Robyn Hankins is a Southern not-quite-belle with a penchant for body love, fatshion and crochet, as well as a former newspaper staff reporter. She can often be found with her nose in a book (or inches from the Kindle screen), rifling through thrift, consignment and discount stores for her next outfit or impulse buying yarn. She's also kinky and sex-positive and believes what consenting adults do behind closed doors is no one else's business.
What I Do, Job-wise: Play with words
What I Do, Fun-wise: Do you really want to know the answer to that? (Okay, so I read and crochet and swim, too. And study old buildings; I'm trained in preservation and I love history.)
My Motto: Life is too short to worry about always living up to everybody's expectations. Be you and fuck the haters. (Only, you know, don't actually fuck 'em. Ew.)
My Anti-Motto: Fox News is fair and balanced.
The First Movie Star I Ever Had A Crush On: David Bowie in his guise as Jareth the Goblin King … you know, that really should have been a clue …
My “Celebs To Make Out With” List: Ummm. Tony Head and Harrison Ford. And Joss Whedon. Though, to be honest, I really just wanna lick Joss' brain. The man is brilliant!
The Most Played Song On My iTunes: Hmmm … this one really is a toss up between “It Gets Better” (Rebecca Drysdale), “Brave” (Sara Bareilles) and anything by the Pistol Annies, Dixie Chicks and Miranda Lambert.
Last Book I Read Without Skimming Any Parts: “The Murder of the Century” by Paul Collins
My Most Worn Item of Clothing: My bras. They are awesome and do awesome things for my breasts. Also, dresses, all the dresses. I only own three pairs of pants. (True story.)
I Smell Like: Sandalwood and/or honeysuckle. Possibly with some baby powder mixed in.
Beauty Products That I Hoard: Sandalwood soap, honeysuckle body oil and Monistat's anti-chaffing gel. Also, arnica cream (great for helping reduce bruising).
I Have Faked An Orgasm (Yes/No): Nope. My past lovers might have been less than perfect (they were all human, after all), but I never had the need to fake the Big O.