Bossypants

“Almost everyone first realized they were becoming a grown woman when some dude did something nasty to them.” 

At a workshop, women are asked to identity “the moment when they first ‘knew they were a woman’” (16). In choosing moments in which men objectified them foretells the many incidents of objectification Fey describes throughout Bossypants. Fey’s decision to include this example in a chapter about growing up suggests that learning of their sexual objectivity is a major facet of girls’ growth into womanhood. The incident’s appearance in such an early chapter further foreshadows that sexual objectivity will be a theme in Bossypants.

“This was how I found out that there are an infinite number of things that can be ‘incorrect’ on a woman’s body.” 

As a teenager, Fey goes to the beach with her female cousins, who “taught [her] everything [she] know[s] about womanhood” (19). When her cousin criticizes the hips of a passing woman, Fey, who “didn’t know hips could be a problem” (20), worries over her own hips. This is the moment she realizes that women’s bodies are judged, that women are expected to buy products and follow beauty regimens that force their bodies to conform to an ideal beauty, and that the requirements of ideal beauty contradict each other. Later in the chapter, Fey discusses the worship of blond hair, lamenting that even at three years old, her daughter “knew that yellow hair is king” (22). She asks how we can teach our daughters “that they are good enough the way they are” (23-24). To “lead by example,” she lists her own physical qualities, none of which fit the “impossible ideal” (24).

“The stomachache I felt had nothing to do with a crush. I had to face the fact that I had been using my gay friends as props.”

Fey regrets intervening in her gay friend’s potential relationship with a man she doesn’t like; she realizes that she had expected them “to be funny and entertain me and praise me and listen to my problems, and [that] their life was supposed to be a secret that no one wanted to hear about” (40). In Bossypants, Fey is open about her mistakes and the lessons she takes away from them. Here, she learns that knowing people are equal is not enough if one doesn’t live this knowledge every day. Although she’d stood up to a health teacher who’d made homophobic remarks, her behavior hadn’t fully allowed for their humanity. 

“With his dream of a theater program for young people, Larry Wentzler had inadvertently done an amazing thing for all these squirrels. They had a place where they belonged, and, even if it was because he didn’t want to deal with their being different, he didn’t treat them any differently. Which I think is a pretty successful implementation of Christianity.” 

Fey admires Larry Wentzler, the man behind Summer Showtime, as someone who has added to the community by offering a haven for those marginalized in society. In “Young Men’s Christian Association,” Fey describes how the man who ran the YMCA residence organized a Christmas dinner for the men who lived there and how “the thought of Mr. Mvzkrskchs at the dollar store buying forty pairs of tube socks […] set me weeping all the way home” (70). In these examples, Fey is emotionally affected when she witnesses acts of humanity directed toward those most in need of them. They contribute to her belief in fairness and in the need to withhold judgment on those who are different.

“How can I give her what Don Fey gave me? The gift of anxiety. The gift of getting in trouble.”

One of the first facts Fey shares about her father is that “his stern expression,” which gave her “terror burps” as a child, is “just his face” (43). She describes him as “a badass” who “was a code breaker in Korea” and “a fireman in Philadelphia” (45); a member of “the Silent Generation” (50) who grew up “getting an orange for Christmas” (46), he inspires awe even in the most “powerful men” (51). Fey covets his ability to “frighten” her as a child; she laments the fact that her daughter is “not scared of my husband or me at all” and believes that kids need “[t]he knowledge that while you are loved, you are not above the law” (50). Her question is one of several parenting-related questions she asks in Bossypants. Just as she admires certain colleagues for the comedic abilities and for what they’ve taught her in her career, she admires her father for his self-assurance in parenting, and she hopes to emulate it. The humor with which she writes about her fear of her father endears him to the reader. She describes him from the point of view of a little girl, yet her inserting of the lessons she now recognizes as an adult emphasize his humanity.

“As weird as the night’s events had been, I couldn’t help but be excited about the fact that I had climbed a mountain.” 

At the top of Old Rag Mountain, Handsome Robert Wuhl reveals that he is romantically interested in another girl. Fey had neglected to notice more than one “red flag,” and HRW continued to participate in “[s]ecret make-out time” (55) with her, thus keeping the fire of her hope alive. After returning home from the mountain, Fey focuses not on the disappointment of finding out he isn’t interested in her but in the knowledge that she had accomplished something she hadn’t thought herself capable of. It’s an offhand statement, one on which she doesn’t elaborate, but it’s central to her story nonetheless: the lesson that she can make seemingly impossible things happen, that she can climb to the top of the world, both literally and figuratively, is one she takes with her as she interviews for Saturday Night Live and ultimately creates her own show. Like many lessons she discusses in the book, it isn’t the lesson she’d expected to learn, but it’s possibly a more important one—thus demonstrating that life takes us in interesting, unexpected directions.

“It was a power pyramid.” 

Fey’s experience at the YMCA in Chicago—in which “a middle class of women […] did all the work and kept the place running” beneath “two or three of the least-useful men you ever met” and an Executive Director “who had no idea who anyone was or what anyone did” (71)—sets a precedent for patriarchal hierarchies she encounters throughout the rest of her career. At The Second City, the male producers resist casting more women, believing “[t]he audience doesn’t want to see a scene between two women” and that “the women wouldn’t have any ideas” (80). Even at Saturday Night Live, where years later male producers “were willing to trust” (128) female writers who write female-centered sketches they don’t understand, actress Cheri Oteri is passed over in a role so that actor Chris Kattan can play the part in a dress. Later, when Fey plays Sarah Palin, she receives criticism not leveled at male impressionists. The power pyramid she notices at the YMCA is merely a first taste of sexism she’ll encounter in the years to come.

“The rules of improvisation appealed to me not only as a way of creating comedy, but as a worldview.” 

Just as her climbing Old Rag Mountain offers a lesson she was not expecting, improvisation teaches her that sometimes life can’t be planned and that the unplanned can be wonderful. In a text box, Fey relates “The Rules of Improvisation That Will Change Your Life and Reduce Belly Fat.” These rules include “AGREE,” “SAY YES, AND,” “MAKE STATEMENTS,” and “THERE ARE NO MISTAKES” (76-77). All together, they encourage actors to accept what their partners create on stage and add something to it. Actors also must not fear making their own contributions, for even if a scene goes in an unintended direction, something wonderful can be coaxed from any opportunity. Fey’s statement that the rules of improvisation become “a worldview” (75) further demonstrates how she’s learned to adjust her thinking as she has new experiences and to not resist changes in direction. It’s a message she will reiterate in “A Childhood Dream, Realized” when she writes of improv: “You can’t be that kid standing at the top of the waterslide, overthinking it. You have to go down the chute” (113). Improv, like life, requires accepting diversions, taking chances, and making the most of opportunities.

“This is what I tell young women who ask me for career advice. People are going to try to trick you. To make you feel that you are in competition with each other. […] Don’t be fooled. You’re not in competition with other women. You’re in competition with everyone.” 

Fey comments on the power structure that pits women against each other, convincing them that there is only so much success to go around. Producers at The Second City, believing women incapable of contributing ideas, resist casting enough women to make the ration with men; as a result, roles for women are limited, and women feel threatened by other women. However, as Fey notes, their hesitation “made no sense” because “[w]e were making up the show ourselves” (80). When an actress at Saturday Night Live expresses concern that she will have to compete for roles with a newly hired woman, Fey reiterates that they create the show and can include as many roles for women as they choose. The competition between women is contrived; it’s a byproduct of a hierarchy that favors men by reinforcing gender stereotypes. In this quotation, Fey explains that she reminds women that they are as talented and capable as men and that they should reach higher than they’re told they can.

“If you retain nothing else, always remember the most important Rule of Beauty. ‘Who cares?’” 

In “The Secrets of Mommy’s Beauty,” Fey lists 12 beauty tips. As opposed, for example, to the style magazines that Photoshop out women’s features, Fey’s tips are overtly realistic about women’s bodies and everyday lives. The blunt, honest tone of her “secrets,” which reveal her mundane, hasty, sometimes awkward beauty routine rather than the careful, elaborate routines suggested by beauty magazines, is subversive in and of itself. However, her 12th and final tip—“The Most Important Rule of Beauty”—is the most subversive of all, for it encourages women to pay no consideration to “rules.” Women, as Fey has been arguing, should know “that they are good enough the way they are” (23-24). Rather than submit to society’s demands, women should be who they really are, and they should be confident about it.

“We should leave people alone about their weight.” 

By arriving at the same conclusion in these two chapters, Fey suggests each size comes with its own challenges and that we should be sensitive to these challenges before we judge. The fact that she repeats this statement verbatim places each size on an equal level, thus dispelling the idea that there is any perfect size and creating a sense of unity among various kinds of people. It also acknowledges that criticism comes from all directions, further reiterating the pointlessness in placing credence in others’ opinions.

“He knew how to get the eggs.” 

Fey refers to a scene in Annie Hall in which a man complains to a psychiatrist that his brother thinks he’s a chicken and that he’d tell him he wasn’t a chicken if they didn’t need the eggs. Similarly, Lorne Michaels of Saturday Night Live understands that his writers sometimes exhibit difficult emotions and eccentricities but that the show needs their product. Rather than “pull these culprits aside and scold them like a schoolmarm” (117) as Fey would, Michaels prefers “an indirect and very effective way of dealing with the crazies” (118). For example, when an overwhelmed Fey abruptly walks out of the building after an anthrax scare, Michaels calls her at home to ask if she’d like to join them at the office for dinner. He isn’t harsh, but he “also didn’t coddle me” (120); it’s a shrewd, gentle approach that allows her to save face. Like the brother in Annie Hall who extracts eggs from his delusional brother, Michaels extracts creativity from his writers by keeping them grounded without crushing their spirits. It’s one of many lessons Fey learns from Michaels.

“[D]on’t waste your energy trying to educate or change opinions. Go ‘Over! Under! Through!’ and opinions will change organically when you’re the boss. Or they won’t. Who cares? Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.” 

Fey shares the story of when Amy Poehler made a “dirty” and “unladylike” comment in front of Jimmy Fallon, who told her to stop it because it isn’t “cute” and he doesn’t “like it” (129); Poehler tells him she doesn’t care and returns to her conversation, leaving Fallon stunned and ensuring everyone in the room knows “that she wasn’t there to be cute” or to “play wives and girlfriends in the boys’ scenes” (130). Just as women should not conform to traditional, unrealistic beauty standards—Fey’s question, “Who cares?” is the same question she asks at the end of “The Secrets of Mommy’s Beauty”—women should not conform to the belief that they should be demure or “cute” (129), nor should they waste any time justifying their defiance of these demands. 

“Feminists do the best Photoshop because they leave the meat on your bones.” 

While Photoshop can be “used excessively” to give “women unrealistic expectations and body image issues” (141), when used well, “Photoshop is just like makeup” (142). Fey describes her photo shoot with Bust, how the editors “understand that it’s okay to make a photo look as if you were caught on your best day in the best light” (144). By leaving “the meat on your bones,” feminists like those at Bust avoid imparting the message that women’s bodies aren’t acceptable the way they are. Fey argues that Photoshop becomes harmful only when used to trim women down until they fit an unrealistic ideal, just as many photo shoots require her to squeeze uncomfortably into a model-sized dress. Sometimes when she fits into a sample a model wore on the runway—a feat possible only “because at five foot four [she has] the waist size of a seven-foot model”—the stylists compliment her for fitting into a sample size, despite the fact that the dress is “two feet too long at the bottom” and that “the bra cups [are] hanging right above [her] navel” (134). Their excitement, and their assumption that Fey must be similarly excited, demonstrates how women strain to reach the “impossible ideal” (24) Fey describes in “All Girls Must Be Everything.” Fey appreciates the Photoshop job by the feminists at Bust because they shun this impossible ideal, allowing her to be her real self.

“In my limited experience, shows are like children. You can teach them manners and dress them in little sailor suit, but in the end, they’re going to be who they’re going to be.” 

Fey admits that the writers of 30 Rock “were actually trying to make a hit show” rather than “a low-rated critical darling that snarled in the face of conventionality” (171). Despite their efforts “to make it more accessible,” it inevitably “would end up careening off the rails again” (172). In this way, the show is like a child that can’t be fit into a mold despite its parents’ desires. Fey writes that the nights she spent in her apartment with her writing team, watching the baby monitor for signs her daughter was awake, are some of her “happiest memories […] because everything [she] cared about was within ten feet of [her]” (170). Her frequent comparing of her show to a child—and her simultaneous discussion of the birth of her child and of the creation of her show—establishes not only the metaphor of creativity as a kind of birth but also the personal connection Fey feels to her work. In “Juggle This,” Fey writes of her struggle to find the balance between her beloved career and her beloved home life, making this comparison all the more relevant. 

“The stars of beloved shows like Cheers, Frasier, Seinfeld, Newhart, and The Dick Van Dyke Show had normal human faces.” 

Fey “never understood why every character being ‘hot’ was necessary for enjoying a TV show” and appreciates when a show’s cast, as opposed to the Friends cast of “beautiful twenty-somethings,” has “a lot of different-shaped faces and weird little bodies and a diverse array of weak chins” (174). This quotation serves as another example of Fey’s advocating for realistic representations of the human form. By noting that many of the most popular shows shun lofty ideals of beauty, Fey seems to argue that audiences yearn for more relatable characters.

“You all watched a sketch about feminism and you didn’t even realize it because of all the jokes.”

This quotation refers to the Saturday Night Live sketch in which Fey portrays Sarah Palin and Amy Poehler portrays Hillary Clinton. Rather than “a dumb catfight between two female candidates,” Seth Meyers and Poehler write a sketch about “two women speaking out together against sexism in the campaign” (197). Fey appreciates the thoughtfulness and subtlety with which Meyers and Poehler address the way “[p]eople attempted to marginalize these women based on their gender” (197). This quotation suggests that to Fey, comedy is often more than entertainment; it can send powerful messages about prominent issues, and it requires sharp writers like Meyers and Poehler to do so.

“I learned how incredibly frustrating it is to watch someone talk smack about you and not be able to respond.” 

Once Fey’s Sarah Palin sketches become well known, she is discussed on various news channels, sometimes unflatteringly. Fey describes how a man on MSNBC believes she hadn’t “conducted herself well” (203) in portraying Palin and how she doesn’t believe he’d hold male comedians to the same standard. Responding with equal force would mean crossing “the border into Crazytown, never to return” (204) because challenging women, she writes later, are often cast as “crazy” (246). She comments how responding would most likely be an exercise in futility because, as she explains: “Between Alec Baldwin and me there is a certain fifty percent of the population who think we are pinko Commie monsters” (214). Although she feels like “a lightning rod” (213) for criticism (not to mention for hate mail), Fey “just know[s] better than to respond” (214). 

“I am not mean and Mrs. Palin is not fragile. To imply otherwise is a disservice to us both.” 

Fey believes that to criticize her “because of ‘what [she] did’ to Sarah Palin” (213) not only perpetuates the belief that women are supposed to be meek and polite but also minimizes the strength and resilience of Sarah Palin. By noting that people don’t accuse Chevy Chase of being mean for portraying “Gerald Ford falling down all the time” (214), she reminds us that not only are male comedians allowed to be biting in their material but also that the male subjects of their sketches aren’t assumed to be so easily hurt. The accusations against Fey therefore insult women on multiple levels.

“When people say, ‘You really, really must do something, it means you don’t really have to. No one ever says, ‘You really, really must deliver the baby during labor.’ When it’s true, it doesn’t need to be said.” 

Breastfeeding is another example of something women are expected to do and are judged for not doing, despite circumstances that make it difficult or impossible—whether the circumstance is physical, such as a woman going on medication, or emotional, such as feeling “trapped” (219) by the time commitment of pumping. She discusses the societal pressure to breastfeed and the guilt she felt for not doing so. However, her baby “was thriving” (219) on formula. Just as women are told to have “long Swedish legs” and “full Spanish lips” (23), just as they are told to be “cute” (129), women are shamed for making the decision not to breastfeed, without consideration for the woman herself. Fey argues that her baby’s good health and her own relief are evidence that the claim women “must” (220) breastfeed simply isn’t true. Rather, it’s another way in which people force their own choices on women. 

“The same ten minutes that magazines urge me to use for sit-ups and tricep dips, I used for sobbing.” 

Fey writes of the difficulties of balancing her rewarding but strenuous career and her life with her newborn daughter. While her work is “satisfying and fun” (236) and necessary to support their life in New York City, she laments: “There was no prolonged stretch of time in sight when it would just be the baby and me” (235). This quotation alludes not only the difficulty women feel in choosing between their personal lives and their careers but also to the relentlessness of the demands to commit all their free time to looking good, as well. Women are expected to “juggle it all” (233) and to do so effortlessly, but this demand, like so many others, is not realistic. The fact that women “who stay home with their kids […] also have a triannual sob” (235) suggests again that the requirements on woman become too much, that attempts to truly have it all are futile.

“It feels like my last five minutes of being famous are timing out to be simultaneous with my last five minutes of being able to have a baby.” 

In the final chapter of her book, Fey explores the pros and cons of having another child. This chapter is the culmination of the messages in her book—it addresses societal expectations of women, the direction of her career, and the fleetingness of women’s beauty in the eyes of men. Fey has spent her book discussing how she arrived at where she is; in this chapter, she speculates about the next phase of her life, for “fertility and movie offers drop steeply for women after forty” (242). In other words, their value in show business is inextricably tied to their physical appearance.

“I have a suspicion that the definition of ‘crazy’ in show business is a woman who keeps talking even after no one wants to fuck her anymore.” 

In deciding whether to have another baby, Fey considers all the movies she still has left to make but recognizes that she’ll “just be unemployable and labeled crazy in five years anyway” (245). She observes “that women, at least in comedy, are labeled ‘crazy’ after a certain age”; she describes how impatient male producers claim an actress who asks “to see her lines ahead of time” and who has “all these questions” is “pretty batshit” (245). After men in show business find a woman no longer attractive, her usefulness diminishes, and she is seen as a burden, “[e]ven if you would never sleep with or even flirt with anyone to get ahead” (246). This quotation neatly encapsulates the prominent theme in Bossypants of unreasonable standards of female beauty and of the objectification of women’s bodies. By disclosing that “[n]etwork executives really do say things like, ‘[…] I don’t want to fuck anybody on this show,’” (246) Fey suggests that older women who no longer satisfy these standards are almost dehumanized, brushed off as insignificant and unimportant. It’s yet another reason why she “feel[s] obligated to stay in the business,” so she can “create opportunities for others” (246) just as the rise of women into positions of control on Saturday Night Live leads to more opportunities for actresses.