
Connor Garel
Writer at Freelance
Contributor at Justsmile Magazine
writer from nowhere, canada! // words @dazed @thewalrus @nymag etc
Articles
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2 months ago |
anothermag.com | Rahim Fortune |Raphael Hirsch |Connor Garel |Styling Raphael Hirsch
PhotographyRahim FortuneStylingRaphael HirschTextConnor GarelLead Image This article is taken from the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of AnOther Magazine:I hear Colman Domingo before I see him – as I rise through the arteries of an old building in Brooklyn. His laughter, deep and low as thunder, spills into the hallway as the lift doors slide open.
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Jan 24, 2025 |
thewalrus.ca | Connor Garel
In one of many hysterical vignettes collaged in Johnny Would You Love Me if My Dick Were Bigger, a 2015 not-quite-memoir by the writer-artist-dancer-musician Brontez Purnell, our hero, a Black gay American waiter bored at work, anatomizes his discontents with dating another writer.
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Nov 27, 2024 |
justsmilemagazine.com | Connor Garel
This story appears in Justsmile Issue 5, How Do We Belong? Two brothers, newly arrived at the brittle cusp of adulthood, lean against a cobalt blue car in a rundown parking lot, confronting the camera’s gaze. One wears a hairnet, a gold chain, a self-protective posture, and a leather t-shirt resembling a bulletproof vest; the other sports a big white shirt with room to grow into, long dark trousers with room to grow into, and cradles a baby, presumably his own, that underscores his own youth.
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Nov 25, 2024 |
justsmilemagazine.com | Connor Garel
This story appears in Justsmile Issue 5, How Do We Belong? The eye does not see what it doesn’t want to see. What it has no use for. The social worker, the police officer, the crime reporter, the “revitalizing” developer: each materializes in all their supposed virtuosity and sees only the chaos, the menacing statistics, the procession of distrustful glances, the disadvantaged poor. But they do not see the people.
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Sep 9, 2024 |
dazeddigital.com | Connor Garel
Taken from the autumn 2024 issue of Dazed. Get your copy here. The miseducation of Mk.gee began with a technological error, a musical discordance. He was nine years old and it was the golden age of pirating, when YouTube-to-MP3 converters reigned supreme and streaming apps had yet to reach their cultural zenith, cornering the listening market and bending it around themselves.
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someone is driving around bedstuy blasting usher’s “climax” through the open windows, i know it’s spring but it’s 2012 and it’s summertime

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