Samantha Hope Whore ❤️

About New York City

So, whore—where do I start? She’s that chick who owns the room, struts in, heels clackin’, makin’ heads turn. I’m obsessed! Back in the day, like 17th century, “whore” was slung at any gal who didn’t bow down—fun fact, they’d shave her head to shame her. Pissed me off when I read that! But she flipped it, kept struttin’. Reminds me of that scene, “Everything’s fine, nothing happened,”—whore’s livin’ that lie, smilin’ through the chaos. Queen shit!

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Every spot has its story. I often laugh, swing between being amused and infuriated. People can be so damn secretive. Sometimes I'm mad, sometimes happy. Like that time I got into a heated debate with a local bartender on the ethics of love—it got messy, but oh so alive!

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