Several years ago, I felt inspired to contribute a “Heresy” — a fan-type piece on a cultural artifact, more or less lesbian, with which one is obsessed — to the Brussels-based feminist magazine Girls Like US / GLU.

As with writing for “community” legacy publications and presses like Cleis Press…


Rape reckoning and revenge aplenty; the lesbian Civil Rights activist you’ve been dying to meet; Billie Holiday’s middle finger; Jane Fonda, uncensored.

Follow list of March 2021 recommendations on Letterboxd.

☐ F.T.A.

Director: Francine Parker

Writers: Michael Alaimo, Len Chandler, Pamela Donegan, Jane Fonda, Rita Martinson, Robin Menken, Holly Near, Donald…


All my experience concerning masturbation in little girls has related to the clitoris and not to the regions of the external genitalia that are important in later sexual functioning. …


‘Her Smell’ is largely set in the labyrinthine underworld of punk venue green rooms. The already warped strain even further under the weight of audience hunger and the an opening act’s reverb. Alex Ross Perry’s latest dizzies and asphyxiates the viewer with the minutiae of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n…


JT LeRoy, Justin Kelly’s new biopic on the creation and exposure of the cult author of the same pen name, opens with an Oscar Wilde epigraph: The truth is rarely pure and never simple. This sentiment, repurposed from a puckish 1890s play to introduce Kelly’s film on punking 1990s celebrity…


‘But I’m a Cheerleader’ comes of age.

Bursts of orange as tempting as pre-pandemic citrus palomas with friends. An excess of sporty pinks that make Legally Blonde seem like child’s play. Nursery room blues that confirm that ‘blue’ is not only the warmest color, but most fun.

A cult…


Film history is rife with dream teams, all too frequently auteur-muse in nature: von Sternberg and Dietrich, Godard and Karina, Tarantino and Pitt. But few have surpassed Julie Andrews and Blake Edwards in talent, daring, or capacity for mischief. After falling in love on the set of Edwards’ ill-received and…


Romano Scavolini’s 1981 slasher flick Nightmare is certain about three things: One, little George Tatum, well-mannered and pure, walked in on a dominatrix straddling his father and the experience irreparably destroyed his sanity. Two, despite his persisting fear of feminine wiles, George managed to have a son, C.J., who has…


While I have been repeatedly ensnared by “Chloe in the Afternoon” (the tenderest of hotel rendezvous anthems) and “Your Lips Are Red” (“Your lips are red / My face is red from reading your red lips”), it was not until the fitful static of April that I really began to…


Life, or at least the way we dwell online, has vastly sped up. It’s not something I’d mourned, though I figured the days of thoughtful, clandestine responses to my own writing were largely over. …

Sarah Fonseca

Sarah Fonseca is a publicly-educated nonfiction writer from the Georgia foothills who lives in New York City.

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