Last week, the internet lost its mind over whether gay men should wear padlock necklaces to restaurants. If you missed it, them has the full rundown, but the short version is: someone tweeted that Nasty Pig padlocks at dinner are “negative culture,” queer Twitter erupted, and suddenly everyone had an opinion about what counts as an appropriate accessory for a nice meal.

I watched the whole thing from my phone, and it made me think about this ongoing storyline in my life that I’ve never been able to close the loop on.

Most people, even most queer people, see a padlock necklace and think it’s an aesthetic choice. For people in dominant-submissive relationships, it’s not. When a dom gives their sub a chain with a lock, it means you’re mine. It’s a mutually consensual power exchange. The dom holds the key. The sub wears the padlock out in the world, and it tells every other person in the room that this one is taken. It’s not a necklace you throw on with your going-out look. It’s the closest thing to a wedding ring.

I’m a dom who has wanted to give someone a chain for a long time. I’ve rewritten my cruising profiles to be explicit about what I’m looking for. I’ve put it out there as plainly as I know how, and I still haven’t found it.

I do have subs, though. The sex is great. Our roles are clear, functional, and incredibly fun.

But coincidentally, and I don’t know why this keeps happening to me, the ones I’d actually give a chain to, the ones who made the cut, were already wearing another man’s ring.

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I archived my entire Instagram. I barely use Facebook. I’m on Bluesky but not really on Bluesky. I rejoined X for the tech bro AI discourse and immediately remembered why I left. My Substack has become my home base, but nobody’s Googling your Substack when they want to look you up — they’re going to your website. So I started thinking about what I actually wanted my corner of the internet to look like, and I landed somewhere that surprised me: MySpace.

Not ironically. Not as a bit. I genuinely wanted my website to feel like the internet I fell in love with — the one where your page said something about you, where you picked a profile song and curated a Top 8 and plastered GIFs everywhere because you could. So I built one. With a mood board full of Lil Nas X album rollouts and Fifth Element stills, about four hours, and a little help from Claude — though honestly, if I wasn’t having a super-ADD day with 20 browser tabs open and my phone pulling my attention every five minutes, I could’ve gotten it done in one. For the record, everything I did here you can do on Claude’s free plan. I’m on the Max plan because at this point I’m taking Claude straight to the vein — but you don’t need to be.

The irony isn’t lost on me — I used one of the most advanced AI tools on the market to build something that looks like it was coded in 2005. Back then, I taught myself HTML just to customize my page. It was like Pimp My Ride for your corner of the internet. Now I’m just describing what I want in plain English and watching a chatbot write the whole thing in seconds. The juxtaposition is wild, but honestly? The result feels more me than anything I’ve put online in years.

The full walkthrough is in the video below. Click here to watch this video with subtitles.

1. Suck his dick.

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As I lay blindfolded and naked on a massage table, surrounded by the thrum of loud tribal music, my focus kept shifting between what was happening to me and what was happening around me. In my immediate vicinity, a nude man stood over the table, caressing my body with long, sensual massage strokes while mixing in tantalizing touches — all in the service of getting me to have a “full-body boner” that would culminate in a full-body release. I was doing intentional breathing exercises as my body writhed around the table in response to the varied, surprising ways he engaged every inch of me.

Across the room, someone’s moans of pleasure billowed over the music — music so loud I could feel the bass in my body. There were approximately nine other blindfolded guys on tables, receiving similar treatment from nine other men hovering above them. The room was full of oooohs and aaaaahs, laughter, and yelps. The bass, coupled with the sounds of fulfillment, made it feel like I was inside some sort of shamanic sex portal.

Then a voice cut through everything.

“Men on the table — make sure to tell your partner what you like. It doesn’t always have to be with words. It could be a head nod, a moan. And be sure to communicate what you don’t like. You are not meant to endure anything. If you need to move their hands away, do that. You are the arbiter of your own experience. Ask for what you need!”

In that moment, I felt a door unlock somewhere in my brain. The door creaked open, and a single sheet of paper floated out of a dark abyss and landed at my feet.

The facilitator had made me keenly aware of what I was doing. I had been enduring sensations I didn’t like because I was too caught up in how communicating that might make my partner feel like he was doing a bad job. Mind you, I had no idea who my partner even was! The “givers” — the guys giving oiled up body rubs to the blindfolded “receivers” — rotated every five minutes. I had no personal investment in my giver’s feelings. And still, I was protecting them.

My therapist has a word for this: mind-reading. It’s when you assume you know how someone will react to something, and then you adjust your behavior based on that assumption — without ever actually checking in with them. He reminds me that no matter how well you know someone, you don’t know how they’re going to respond. The only thing you can control is your own response. On that table, I didn’t know the man touching me at all, and yet, here I was, mind-reading.

“Yeeeeesss!!” someone screamed across the room. I wondered what the cost of embodying my discomfort was. “Uuuuuughhh!!” someone bellowed in ecstasy from the other side. I thought about the cost of prioritizing someone else’s imagined feelings over my own actual needs. “Slower, slower, slower,” a voice repeated in rapid succession from a table that sounded like it was right next to mine.

Hearing someone else communicate their needs transported me back to that unlocked door in my brain. I picked up the sheet of paper that had landed on the floor in front of the dark room. And as I read the words on the page to myself in that alternate dimension, I found myself saying them out loud to the giver standing before me in real life.

“Go light on my nipples, please.”

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It was a grey Sunday morning, and the light that struggled through the clouds struggled even more through my lightly tinted apartment windows. As I stood in my tiny kitchen, whisking egg yolks in my underwear, I heard the pastor’s voice cut through my Bluetooth speaker: “You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore to decide to be happy.” I was attending Bedside Baptist Church—or at least, that’s what I call it when I watch a church service online from home. Even hoes like me need an inspirational word every now and then. I was casually listening the way one does when their brain is attending to multiple things at once. But that one line seized my attention. It was as if the pastor was standing in my kitchen, looking me in my eyes, speaking directly to me. He said it again with more conviction.

“See, I don’t think y’all are ready for a word this morning. YOU CAN’T WAIT UNTIL LIFE ISN’T HARD TO DECIDE TO BE HAPPY!” The congregation erupted in an orchestra of applause and Amens from the rafters. It dawned on me.

I’ve been waiting to be happy for most of my adult life.

I’ve been waiting for stable income. For my debt to shrink. For my business to scale. For some achievement that proved I wasn’t wasting my time in New York—that justified the years of struggle, that made me worthy of the life I wanted. The goalposts kept moving. And I kept waiting.

And if you’ve ever told yourself you’ll relax once you hit the next milestone, or that you’ll finally enjoy your life once you’re more stable, or that happiness is something you’ll earn after you’ve achieved enough, you might be waiting too.

Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way.

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It was something I’d already been thinking about—not because I want to step away from nightlife, but because it’s such a big part of my social fabric. Nightlife is one of the reasons I’m not ready to leave New York. The variety, the frequency, the thriving house and techno scene—I don’t take any of it for granted. I’ve been to a bar at 2 am on a Saturday and had my pick of three packed parties to go to next. A DJ friend from Chicago was visiting once, and after their gig we were talking through our options for the rest of the night. Their response: “I can’t believe you have this many choices for huge parties, and they’re all going to be packed.” I’ve tried to find this in LA, San Francisco, Miami. It doesn’t exist the same way. Without it, I’m simply bored.

So when Philip asked the question, I had to sit with it. I’ve been showing up to these spaces for years. What have I actually been looking for?

But as I sat with the question, something else emerged. I realized I didn’t need to decenter nightlife at all. I needed to stop asking it to be something it would never be for me—and start honoring what it actually is.

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“I really wanted to get on your table,” he said, “but I wasn’t sure if you would want to touch me.”

I looked at him—impeccably coiffed hair, a smile straight out of central casting, muscles I didn’t know existed—and I couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

That encounter happened after the Underwear Party on Fire Island, where I had spent the night giving massages to a sea of sweaty, beautiful men. But to explain why his words hit me so hard, I have to go back to the beginning.

In 2017, I began working for a massage studio in NYC that was popular with the boys. In the summers, the studio owner rented a house in Fire Island Pines with a concealed outdoor area to host clients. The house was perched high above the boardwalk, with a massage grotto nestled below—a stream running down its side, hanging bamboo shoots, and the sound of ocean waves in the distance. It was a beautiful place to make money. But being a Black, Brooklyn queer person on the island primarily to work—amidst mostly white, Hell’s Kitchen-esque gay men who were primarily there to enjoy themselves—I often felt like I was watching someone else’s life from the outside.

Island outcalls meant wheeling a massage table to each client’s home, and I would feel a twinge of something every time I passed a house party or a group of boys headed to the beach. Envy, maybe. Or just the particular loneliness of being in paradise on someone else’s terms. It made me feel like the help. It made me wish I were there with a group of friends. It made me excited for the end of my shift.

That’s not to say I wasn’t grateful. What a lovely way to make money. What a lovely place to make it. When I didn’t have a client, Fire Island, in all its beauty and magnificence, was still my backdrop. And the outcalls gave me a lovely tour of homes—sea shacks and mansions alike, with hot and friendly clients who made work feel less like work. Still, I wondered what it would be like to have a week there without having to earn it.

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I left New York in August. It’s February now, and I can count on one hand the number of people who have noticed my absence and reached out.

Eleven years of living in NYC. One hand.

I could tell myself that people are busy, that the city moves fast, that out of sight means out of mind. Maybe it’s that in the digital age, seeing people active on social media provides a sense of connection without actually connecting. But the truth is simpler and harder: I didn’t build what I thought I was building. After more than a decade in New York, I don’t have the friendships or community I want there. And that’s not the city’s fault. It’s mine.

With the exception of one person, all of my best friends are people I met before I moved to New York. The relationships that have actually lasted, the people I trust most, the ones I can be fully myself with—none of them came from my time in NYC.

So why do I stay?

New York offers professional opportunities I can’t find elsewhere. The culture is unmatched. I don’t need a car, which is a major perk for me. And the city is so dynamic that it’s genuinely hard to get bored—actually, it’s inexcusable to get bored.

I’d rather struggle financially in a city that stimulates me than thrive somewhere that bores me to death. That’s a trade-off I’ve made consciously. But somewhere along the way, I let the struggle become an excuse to disappear.

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I look forward to what they pull out at the round table. I know none of this matters strategically, but I can’t help myself.

This is the third season of Traitors US that I’ve watched. I also just finished Traitors UK Season 2, which has no celebs, and as one would imagine, with a cast of everyday people, it’s severely in fashions. So when Alan Cumming threw a Black Banquet and told the remaining players to camp it up, I knew what I had to do.

I must say, finding their looks was hard. The Traitors US cast should take a page out of the RuPaul’s Drag Race contestants’ book. You know how the Drag Race girls have a full photoshoot for their runway looks, ready to post on IG the day after each episode airs? For some of these contestants, this is the most spotlight they’re going to have for a while. Capitalize on it!

Below you’ll find my ranking. I’ve grouped them into the bottom, safe, and top categories.

THE BOTTOM

14.) Tara Lipinski

A wise woman once said…

I guess Tara didn’t get the memo. She looks… pedestrian. She looks like a teenage retail employee helped her pick an outfit for a Saturday night at the club, circa 2005.

Also, I know they have to do their own hair and makeup on this show, but the 5-for-$1 hair claw is simply unacceptable.

This is why if I were on Traitors, I would need to be a faithful. Because if I were a traitor, it would be difficult for me to murder based on strategy. I would’ve murdered Tara simply for having the audacity to show up like this.

13. Rob Rausch

I didn't watch Love Island until the most recent season, so I had no idea who Rob Rausch was. I first came across him when he gave Caleb Simpson a mildly homoerotic house tour through his trailer in Alabama. I grew up in Atlanta, where everything outside of the city is basically Alabama. I've had my fair share of country boys. After I watched this house tour, I wanted one more. 🤤

Ok. Focus, Tomik! For Rob’s Black Banquet look, I judged it without taking into account how if he asked me to lick his bicep, I would roll my eyes at him, scoff with offense, and then absolutely lick that fucking bicep.

I love the vest! It looks like he got it straight from the wardrobe archive of Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo & Juliet.

If you look closely, his snake tattoos match up perfectly with the hydras near the top of the vest. The belted shoulder straps are really cute detail. And to top me it all off, his back was out!

The thing that kills it for me is those ill-fitting trousers, and those greasy-ass brown boots! I'm sorry, Rob, I'm not going to let you skate by on hotness. This is coloring outside the lines for a straight boy (which they should try more often!), and it's obvious that he can clean up nicely. It would have been so easy for him to hit a home run, but unfortunately, he stopped at second base.

12.) Stephen Colletti

Millennials stand up! I think it’s hilarious that his lower thirds always credit him as Stephen Colletti from One Tree Hill, when the real ones know that this is Stephen Colletti from Laguna Beach! First of his name!

This SoCal, former fuck-boy has aged nicely! While it has been a delight to see him on the small screen again, I can’t say that he’s brought much to the game so far. Narratively, I feel like that’s starting to shift, but that remains to be seen.

Let’s talk about this suit. I’m sure this is the equivalent of getting into drag for a surfer who grew up in a place where flip-flops are considered appropriate footwear for 80% of occasions. The suit is ornate! I actually love the details on the sleeve. It’s the matching shirt that throws it off for me, though. It’s jus too matchy-matchy. Also, the suit’s cut makes him look like he has childbearing hips, which he most certainly does not. Those two details make the entire look a chop for me.

11.) Johnny Weir

<deep sigh> With Johnny, I feel like I’m always scratching my head at his looks. Aside from his energy always feeling like an exhausted matron, the proportions of his garments frequently throw me off. This instance is no different.

The gold and bejeweled bolero/shrug is the only thing I like about his look. His hair would be great if he lived in the Capitol of Panem. I almost get a Party Monster vibe off of him, except the suit portion of his look is more aunty than cunty.

Johnny joins Stephen Colletti in the childbearing hips club, which wouldn’t have looked so bad with more traditional pants. The flowy linen pants look like a purchase he made for someone’s destination beach wedding. And finally, the shoes give me Sporty Spice! It’s all over the place, gurl, pick a struggle!

You know where he would fit, though? Somewhere in this music video.

SAFE

10.) Natalie Anderson

Before I get into the look, there is something that needs to be acknowledged about Natalie. The body is TEA! If she were a Traitor, she could be a mass murderer, because her arms are the entire gun show. And I get it, if I had a body like that, I’d want to show it off and be sexy too, which you can see she’s trying to do in the looks that she wears around the castle. Unfortunately, those looks often miss the mark.

To be fair, Natalie is coming from The Amazing Race and Survivor, shows where your wardrobe is the least of your worries. People who come from franchises like The Real Housewives or Drag Race have significantly more practice pulling off showstoppers for television. So, I’m giving Natalie a bit of grace.

With her Black Banquet look, I can’t tell if she’s getting ready to joust or attend a hoe-down on the lower levels of the Titanic. Yes, this is me giving her grace. I think voluptuous, curly hair would have complemented this look better, along with a statement necklace instead of that lace choker. She also needs some earrings. Luckily, her face card doesn’t decline, but from the neck up, she still looks so plain. I’m rooting for Natalie to shock everyone with an amazing outfit at the reunion.

9.) Colton Underwood

Ever since Michael Rappaport was banished, Colton has taken his place as the villain of the season. This is playing out more online than in the castle, where he behaves like a pack leader, taking up space at the round table as if he were the king. And maybe he believes he is. The pièce de résistance of his Black Banquet look was an exquisitely beautiful crown. The statement piece had a whimsical sensibility that made it look as if it belonged to elven folk or wood nymphs, with bejeweled centaurs galloping across his forehead.

Of the men we’ve seen so far, one thing that gives him an advantage is that he is at least wearing a suit that fits. The double-breasted jacket looked really good on him. I also wasn't mad at the pearl body harness underneath the blazer. It's been done. Every other queer person who attended Jesse Ware's That! Feels Good! Tour in 2023 already wore this. I hated his earring, but a dangly earring is the most accessible accessory for cookie-cutter gays who want to feel a little queer for a night. Overall, A for Effort.

8.) Eric Nam

Eric looked to me like a man who shops at Orttu (not sponsored). There is a sensibility to this blazer that says, I like to be bold, I like to take risks, and I like my clothes to be a reflection of who I am. The brooch is beautiful, although it didn't have the power to kill anyone. I love the buttons on his collared shirt. Eric looks great and sits comfortably in the safe category.

7.) Mark Ballas

Lowkey, something about Mark's outfit looks similar to Natalie's. Like, their ensembles might not be sisters, but they're cousins! The difference is that Mark is wearing his look, while Natalie's look is wearing her. The thing I like about Mark's look is that it dissects each element of men's formal fashion and puts a spin on it. It's not just a sports coat, it's an asymmetrical blazer with a metal mesh sleeve. It's not a standard necktie, it's a pussy-bow. He's not wearing pants, he's wearing a skirt. And it all comes together nicely to tell the same story. A little baroque, a little punk. He's clearly not dipping his toe in these waters; he swims in them regularly, and it shows.

6.) Kristen Kish

Kristen Kish can peg me. There, I said it. GET THE STRAP!

She’s hot, super stylish, and has a sprinkle of masculine energy that carries through in her style as well. Very Jenna Lyons-coded. If I had to describe Kristen’s style this season, I would call it pussy with a little bit of nut.

I think her red ensemble is gorgeous. The ornate top that makes her look like she’s been wheat pasted with rose petals, belted at the waist for a little bit of shape, into a slim red pair of pants that flares from the knee to the floor. And of course, the chiffon cape, which adds an air of drama and regality to this downtown evening cocktail look. Monochrome can be a risk; it doesn’t always translate well, but this one paid off. She looks stunning.

5.) Candiace Dillard Bassett

Candiace’s dress looks like a holiday dress from Express; however, her headpiece demands so much attention that the dress gets a pass. Better yet, I feel like the headpiece, with all of its cascading tendrils, elevates the dress.

The opera gloves add a touch of sex appeal to the killer look. And since every accessory is a statement piece, it would usually be overkill, but the necklace and the snake bangle are perfectly complementary.

Anyone who entered the banquet hall had no choice but to notice Candiace, and might even be inclined to bow down to the Queen Medusa. Heaven knows that Candiace will do her best to petrify Rob before the show is over.

4.) Yamil “Yam Yam” Arocho

First of all, can we have a moment of silence for the life and legacy of Yam Yam. The way he got YANKED!

When Yam Yam appeared on camera, I felt like the instrumental for Jay-Z and UGK’s “Big Pimpin’” should have been playing. He looks like a man who gets a lot of hoes. He looks like he smells good. He looks like he wears his granddaddy’s audacious pinky ring for good luck.

Granted, his look is far from complicated. Immediate inspirations that come to mind are South Beach, Miami, Scarface, Dominique Deverau from Dynasty, and Sesshomaru from Inuyasha.

The intentionally oversized blazer shows a man who knows how to dress for his body type, and the ostrich feather stole really sets everything off. It says, “I own FIFTY-ONE percent of this company!”

TOP

3.) Dorinda Medley

The two biggest influences that come to mind for this look are the Queen of Hearts and Jafar. We love an ol’ nasty villain.

Also, we have another pair of outfits that aren’t sisters but are cousins. If I put Kristen’s look into an AI image generator and told it to give me the Broadway version, it would give you Dorinda Medley’s look. I personally like Kristen’s look better, but for the purpose of this banquet, I think Dorinda understood the assignment. She dragged it up! Everything outside of her hat and shoes is shiny. The floral brooch is exaggerated. The veiled headpiece adds a bit of mystery. Dorinda’s look says, “Off with their head!”

2.) Maura Higgins

Maura Higgins is what Melania Trump thinks she looks like. Maura has been the best-dressed person on this show all season. Hands down.

Her Black Banquet look takes the concept of a little black dress to an entirely different dimension—one we should feel privileged to witness. The molten gold corset is sculptural, almost armor-like, and the structured hat turns the whole thing into something editorial. Is she a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare? That remains to be seen.

Sometimes I look at Maura and wish she actually behaved like ‘90s Naomi Campbell. Give us the nightmare supermodel who, as Linda Evangelista once said, doesn’t get out of bed for less than $10,000. We love that era! But she could walk out of the banquet and straight onto someone’s runway, and that’s more than enough.

Also, let’s not sleep on the pose. Scroll back and observe how some people just don’t know what to do in front of a camera. Maura knows her angles and is serving. This is a Maura stan account.

1.) Lisa Fuckin’ Rinna

Taking the top spot is none other than the legend, the icon, Lisa Fuckin’ Rinna! And I would hope so. The woman has been on tv for forty years! She is practiced! Not only did she bring the camp, but she also brought the drama, the attitude, the Traitors Black Banquet energy! It made complete sense to me when the show gave her the ultimate entrance, because who else could pull it off?

The look is a collision of Victorian bustle gown and sailor uniform. The navy color, crisp white trim, and sharp, squared-off collar give it military precision, while the corseted waist, tiered ruffles, and exaggerated hips evoke the late 19th century. Then there are those puff sleeves — extreme, sculptural, and completely theatrical. It’s not a costume, though. It’s high fashion that dramatizes historical dress rather than replicating it. The whole thing feels as big and unapologetic as Lisa’s personality, which is exactly the point.

Lisa Rinna understood that a Black Banquet in a Scottish castle is not the time for restraint. It’s the time to show up like you’re about to overthrow a monarchy, and that’s exactly what she did.

Now, if the rest of the cast could start posting their looks on Instagram like the Drag Race girls do, that would make my job a lot easier. Until then, I’ll be here — squinting at blurry screenshots, zooming in on shoes, and judging accordingly.

And if anyone from casting is reading this — I’m available for Season 4. Faithful only, though. I’d murder based on outfits, and that’s not a strategy.

Before I moved into my Clinton Hill apartment, I spent a lot of time in this neighborhood. I dated a boy for a year who lived there. I also made monthly Summer trips to Fort Greene Park for Soul Summit, that joyous house music event where Brooklyn’s full, beautiful spectrum comes together to dance. I remember leaving those afternoons, weaving through the brownstone-lined streets, and thinking: wow, this is so quaint.

It was everything I wanted a neighborhood to be — leafy, residential, quiet in pockets but still humming with life when you passed a corner café or wine bar. Like many New Yorkers, I kept a running list of my dream neighborhoods, and mine always came down to three: Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, and the West Village.

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I've been on a journey to reduce my phone's presence in my life. Lowkey, I wish I could disconnect. I fantasize about getting an old Motorola candy-bar-shaped phone where the only game on it is Snake. Or maybe I'd even skip that and just get a pager and a landline. I'll run errands with a disposable camera in my tote just in case I want to take a photo of something interesting.

But maybe the problem isn't my phone—it's how I've been using it. Perhaps it's the false sense of connection that it provides. I'm exhausted with my reliance on platforms that are run by broligarchs. I've had to course-correct the amount of time that I spend doomscrolling. The resulting dearth of cyber social connections with my friends makes me think about them more.

The Atomik Factory

My Social Media Diet

I went into my phone's settings and discovered a horrifying truth: I spent four hours a day on Instagram during my in-office workdays—and a staggering six hours a day during my remote workdays and weekends! Do the math: that's 36 hours a week, almost a whole work week, just scrolling through apps. While I wasn't shocked, I was appalled. What was this endless scrolling serving? How was this rapid-fire assault of emotions rewiring my brain? After realizing I was spending enough time on Instagram each week to learn a new language or read War and Peace twice, I decided to put my social media addiction on a diet—and discovered that portion control isn't just for food anymore…

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a year ago · Tomik Dash

Lately, in those moments, I've been doing something a little out of the ordinary for me. Something a bit old school, if you will. Instead of gearing up to fire off another text message, I've been picking up the phone and calling my friends. No text first. No sliding in DM's. No smoke signal or rain dance. I just pick up my phone, find them in my contacts, and call them. I have to say, it's exhilarating!

Are they gonna pick up? I wonder what they're up to right now. Will they let it ring? Or will they send me to voicemail?

I've found myself judging the strength of my friendships based on who picks actually picks up the phone. When a friend answers, I get a warm rush over my body like, Wow, this bitch really loves me fr. My reaction to them is always something along the lines of, "OK! I love it when a bitch answers my cold calls!" which is always met with immediate laughter. I often sense that the person on the other line feels a quick sense of relief when they realize that I am not facing some sort of imminent threat. Because surely I wouldn't cold call you unless my life was in danger, right? In an era where we've been so conditioned to seek instant gratification and chase dopamine rewards, it's remarkable how a friend answering a cold call can fulfill that new-fangled desire.

Admittedly, I'm not the type of person to call someone just because I wanted to hear their voice or because I was bored and wanted to gossip. But I used to be! And honestly? And to be frank, there's a little bit of a power dynamic to not sending a courtesy text first. Because why should I text you to ask if now is a good time to talk?! You're not Miranda fucking Priestly. I am!

Maybe this is just a me thing. I mean, I walk around New York and see Gen Z kids constantly on FaceTime - not even looking at the screen, just holding their phones up to their mouths like it's 2003 and they're on a Nextel Chirp. So maybe the spontaneous voice connection never actually died; it just evolved.

I think the only way to change people's perception of unexpected phone calls is by encouraging more people to get into the habit of cold-calling the homies.

I thought about you, so I called you.

It's really quite simple.

So here is my challenge to you. Cold call a homie today. If they don't respond, leave that voicemail to let them know that you were thinking about them. I promise it will brighten their day.

For years, I've been developing skills across different areas - web design, brand messaging, grant writing, podcasting, and community organizing. From designing websites for drag queens to helping advocacy organizations tell their stories more effectively, what seemed like separate skills have started connecting into something bigger.

Now I'm launching two projects that bring all of this together: a consulting practice focused on nonprofit growth, and a Fire Island podcast that amplifies voices of queer and trans people of color. Both feel like the natural culmination of everything I've been working toward.

As a freelancer, work isn't guaranteed, so I need the help of my friends and followers to get the word out about these projects.

My Fire Island Podcast

I was recently accepted into BRIC's Podcast Intensive, a competitive four-month program for Brooklyn residents that helps creators produce high-quality, story-driven shows. I'm using this opportunity to create the Fire Island podcast that's been taking shape in my mind.

For as long as I've been doing Fire Island equity and social justice work, I've been trying to figure out how to amplify voices beyond my own in ways that are resonant and have real impact. This project combines my advocacy work, storytelling experience with Fag Rag Magazine, and my dedication to creating platforms for voices that deserve a wider audience.

The podcast centers conversations about what joy looks like for queer and trans people of color on Fire Island. It's about celebration as much as it is about access and equity.

Some of you may remember that many years ago, I had a podcast called Sex Werrrk! It was about, you guessed it, sex work. My process then consisted of trying to record, edit, and publish content on a weekly basis. I loved creating it, but burned out after five episodes because my schedule couldn't accommodate that approach. This time, the intensive is giving me the structure, mentorship, and accountability to do this right. I'm pre-recording everything and building it properly.

In September, I'll be debuting the trailer at BRIC's listening party, and you'll all be invited to attend! The full podcast launch announcement will follow shortly after.

Here’s a demo of the pilot episode’s introduction. It’s not perfect! But it will be pretty close by the time it airs.

Would you believe me if I told you that I recorded that outside near a loud intersection in Downtown Brooklyn? My recording and editing skills are getting good!

Support the Podcast

I'm looking for founding supporters who want to connect with a thoughtful, engaged, and deeply queer audience while supporting meaningful storytelling.

🧑🏾‍💻 Executive Producer Credit – $500 in July

Perfect for individuals, creatives, or brands who want to be visibly aligned with the mission of this show.

• Your name (or your brand's) will be read at the end of every episode

Price increases to $650 in August, and $800 after August 31.

Secure Your Prodcuer Credit Here!

🎙️ Exclusive Season Sponsorship – $2,500 in July

Only one of these is available!

Your brand will receive:

• A 1-minute pre-roll, 1-minute mid-roll, and 1-minute post-roll ad in every episode (12 episodes total)

• This is an opportunity for story-driven ad content that listeners will remember

• Cross-promotion to a combined audience of 10k+ across social media and email, including engaged communities of QTPOC in NYC and Fag Rag Magazine's readership

Price increases to $3,000 in August and $3,500 after August 31. Early supporters lock in the best rate.

Book 30-minute Ad Discovery Call Now!

Know anyone who would be well-suited for this sponsorship opportunity? Forward them this email!

My New Consulting Practice

I'm launching Nonprofit Ignition, my consulting practice focused on helping organizations that are trying to change the world do it more effectively. I offer three main services:

Web Design (Starting at $12k) - I create websites that actually get results. Think of it like designing a digital headquarters that tells your story, engages supporters, and drives people to take action.

Brand Messaging (Starting at $3k) - I help organizations determine how to effectively communicate their work in ways that resonate with their audience. This means crafting messages that are clear, compelling, and authentic to their identity.

Grant Writing (Starting at $5k) - I research over one hundred funding opportunities and deliver the twenty that the organization has the strongest chance of winning. From there, they can apply in-house or work with me to write the applications.

My first project before niching down was designing a website for RuPaul's Drag Race winner Monét X Change. My recent clients include Gays Against Guns and the NYC Queer March. This work has shown me how to help mission-driven organizations connect with broader audiences.

Do you know of a nonprofit that could benefit from any of these services? I'd love for you to let me know who they are or help make a connection.

This isn't just about launching new projects. It's about building independent creative work that lets me show up fully, whether that's helping nonprofits grow their impact or amplifying voices on Fire Island. As a freelancer, I'm counting on my community to help spread the word about what I'm building.

If any of this resonates with you, let's build it together.

—Tomik