reductive to think tagging Rose with the “w” word sums him up in full. But, as stated, he accepts the characterization. Why? First, it strikes me as a deft career move since it gives the media a headline redirecting the gaze of anyone who might focus on Rose’s past transgressions—his politically incorrect statements, the lawsuits and allegations against him from former romantic partners who say he could be both loving and brutish. As long as Axl Rose continues to send out the occasional anti-Trump tweet, and stories on his wokeness drive clicks, the media, and liberal social media influencers who have no interest in revisiting the Axl Rose of the eighties and nineties.

Judging from a variety of clues that appeared over the years, Rose naturally evolved into a progressive following a long period of guilt and isolation. The singer had demons—their source goes all the way back to his childhood—and psychotherapy and extended self-analysis domesticated him. This multi-year “night of the soul” saved his life, while killing his vintage allure. Like others rock stars have had to kick a heroin habit to survive, Axl Rose had psychic demons to contend with, and he’s seemingly purged them from his body.

Axl Rose on Stage

“Vote Blue…Bitches!!” Rose tweeted last October, shortly before the midterm elections.

And yet, in 30 years of public life, Rose never endorsed a political candidate, rocked the vote for MTV, contributed to a campaign, or allowed popular politics to dictate his work. Search GNR’s catalog for political lyrics and you’ll turn up just a generalized 1990 antiwar song “Civil War,” and allusions to Communist repression in the song “Chinese Democracy.” There’s not a single Rose interview that clarifies his political views in any detail, except for a mention on Jimmy Kimmel Live in 2012 that he liked Barack Obama, but wasn’t someone who voted.

Rose was 50 then, and apparently had never entered a voting booth. When George W. Bush was carpet-bombing Iraq and building the framework for a police state with the Patriot Act, Rose was silent. In 2008, the year Chinese Democracy was released, America was sunk in an economic recession protested by millions and fighting two elective wars overseas. The album’s liner notes thanked the Trump Hotel, but included no mention of President Bush or the body count in the Middle East.

Earlier, Rose was silent during the administrations of Ronald Reagan and Bush Sr. And during the political triangulations and Monica Lewinsky-stained Clinton years (roughly 1998 to 2000), he was, essentially, hidden from sight in his Malibu canyon mansion, struggling to free himself of the rage that had long defined his persona.

It’s also worth noting that “Woke Axl,” with his wealth, name recognition, and huge, international fan base, has so far restricted his progressive activities to sporadic minutes at the keyboard, tweeting, doing none of the harnessing of music celebrity for activist causes in the way of someone like Bono, or Roger Waters.

But for the left in 2019, all of this is irrelevant. Rose is woke, and willing to use his platform to communicate their message. Whatever the exact definition of woke, it clearly constitutes obedience to liberal dogma and a rejection of the First Amendment.

From the outside, it’s hard to calibrate how much of Woke Axl reflects a true awakening, as opposed to a winning PR strategy. But classic Rose is gone, having vanished during his time out of the spotlight. Though he hasn’t self-identified as woke, the fact that he can be used to advance retrograde elitist propaganda signals a time of mourning for the Guns N’ Roses fan who remember a different Axl.

“I think Axl’s a little out of control,” MTV’s Kurt Loder once said, “which is the way you should be if you’re going to be a big rock star…. You should out of control.”

Two days before the November midterms, Woke Axl—the nickname thrives as a meme—tweeted that Guns N’ Roses played “anti-Trump” music, a bizarre statement. I suppose an argument can be made for viewing Appetite for Destruction as a blowtorch cutting across the steely conservatism of the 1980s, but—and I don’t know if Rose himself realizes this—Donald Trump is not a conservative. He’s a radical.

Vintage Guns N’ Roses, if you ask any fan, was apolitical. The band’s spirit was lubricated by cheap wine, masculinity wrestling with androgyny, and a motorcycle-gang effigy to the First and Second Amendments. Axl Rose in leather assless chaps, slithering across the stage like a lithe, Tom of Finland illustration of a biker boy—a long-locked, Dionysian icon; an escape from the Wall Street-themed world for the hair-metal generation.

When Axl Rose did get political, he did it with mischievous fashion choices. He strutted onto a stage in Paris in 1992 wearing a baggy leather jacket emblazoned with the Confederate flag, paired with white spandex shorts and combat boots.

This followed by four years the song “One in a Million,” where he cavalierly used the N-word, and advertised his disdain for both immigrants and “faggots,” saying they made no sense to him. Boiling with a primitive honesty, he kicked down the doors of political correctness, and then stomped around in his snakeskin boots.

“I don’t like boundaries of any kind,” he told Rolling Stone in 1988 when asked about ”One in a Million.” He added, “I don’t like being told what I can and what I can’t say.” Who could have predicted that today’s Axl Rose would be thoroughly repulsed by the Axl Rose of 1988?

Back then, Rose’s reckless inability to be his own publicist was intoxicating to so many of us, raised by the censors of cable TV and the canonized propaganda of a Christian majority. Rose was actually pushing MTV towards anarchy.

Fast-forward to 2019, and Rose is now a willing ally of a movement that aims to repress sensuality, muzzle speech on college My struggle with this led me to email a reliable voice, writer Chuck Klosterman, and Chuck was ready with thoughts. Here’s one of his observations about Woke Axl:

“To me, the most amusing aspect of all this is imagining what would have happened if you’d have walked up to a liberal person in 1989 and said, ‘You know what? In 30 years, the man who will embody and voice the views of young progressives will be Axl Rose. But you know who all those young progressives will despise? Morrissey.’”

Axl Rose now attacks the likes of First Lady Melania Trump, whom he described as “an alleged former hooker” in a March 2018 tweet. Here we have him virtue-signaling by referring to a conservative woman as a “hooker,” which pushes him further away from the right-wing image of Axl Rose equipped with firearms and Middle American naiveté.

Axl Rose on Stage

In an era where careers can be extinguished by exposure of past tweets or decades-old comments, and where even the most inconsequential act is used by liberals to smear people they disagree with, Rose has managed to duck the pitchforks and torches of the mob by, well, never disagreeing with them. While Metallica’s James Hetfield chats openly with Joe Rogan about his heretical libertarian lifestyle as a hunter and heavy-metal rebel, Rose tweets from a distance using cute emojis as punctuations for fashionable outrage.

In the fall of 2017, when actress Ashley Judd accused Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment in a New York Times interview, it was a watershed moment that helped unleash #MeToo. Right around this time, the media decided that Axl Rose had not only demonstrated at least vague solidarity with #MeToo, but had in fact joined the cause, a grotesque take invented and propagated by activists at publications like Vogue and The Intercept.

When “Woke Axl” headlines reached GNR fan sites and podcasts, some Axl Rose worshippers began pandering directly to their hero with their hashtagged Trump resistance—a phenomenon akin to the way Taylor Swift fans not only worship Swift but every Swiftian opinion.

A week after his “alleged former hooker” post, Rose tweeted, “Happy International Women’s Day!!” One would assume the left would find the singer’s feminist rebrand to be a bit hypocritical…but that’s not how the left operates. As long as Rose uses his 1.2 million Twitter followers to push his fan base further left—and as long as he can convince his agreeable fanboys to vote, like Taylor Swift on Instagram—he remains beyond the burning glow of the torches.

This will hold, of course, only if Rose continues to comply. If he does disagree with the left by defending free speech on college campuses or tweeting about offensive or “sexist” comedians he might enjoy, he would likely ignite a campaign of self-ruination that would turn his record-breaking reunion tour into a tragic coda.

“Woke Axl” requires that Axl never detail his political beliefs. Since GNR reunited in April of 2016, Rose has refused to grant an interview to a single member of the American media. Not only that, but it seems any interview he or Slash do offer (Rose has spoken to a couple foreign reporters) is accompanied by a liability agreement or pre-interview guidelines that put the journalist and media venue on the hook if the coverage creates a publicity storm.

Not unlike the documents handed out in Weinstein’s Hollywood, Rose’s lawyers also draft and enforce non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) to be signed by those who enter the singer’s orbit, preventing people from talking about him “in perpetuity.”

And some of those who have been in Axl’s orbit but haven’t signed an NDA tend to stay out of sight—inaccessible and untouchable—whether out of fear of GNR and its singer or in mimicry of Rose’s own career-long war against the media.

During last year’s marketing of GNR’s Locked N’ Loaded box set, a celebration of the band’s Appetite-era work, the Guns N’ Roses equivalent of a book burning occurred.

First, the track “One in a Million” was curiously left off the collection of demos and remasters—while remaining on streaming services like Spotify. Why? Rose was silent.

This silence continued as some of his fans were doxxed, bullied, and ostensibly buried on the internet by a small group of trolls, with some alleging the trolls were either hired by Rose’s management or simply driven by their own toxic fandom to coordinate an online takedown of an entire library of rare concert footage, documentaries, and GNR bootlegs—material the band couldn’t profit off or control during the Locked advertising blitz.

The trolls, it seems, directed the RIAA and IFPI (the Recording Industry of America and International Federation of the Phonographic Industry, respectively) to remove additional copyrighted GNR material off YouTube. Fans panicked on the forums, mystified by a purging whose questionable copyright-violation claims were, and remain, a mystery.

For more conspiratorial fanboys, GNR had become “Big Brother.” For others, though,  GNR was on the “right side of history,” and some anti-Trump Axl stooges celebrated as YouTube channels like the popular Frans N’ Roses were reported and removed.

Meanwhile, Axl Rose, apparently unconcerned or uninformed on the matter, proceeded to drag Trump on Twitter and refused to shed any light on how he became a progressive culture warrior, except to let us know, passive aggressively, that he’s repulsed by “One in a Million” and wants to bury his uncomfortable past (along with his demons).

Today, the left-leaning media uses Axl Rose to recruit. For the first time in history, the singer of Guns N’ Roses has become a role model for liberal America.

Pardon me while I vomit all over my keyboard.

Warm Drag Lead Singer Vashti Windish is our Muse

LIKE most punks, Vashti Windish, frontwoman of L.A. duo Warm Drag, started out as a misfit. “I was always an outcast,” she tells Penthouse. “My name was weird, my clothes were cheap, and I didn’t eat meat.”

Vashti Windish

But things changed when this Florida native became a teenager.

“There was this girl who rode the bus with me, she was scary yet magnetic,” Windish recalls. “Her head was shaved, her lip was pierced, and she wore a flannel with cut sleeves and combat boots.” Intrigued, the shy Windish eyed her up and down, and the girl introduced herself. “My life was never the same after that.”

The two became friends, and Windish was inducted into the world of punk rock. She fell hard for bands like Crass, the Misfits, Ministry, Nitzer Ebb, and Bikini Kill, and found inspiration in their free-spirited, fuck-you attitudes. “These core bands were a gateway drug for other obscure music I’m still finding today,” she says.

Windish has since spent her life inspired by music and the powerful aesthetic of rock ’n’ roll. When she finally migrated from Florida to New York City, she played in two bands, Golden Triangle and the K-Holes. While in the K-Holes, she met saxophone player Sara Villard, and the two women started a business based on their shared love of costume, stage wear, and designer and vintage clothing. They opened their first store, Worship, in Brooklyn in 2013; another shop followed in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles in 2015.

Though her businesses have been a success, Windish says she could never abandon music. Since moving to L.A., she started her indie-punk duo Warm Drag with drummer Paul Quattrone. The band signed to In the Red Records, and their releases have garnered attention for Windish’s powerful, sexy vocals and Quattrone’s spacey synth.

Even now, at age 40, Windish still feels the same fearless exhilaration she first experienced with music when she performs onstage with Warm Drag. “I just lose myself,” she says.

“It’s almost like a trance. I don’t think. I just feel. It’s the best.”

Photography by Lindsey Byrnes

Crush on Amy Klobuchar

According to HuffPost and Buzzfeed, the Democratic Minnesota Senator’s employees allegedly cried and Klobuchar once “accidentally hit” a staffer with a binder. [So that’s bad. – Ed.]

Klobuchar also has gotten more bills passed than most senators, appeals to the Midwestern states Hillary forgot to visit, and advocates for moderate legislation that won’t scare away your grandpa who still votes. [And that would all be very, very good. You know, binders are not really all that heavy. It was probably an accident. -Ed.]

If she were a man, Klobuchar would be praised for “getting the job done.” Because she’s a woman, she’s compared to a barking school teacher. Employers should treat their staff well, but as President Donald J. Trump wreaks havoc from the Mexican border to the Canadian Peace Bridge, Klobuchar’s legislative history outweighs her Glassdoor rankings.

America could use a tough Minnesota broad. Klobuchar’s the one. [Pretty sure “broad” has fallen out of favor in this context. Mitchell might deserve one of those binders to the head. Just sayin’. -Ed.]

Amy Klobuchar waving

[Now we are sad we have run out of -Ed. spots, because we were having a fun time with the whole point/counterpoint -Ed. thing.]

Regardless of the degree of fun we are having, however, one fact should remain clear: Amy Klobuchar Rocks!