I’ll wear clothes that are falling apart, I only put on make up for job interviews, but I feel like less of a person when my hair looks like shit. But the idea of spending $60+ on a haircut makes me want to vomit. So since moving to New York,

I’m gonna be really real right now: the only thing that gets me wetter than fantasizing about making it with one of Marva Whitney’s back-up dancers is basking in the sun and eating some down home, backyard barbeque. You can imagine my reaction, then, when I heard about Hard French,

As 2024 winds down, we’re reflecting on another incredible year of sharing the stories, art, culture, and nightlife that make the Bay Area so unique. BrokeAssStuart.com wouldn’t be what it is without you—our community of readers, supporters, and believers in independent media. This year, instead of asking you to join Patreon

As far as fro-yo goes, Pinkberry is top of the pops. Nevermind that the Los Angeles-based brand had to battle a whole bunch of haters who claimed that its tangy-sweet swirls weren’t as healthy as one might think. BFD, I say. Just look at it. It’s subzero, soft-serve sourness in

I feel like it was fated, like I was meant to post about Saturday’s Writers With Drinks at The Make-Out Room.  Why?  Because a few weeks ago, after deciding I was too bored at the gym to work out for more than five minutes without stimulation that did not involve

When you’ve grown up somewhere, there eventually comes the time when you’re walking down the street and realize: that you have walked up and down that street so many times, hung out on it with your friends, passed through it on the way to a party –  and it’s not

Not that we would encourage you to drink on your lunch break, but it’s Thursday, and dammit you work hard for that meager paycheck. So tell your coworkers you can’t come along with them to get stale potstickers from the steam trays at Lee’s Deli and head over to the

Twelve dollars could buy you…

One cosmopolitan.
or
Three tacos from the Endless Summer Taco Truck in Williamsburg.
or
A bottle of wine.
or………

When you go to college in the town that made Dave Matthews popular you start to associate the term “local music” with shitty cover bands and impressively mediocre acts that might not ever release anything more substantial than xeroxed fliers to their show at a friend’s house. San Francisco, on