out at the rally for zohran at brooklyn steel and brat at barclays
doing my civic duty
Pop Culture is back! I’ll be at No Bar at The Standard East Village hosting NOT YOUR STANDARD TRIVIA with a HI GAY! PRIDE theme on this Tuesday, June 24 at 7pm sponsored by Vacation Sunscreen.
Hard Candy, the sweetest comedy show in NYC, is having a pride show on Sunday, June 29 at 7pm at The Stand. I’d love to see you there!
I went to The Materialists premiere last week, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I told Celine, the writer/director, at the party that she’d given me an existential crisis—which was true. And since then, I’ve even brought it up in therapy, so the film has definitely made an impact.
Before the movie started, my date, Ava, said she thought Dakota Johnson’s character would end up alone. I said, “No way. It’s not a movie if she doesn’t end up with Chris Evans.” Watch out for spoilers—but I’m kind of upset that I was right.
And after a lot of overthinking and a full therapy session dedicated to this, I’ve realized: I just wanted her to pick Pedro Pascal.
Look, I understand that she and Chris Evans have a pre-existing and strong connection. They’re in love, sure. But he’s been flailing—up to 37 years old. He’s unwilling to take on a more stable lifestyle while pursuing his dreams, which reminds me a lot a lot a lot of my ex. They’re constantly fighting about finances and stability. Unsexy. Really sad! Sure, he’s going to start doing commercial auditions now… but how many of those is he realistically going to book?
As the middle class gets squeezed, it’s becoming less and less likely that anyone can make a major lifestyle jump without suddenly coming into wealth—either through marrying someone with a much higher income or via inheritance. It’s getting harder to afford just basic necessities. It’s so bleak.
And maybe she and Pedro don’t love each other, but they have mutual respect. Maybe he’ll eventually leave her for someone younger—but she can protect against that via contract. Bitch loves a mutually beneficial agreement. And it goes without saying… his apartment.
Dakota, why don’t you want someone who wants to take care of you??
What the hell is wrong with you??
I’m freaking out! My therapist and I are stressed.
Thanks a lot, Celine.
It’s a gorgeous movie, you should go see it if you haven’t, then tell me what you think.
I’m not going to write more specifically about the premiere because I want to keep getting invited, but I will say it was DJed by Jeff Bezos’s private DJ—the one who was at the space launch (yes, that job exists)—and she was reaaaally good. She better be, or she’d be sent to the stratosphere and never seen again. They had a wedding cake, which was an adorable touch.
I was mildly brushed off by a more successful comedian who was all up in my DMs last year, but was on a date at the party (yuck!). And I asked Logan Lerman if he was lost—he was, and we ended up talking for 15 minutes. Thanks for having me, A24.
Day of the Week: Saturday
Neighborhood: Williamsburg
The Crew: Zohran’s incredible event staff and later friend of the newsletter, the hilarious Blair Dawson
The Fit: White screenprinted Zohran baby t-shirt with a see-through She*n black tank top underneath (for later), black skort, and black heeled boots. The vibe was Zohrbrat.
Home by 2am
THE GAME: Zohran’s Rally at Brooklyn Steel
Speaking of the squeezed middle class—I ranked Zohran Mamdani #1 in the NYC mayoral election. I’ve also been volunteering for his Deputy Campaign Manager on the events team. I cold emailed them asking if I could contribute my skills… because I really just cannot stomach canvassing.
I’m so thankful for the people who can—we need you. But I just can’t do it. I get rejected enough in my regular life.
We had our first rally for 2,000+ people at Brooklyn Steel a few weeks ago. And yeah, I helped choose the venue and negotiate the terms of the agreement. I’m another bitch who loves a contract.
Brooklyn Steel is a cavernous concert space where I’ve gone on an unsuccessful first date with a music manager who had a half-shaved head (a choice!) and seen both Lawrence and Sleigh Bells (the range!). (Aesthetic: 6/10.)
My role at the event was “fixer,” which mostly meant arriving at 12 p.m. and getting whatever shit needed to get done, done. Also: supervising ingress. I have a particular fondness for a smooth ingress. If we can’t do ingress, then we can’t do Mayor.
Part of the job involved making sure all the gaps were filled in the on-stage seating. About 15 minutes before showtime, we realized there were a few empty spots—so I went up to the hottest, coolest group of friends I could find.
“Hi, you guys are so cool. You should go sit on stage.”
They laughed in my face.
A hot guy in overalls, wearing his Zohran bandana like a babushka, pointed to a gorgeous girl in the group and said, “You know who she is?”
…Literally no.
“That’s his wife.”
Yes, of course the hottest, coolest group of friends at the function would include Zohran’s illustrator wife, Rama. And this was pre the internet hard launch he was forced to do, which created a Pinterest frenzy over their subway wedding photos.
They politely declined.
And now this is where I need to tell you that I voted for Zohran for a myriad of reasons—I want this city to have free buses, universal childcare, more affordable housing, subsidized grocery stores, a higher minimum wage, and to freeze the fucking rent. But also: he’s a politician who actually cares. He’s nimble, present, and living in this current moment. He’s not out of touch—he’s in a million places at once—and he’s commuting to them on the subway.
It feels like when AOC was first running. There’s so much hope and possibility in his campaign. Even if he can’t accomplish his full agenda—even if it’s pie in the sky—I’d still rather aim for the sky. Hello?? It’s New York City, best city in the world. Shoot for the skyscrapers, not the subway rats.
And sure, he’s hot—have you seen that he wears a whole stack of silver rings in his Mayor Drag? You can’t hide swag. Sue me. At least someone will be defending my rights in court if he wins…
We’ve met a few times now. At first, I was absolutely starstruck and tongue-tied—but since then… we’ve done shots—as is my civic duty to do shots with our future mayor (tequila, if you’re wondering). He’s really, really great—and so is his entire hardworking staff.
We’d be so lucky to have him represent us.
Please go vote—and rank Z first.
It was really powerful to watch him speak at the rally and to be surrounded by so many young people who are this activated about a primary election. Democracy lives! (Patriotic-Ass Factor: 10/10).
…And afterwards, all I wanted was a drink. The head of security at the venue was attractive in a gruff, confident, masculine way, and he’d been helping me in particular all night. What can I say—I’m turned on by smooth ingress.
I asked him if he’d get me a drink ;)
I got what would normally be a $20 prosecco (Yummy-ness: 3/10), and he told me he lives in Long Island and is a Republican…
At least he cares enough about his job to be partisan for a night. (Husband Material: 0/10.)
On to the next…
THE AFTER-PARTY: Brat at Barclays
Maybe the only venue with more young people who believe in the cause than Brooklyn Steel… was Barclays for Brat. And the cause—brat—chaos, having fun, being messy, living loud and big—is, arguably, pretty socialist.
Blair and I bought tickets on a whim—pretty high up, which ultimately didn’t matter because Charli is a force of one. The whole arena was on their feet for her, and she filled the space on vibes alone —no back-up dancers, no band, nothing. The concrete was shaking under the weight of thousands of hyped-up girls and gays, screaming their vaped-out lungs.(Shaking Ass Factor: 10/10). (Husband Material: 0/10).
We took a shot of tequila and an XL White Claw each. I only ever have big boy White Claws at a concert, and something about the concept of a huge seltzer is so funny to me and antithetical to the whole concept of spiked seltzer. Who do I think I am…a frat star? With my big bubbles? Am I gonna chug that and get a tummy-ache? White Claws should be petite. (Yummy-ness: 5/10).
We were pretty blissed out for those two hours, reliving Brat Summer—a perfect moment in time when nothing felt real, and everything was fun and free. No consequences, just brat.
I really hope Zohran wins. I don’t want to burst this bubble—that maybe here, maybe in New York, things can be different. That we can choose idealism and love, even if to the outside world it looks like the impractical choice. Fuck them.
Dakota Johnson can choose Chris Evans, and she won’t be destitute. We don’t have to fight over pennies. And the men we elect? Maybe they’ll actually take care of us.
Maybe we can have it all?
Where should I go next!? Leave a comment, email me, or send me a DM, and I’ll wait in lines, try the cocktails, and try to save democracy for you!