It’s a “YES” for the Wilcox-Peranio engagement as the couple announced via social media over the weekend!
HOUSTON — FEB 13 — FACE Awards, About Magazine’s Creative Director, Lance Wilcox and his partner, prominent Hue Salon Stylist, Justin Peranio have announced their ‘long-awaited’ engagement.
“Perfect end to a perfect trip with a perfect man! I’m proud and unbelievably blessed to be engaged to Lance Wilcox” – Justin Peranio
The couple, who have been together since October 2014, made the announcement on Facebook over the weekend from Jaco, Costa Rica. The status update has garnered over 600 likes.
“Perfect end to a perfect trip with a perfect man! I’m proud and unbelievably blessed to be engaged to Lance Wilcox,” Peranio wrote in his post. The pair was on vacation in South America when Wilcox saw the opportunity to propose.
“We were on the balcony of our condo in Costa Rica,” Peranio says; explaining when the ‘question’ was popped. “He had a black ring box in his hand, and he knelt down and said ‘would you like to go on more adventures together,’ and of course I said yes!”
“Of course he said yes before I even got to ask him the question,” Wilcox says. “But thats what I love about him, nothing goes according to plan.”
With every LGBT engagement and wedding being unique, it’s up to each couple to interpret the traditions of marriage to suit their celebration. With Wilcox and Peranio, both have agreed to a ‘long’ engagement allowing time to plan their perfect day. “LGBT weddings are so new, it’s exciting that we can create a wedding that we want, and not have a book of etiquette to follow.” Wilcox said.
An official wedding date has not been set yet. Stay tuned.
Wineding Down Season Two Premiere: Lupe Valdez
About Magazine editor-in-chief, Anthony Ramirez, premieres the second season of his web series, Wineding Down with Anthony.
(HOUSTON) – In the season two premiere of his web series, Wineding Down with Anthony, Anthony Ramirez talks about political mayhem, boys, and voting before sitting down with former Dallas County Sheriff, Lupe Valdez, who is currently campaigning as the LGBTQ Democratic nominee for the Texas Governorship. Watch here:
Tricks and Treats, Pt. II
Less Than Butterflies, No. 2
At a certain point, I was undoubtedly drunk. Between Stephen’s specialty Nerds-flavored shots and the shots of Fireball in conjunction with all the vodka, I was just moments away from trying to play Someone Like You on the piano in the living room over whatever Bebe Rexha was shouting about. I refrained.
The party was fun and very much alive, but I was tiring quickly and wanted to see what was going on in Montrose before I retired for the evening. Courtney and Jennifer had already made their way to Pearl for the costume contest. Carter was flitting around the party, coming back every now and then to get a little handsy as the night progressed. The drunker I became, the less I fought it off. After all, I may not have been interested in Carter, but I was alone at a party and somewhat sadder than I had been before I was this drunk. The attention wasn’t killing me.
After goodbyes with Stephen and Leo and a few other people I’d met at the party, Carter and I dashed down the stairs to our cars to meet a couple of other friends at JR’s. Montrose, however, proved to be impossible to navigate thanks to street closures for Halloween and the perennial road work always taking place throughout the neighborhood. I must have parked six blocks from JR’s (and probably illegally, at that) before I was able to make my way to the bar.
The temperature had dropped significantly in a very short time, but it hadn’t prevented anyone from wandering the streets. Even the patio of JR’s was packed with people, as was every room of the bar. Finding Carter, as well as my friends Casey and Nick, proved to be much more difficult as I squeezed my way through the unnecessarily sweaty patrons.
When I did finally find them, I had trouble keeping my attention zeroed in on the conversation. This could partly be chalked up to drunkenness, but my distraction was due to everyone else in the bar. From Casey and Nick to every other pair, it became depressingly obvious that nearly everyone in the bar was coupled off.
Where had gay Christmas gone? Where had the twinks in wings and colorful underwear tottered off to? Even the bears in leather were partnered-up. Long gone seemed the days of going out on Halloween with the intention of hooking up or meeting someone interesting who may only seem attractive at the time due to their costume. Looking around, I obsessed over the fact that out of 5 million people in the city of Houston—granted only a minority of them gay—everyone out for Halloween was already spoken for. Where were all the single people? Was there some sort of single, gay, Halloween party I hadn’t been invited to where everyone drank wine and watched Practical Magic until they’d become so drunk and suicidal that they decided to join hands and jump off the roof like Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman at the end of the movie?
Why hadn’t I been invited?
The clock struck 2 AM sooner than I’d have guessed, and Carter and I made our way through busy Montrose hand-in-hand toward our cars.
Unfortunately, like on so many occasions before, I couldn’t find my car anywhere.
“Fuck,” I swore, irritated with myself for not thinking to pay more attention when I’d parked.
“It’s fine,” Carter told me as he led me to his car. “I’ll drive you around until we find it.”
If ever there came a day when I didn’t have to rely on a man to help me find my car, I might actually wake up a different person. Sadly, that was becoming more and more a trademark of who I’d become.
Finding the car didn’t take long. Once we’d passed by JR’s, I began to remember how I’d walked to the bar from my car. Carter pulled up right behind it to let me out on the corner like a hooker who’d lost her way. He leaned in to hug me, lingering a bit before he kissed me on the cheek. Once he had, I kissed his back.
What happened next I could blame on the alcohol, but I’d be lying. Being drunk had never made me do anything. I knew better than that. Still, as I moved just a little bit to the right and kissed Carter on his lips, I couldn’t compose a justifiable reason why I’d done it. He kissed me back, and we did so a little more before my senses returned to me and I pulled away.
This was not the magic of Halloween. This was a drunk, lonely gay who’d been thinking of another gay all night while taking advantage of his friend. And though Carter didn’t object and reciprocated the kiss, I was taking advantage of his kindness, and for that I felt like shit.
I bid him goodnight, then sped off in my own car. I was embarrassed. Not because Carter wasn’t cute, he certainly was. But because I’d escalated to a new level of sluttiness—the kind that involves and can harm your friendships.
I guess I really had put the ‘trick’ in trick-or-treat, even if only by way of innocently kissing a friend in whom I had no romantic interest. Worst of all, though, I felt unfulfilled. This kiss hadn’t meant anything, though maybe part of me was hoping that it would have coming from a boy who at least paid attention to me and made me feel attractive. But the magic—Halloween or otherwise—simply hadn’t been there.
Even on a night when witches were supposed to fly their broomsticks across the night sky, and spirits were said to creep from one side of the veil to the other, and twinks paraded around in their underwear and angel wings, maybe the magic of gay Halloween wasn’t resting in how much we had to drink or how slutty we became thereafter. It laid in our friendships—the unexpected ones that started off as silly crushes, and the ones that we kissed by accident that we’d never crushed on before and probably never would. Those were the people who made Halloween—a night of needless celebration—fun. They were the ones we could count on no matter what.
Tricks and Treats, Pt. I
Less Than Butterflies, No. 2
It’s no secret that Halloween is gay Christmas. It’s not as though we’ve ever needed an excuse to dress up in costume or drag and attend some hedonistic party in Montrose where someone will certainly be distributing ecstasy in the bathroom while remixes of every song by every pop icon are blared in the dark, trembling background. But Halloween poses a different sort of spectacle than every other party in Montrose. Inhibitions are lost; time seems to slow; and there’s an affection for our friends that provides a kind of high not brought on by bathroom ecstasy or specialty shots.
Plus, we get a little bit sluttier. At least I do. I being the person who puts the ‘trick’ in ‘trick or treat.’
There’s no logic or rule that dictates why Halloween puts us in such good spirits. Maybe it’s something psychological. Maybe it’s all hype. Or maybe, just maybe, there is something truly magical about Halloween.
Even in my exhaustion after two long weeks with work-related affairs, I couldn’t move myself to peel away from the idea of attending my friend Stephen’s boyfriend’s Halloween party. It was an annual event—or it was at least becoming one—that had the year before proven to be like any other gay Halloween party: a genus of twinks in brightly colored underwear donning body glitter and angel wings. This, mind you, was at an American Horror Story-themed party. Stephen’s apartment was small and the air conditioning was hardly working. An hour in, everyone was sweating and trying to escape into the 90-degree outdoors just to catch a breath.
This year, however, Leo (Stephen’s boyfriend) had relocated the party to a friend and co-host’s townhome off Washington. The theme? Netflix’s GLOW—appropriately retitled as the Gays and Lesbians of Wrestling.
As per the usual, I was dateless. I’d invited Ezra to accompany me, but he was to visit friends in San Antonio for the weekend. Luckily, my friend Carter tagged along with me. Carter and I hadn’t been friends for long. Like most of my friends at the time, we’d met through Pride. Carter was 30, single, and sweet, and not at all my type. Still, he was a good friend and an intent listener and the kind of person who would do anything for anyone.
We drank a bottle of wine at Barnaby’s before heading toward Washington for the party. Upon arrival, it was clear that Stephen had already been drinking well before our arrival. My friend Courtney and her girlfriend, Jennifer were also there, dressed from neck-to-ankles in incandescent Lycra. Just as the year before, a large portion of the attendees had taken it upon themselves to ignore the theme of the party—myself included, as I was not sure I had the body type to be wearing fabrics with such elasticity.
That’s not true. I was sure. I was certain that I did not. I did, however, dress nice enough and put on some black lipstick just for the hell of it.
Stephen grabbed me by the wrist just after I’d made a drink and dragged me to a wet bar in the living room of the townhome. “Let’s do a shot!” he suggested with all the charisma of a Beyonce drag impersonator. But like with all things when it came to Stephen—shots, bottles of wine, valid points in a heated debate—one shot turned into several shots.
My background with Stephen was relatively short, but fast-paced in some rights. He was one of the very first people I’d met at Pride Houston when I was a first-year volunteer. To be completely honest, when we first met, I thought Stephen was cute. True, he was gross and sweaty from working all evening in the sun and was about 15-pounds underweight. But in his glasses and seemingly-nerdy disposition, I was initially attracted to him. For a while, my friend Alice and I couldn’t figure out his last name and took to referring to him as just Hot Stephen.
But much like books, a boy should never be judged by his cover. As I transitioned into my role as the volunteer chair for Pride, Stephen and I encountered each other more frequently. Real Stephen was vastly different from first-impression Stephen. He wasn’t as tightly wound and I don’t think I ever saw those glasses again. True, Stephen was a pretty boy, but he was also a boy who was spoken for and whose personality—regardless of whether or not he’d ever admit it—was too much like mine. Opinionated, mildly neurotic, a little slutty, and often drunk.
As my first year as a chair dragged on, Stephen and I saw a lot more of each other. Pride events and workdays eventually turned into drinks at the Eagle or numerous bottles of wine at Barnaby’s or birthday and dinner parties. The conversations that had once just revolved around our work with Pride grew inclusive of similar interests. Soon we’d become friends.
After a few more shots, I found myself standing outside on the balcony smoking a cigarette with some strangers from Mexico. One of the two was in medical school and in Houston for her internship. The other was presumably her boyfriend. A moment later, Stephen found his way outside to the patio.
“I knew you’d be out here smoking. I’m gonna lock you out,” Stephen said before engaging with the medical student and her boyfriend. When their own cigarettes were finished, they made a quick exit and Stephen and I had changed the topic to the busy week we’d had with Pride work, the party, and our friends inside. It wasn’t until the tail-end of the conversation that Stephen asked, “So, how’s Ezra?”
“I think he’s fine. He’s in San Antonio right now, if I’m not mistaken.”
He took a sip from his straw while gulping down some vodka as he goes, “Mhm. Mhm.” Once he’d swallowed and removed the straw from his mouth, he asked, “And what’s the deal with that?”
I paused just long enough to roll my eyes. “Nothing . . . ? We’re just friends.”
More, “Mhm. Mhm,” until he was slurping what remained of his vodka out of bottom of his Solo cup. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Have fun, though!” he told me as he slipped back inside. However, before he’d closed the door, Stephen poked his head back through the threshold and said, “You know, I’m really glad we became friends.”
I couldn’t help but smile a bit. Formerly Hot Stephen I knew nothing about had graduated into Close Friend Stephen, which turned out to be a good fit for him.
“God. You’re so gay,” I told him as I rolled my eyes, relatively unable to ever reciprocate kindness. He stepped back onto the balcony for a second and pointed to his cheek. I laughed, then gave him a kiss there, leaving a large, black lipstick stain under his cheekbone.
“You’re my favorite person in Pride,” he told me as he slid through the door and closed it behind him.
That was gay Halloween magic at its finest—bringing two very unlikely people together to be friends . . . even if both were extremely drunk.
Oddly enough, however, Stephen’s momentary mention of Ezra made me wonder what he was up to. I nearly pulled my phone from my pocket to text him, but realized it was late and that I shouldn’t bug him while he was out of town with his friends. I could gather, however, that Ezra probably wasn’t at some rager in San Antonio like I was in Houston. A part of me missed him.
Regardless, I resolved to wander back inside and drink through it like a grown-up.
Although, as I turned to open the door back into the townhome, I made an attempt to turn the knob, rattling and shaking it until it became increasingly clear that Stephen had, in fact, locked me out on the balcony.
Love Me Tinder, Pt. I
Less Than Butterflies, No. 1
“Some people are settling down; some people are settling; and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.”
Generally speaking, dating can be fun. Dating in Houston, on the other hand, can often feel . . . obligatory. In a city of over five million people, one might think that the options available are vast and perennial. After all, all our friends are doing it. Right? If they aren’t, they’ve probably already settled down or have at least settled for someone because they were tired of mining through the endless herds of undatable people.
For gay men in Houston, it’s usually always the same sort. There’s lives-with-his-parents guy, has-too-many-roommates guy, just-wants-to-hook-up guy, wants-to-fall-in-love-immediately guy, and often even gay-republican guy—the worst of them all. And the dates? Well, they all seem repetitive, too. Dinner at Cyclone Anaya’s in Midtown; $10 bottles of wine at Barnaby’s (an option I don’t particularly hate); ice skating at Discovery Green in the wintertime; dancing and doing coke at South Beach (FYI: not a date, gentlemen).
Inevitably, there comes the postcoital wave of regret—looking over at a stranger who is just as ready for you to leave as you are to leave; sneaking out of some shitty Montrose hellhole apartment in the wee hours of the morning, just as the sprinklers of the neighbors—whose luxurious townhome you’d hoped to be hooking up in—power on; forgetting you Ubered to your hook-up.
For we Millennials, a subtle escape from this trap has been air-dropped into our phones. Several, actually. Tinder, Scruff, J-Date, Farmer’s Only, Grindr—I’m still waiting on the lesbian hookup app called Lickr. Still, there’s a certain conceit behind dating in queer culture—especially so following the introduction of these dating apps. They’ve stepped in and started minimizing the once boastful, giddy romance of meeting the right person. There are no meet-cutes anymore. There are no accidental run-ins at the bookshop or a coffee house. Romance has left the building, now replaced by right swipes and recognizable pings coming from cell phones when someone attractive is nearby.
I, personally, have never taken Tinder seriously. Still, every now and again a conversation might spark between me and no one in particular that would ultimately lead down a rabbit hole of realizations that we had nothing in common and that the person on the opposite side was only looking for sex. Neither suited my fancy; and I never even entertained the idea of meeting any of these men.
There was, however, one occasion in which I was able to hold a decent conversation with a man, and we kept it going sporadically for a couple months to follow. Our interests were quite similar: musicals, books, etc. Once or twice I even thought maybe I should ask this boy—we’ll call him Ezra Rochester—for a date. Still, I found myself at a loss of nerves and never made the leap to do so. I knew little about him, other than the fact that he loved musicals as much as I did and that he had an adorable dog I was probably more interested in meeting than I was him.
As the time passed, I found myself in a relationship with a boy I’d met at The Room Bar in North Houston. We dated briefly before I realized he was dumber than a hot bag of stones, but it was just long enough for me to have rid myself of my Tinder app. When the guy from the bar and I broke up, I didn’t think about Ezra. He was just a picture and a conversation in an app I’d deleted. It never occurred to me that in a city of over five million people, chance might bring us together.
Ezra turned out to be much cuter in person than he was in photos. Not to say that he wasn’t attractive in his pictures. After all, I’d swiped right for some reason. He was shorter than me, but not terribly so. He had forsaken his glasses in the name of Lasik. He was clean-shaven; and he didn’t have terrible teeth. It was enough for me.
We met like any other two people who had once upon a time matched on Tinder. I, the volunteer chair for Pride Houston, was hosting an orientation a few weeks out from the parade and festival. He was there to learn the ins-and-outs of being a volunteer. I didn’t recognize him at first. If I had to remember the face of every man I’ve ever seen on Tinder, I’d be in a great deal of trouble. It wasn’t until he was gone and I had already been doing a great deal of flirting (as pointed out by my friend Alice) that I took it upon myself to Facebook-stalk him.
“Omigod,” I muttered to Alice. “We matched on Tinder like in the fall of last year. Christ. I was just shamelessly flirting with him.”
“You really were,” Alice muttered.
“Was he flirting back?” I asked.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment—a common look that crosses her face but often remains stuck to it once the thought has passed or imploded. “I don’t know. I think maybe a little. It’s hard to tell.”
I made up my mind then. I had for the first time met someone from Tinder—even if unintentionally. I wasn’t sure whether or not I believed in coincidence, but I knew that in a city as large, as spread-out, and as heavily populated as Houston, two people didn’t just happen upon each other in this way very often. It could have meant nothing. In fact, it probably didn’t mean a thing at all. Still, I wasn’t going to find out if I didn’t see it through.
The day of the Houston LGBT Pride Celebration 2017, Ezra spent nearly the entire day volunteering and was even the last of my volunteers to leave. To say things wouldn’t have gotten done without him—at least not as quickly as they did—would be an understatement. And at the end of it all, as he, Alice, and I watched the last U-Haul drive off carrying supplies, looking back up at Houston’s City Hall, Ezra turned his attention back us both, gave an awkward smile, and said, “Well . . . see you next year.”
“Next year?!” I shrieked as soon as he was out of earshot. “I don’t even know if I like him yet or not and I have to wait until next year to find out?”
“You could just go over there and ask him out,” Alice suggested.
Not an option.
I didn’t then nor do I feel it’s fair to ask someone out after a 12-hour volunteer shift in the splintering sun. No rational decisions could be made. Still, there was something compelling about him that I didn’t quite understand at the time. He was cute, and completely awkward and nerdy (my default type). It could have been the way that he had a playfully combative response to each and every witty thing that I said. It could have even been the dryness of his humor. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that a boy put a smile on my face while I was altogether sober that I hadn’t met in a bar like so many before him.
Houston Gay Interracial Couple Explains Their Love
Gay Houston Interracial Couple Detail The Endurance Of Their Relationship
(HOUSTON) — On the humid summer night of July 11, 1958, Richard and Mildred Loving lay asleep when armed police burst into their bedroom and arrested the newlyweds. In 1958 twenty-four states had laws prohibiting interracial marriages.
The case would become to know as the historic Loving v. Virginia. A U.S. Supreme Court victory that set aside laws prohibiting interracial marriages. The last law officially prohibiting interracial marriage was repealed in Alabama in 2000.
Fast forward to June 26th, 2015, when the United States Supreme Court that state level bans on same-sex marriage are unconstitutional. The historic ruling came nearly forty-six years after New York’s Stonewall Inn riots.
After visually combining both monumental civil rights victories. Step into the lives of two gay men in an interracial relationship in Houston.
Reza Nouri and Cameron Phillips met about 3 years ago in Montrose. Phillips was getting his hair cut at Hollywood Hair and Nails Salon, a small boutique saloon Nouri has owned since 2003.
“We instantly got on the subject of his home country and its current state of affairs,” Phillips explains of their immediate connection on an intellectual level. Nouri moved to the United States from Tehran, Iran. “I could see and hear the passion he had in him. He wasn’t bad looking either.”
The pair instantly saw something in one another that later became a solid relationship. But it was the hardships the couple would receive because of their races, which would be the true test of their commitment to one other.
The backlash the couple has endured because of their different worlds in the sense of culture and race has been nasty sometimes. “But there are always nasty people out there,” Nouri explains. “Houston and Montrose have been very accepting of me and us.”
In Philips’ opinion, his partner constantly receives the blunt of the prejudice. “He always has to explain who he is and why he is here,” Phillips explains of his partner’s ethnicity. “He is very sensitive about [his race], and rightfully so.”
Phillip’s describes how his partner Nouri is the most patriotic American. “He is by far the most patriotic person I know,” Phillips describes. “It’s not hollow patriotism like waving a flag and chanting USA! USA!”… It’s a deep sense of duty and loyalty to his adopted homeland… it’s really one of my favorite things about him. It’s genuine.”
In the year 2017 it is amazing that we are finally able to celebrate a same sex interracial couple who stands equally under the law.
Dating App Jack’d To Remain Free Contrary To Recent Reports
Leading Gay Social App Woo-ing Urban Millennials with No-Charge Hook-Ups
“Our research continues to show that our targeted demographic does not pay for music, games, movies, or dating,” stated Phil Henricks, VP of Strategy and Business Development at Online Buddies, the parent company of Jack’d. “They’ve been raised to expect that digital products are free and they don’t see any reason to start paying for them now.”
Jack’d’s path to monetization is through selling advertising to corporations eager to reach the hard-to-find gay, urban millennial. “They’re a multi million dollar demographic”, Henricks said. “While they’re not willing to purchase digital products, they have tremendous buying power and have no problem shelling out $5 on a cup of coffee or $200 on a pair of sneakers.”
More than 60% of Jack’d’s revenue comes from Fortune 500 companies, clothing retailers, and the tourism industry, all of whom have run banners on the app in recent weeks. “We see it as a win for everyone. We attract the gay, urban millennials that our members want and our advertisers have a quick, easy way to reach them.”
Nearly five million men around the world have joined Jack’d since its launch in 2010 and it consistently ranks among the top four gay social apps in both the App Store and Google Play. 67% of Jack’d members in the United States are between 18-26. Nearly 60% are Black and Latino.
“Members appreciate that our free version offers many of the premium features they would have to pay for on competing apps,” Alon Rivel, Jack’d’s Brand Manager told us.
As for banners, Henricks says Jack’d members are not bothered by them, citing only 3% of members have opted to pay for Jack’d to avoid the banners. “They understand that someone has to pay for the app. As long as it’s not them, they don’t give it a second thought.”
Grindr Goes To The Chinese | Popular App Sells 60%
Grindr has sold 60% stake to China gaming company for $93 million
Beijing Kunlun Tech values app at $155 million
The popular gay app, Grindr has sold a 60% stake to Chinese online gaming company for $93 million.
The Shenzhen-listed company announced on January 11, 2016 it had bought 98,448,000 shares in New Grindr – giving the value of the six-year-old startup at $155 million.
The remaining shares will be held by founder Joel Simkhai and his employees.
The company emphasized that the deal still had to pass an antitrust review.
In the fiscal year 2014, New Grindr had revenue of $31.74 million – with profit of $13.74 million – 66% from its 10.5 million members in 196 countries.
Straight Guys Reveal They’re Having A lot Of Gay Sex
by Joe Morgan
Straight guys are having a surprising amount of gay sex, according to the latest national survey.
Researchers have interviewed more than 9,000 men and women aged between 18 and 44 between 2011 and 2013. Americans were asked to talk about their sexual experiences, who they are attracted to and how they label their sexual orientation.
And guys who identify as straight are having quite a bit of gay sex.
The CDC learned 1.9% of men said they were gay and 2% were bisexual – up from 1.2% from the last survey.
However, 6.2% of men said they had engaged in either oral or anal sex with another guy.
So this means, at least 2.3% of men engaging in gay sex who say they are straight.
‘You do expect some differences,’ said Casey E. Copen, the lead author of the study. ‘For some people … they may or may not have had the experiences they’re contemplating, [especially] if they’re younger.’
Invite Only Gay Dating App Launches
For a long time gay apps ‘dating’ have been built for anonymity, instant access and faceless profiles. A new app wants to change gay dating in 2016 with an invitation-only, tight-knit community, in order to avoid catfishing, creeps and time wasters.
The new Hanky app, developed in response to growing concerns about the users of dating apps.
In order to join Hanky you need an invite code from a friend and validate your phone number, or sign up with your Facebook account. If you do not have an invite code at least three current members will have to vote you in.
“For a long time we’ve been fed up with the vibe of the other gay apps.” Jonas Cronfeld, co-founder of Hanky, stated. “We wanted to duplicate the nice vibe we experience when being introduced to friends of our best friends. There’s always a dash of trust and an expectation that we’re somehow on the same page.”
Hanky already receives thousands of applications every day from around the world, but 8 out of 10 guys do not get in. Jonas says:
“We will probably never have 5 million members like some of these other apps because so many get turned away. But we’ll choose quality over quantity any day. Sure, big numbers are nice, but none of our competitors have got the actual experience right – something we will never compromise on. Our users are nicer and sexier.”
Hanky is currently available for iPhone. Android version coming in 2016.
For more information and download visit http://www.Hanky.com .