61 pages • 2 hours read
Tina FeyA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
For women who bought her book to read “practical tips on how to make it in a male-dominated workplace,” Fey recommends that they avoid pigtails and tube tops and that they “[c]ry sparingly” (3). For parents who bought the book “to learn how to raise an achievement-oriented, drug-free, adult virgin,” Fey offers that “[t]he essential ingredients […] are a strong father figure, bad skin, and a child-sized colonial-lady outfit” (3).
Fey, executive producer of her show, 30 Rock, calls her book Bossypants because people frequently ask her whether it’s hard for her to be the boss—something they don’t, she notes, ask men. Years of experience have taught her a lot “about what it means to be the boss of people” (5). It can require different approaches at different times, but “[i]n most cases being a good boss means hiring talented people and then getting out of their way” (5).
She concludes her introduction by sharing three photos of herself. In the first, she is a young girl with a shaggy haircut, dressed to play soccer. In the second, she’s an adult posing glamorously in a fancy gown. In the third, she’s a girl on roller-skates, with a bowl haircut and a frilly dress. She writes that in her book, she seeks to trace how she developed from the shaggy-haircut girl to the glamorous adult, “who secretly prefers to be” (6) the girl on roller-skates.
Fey writes that she was “[a] wonderful surprise” to her older parents and that the women in her mother’s office referred to her as a “change-of-life baby” (9). During a kindergarten teacher conference, her parents’ ignorance of the workings of the class reveal to her the fact that she has “old parents” (9). When she holds up a picture she colored for another child to praise, the child rips it up. Thus, she “entered the real world” (10).
While in kindergarten, she is “slashed in the face by a stranger in the alley behind [her] house,” and throughout her life she is “able to tell a lot about people” (10) by the way they react to the resulting scar. One friend’s reaction provides “a fun sociology litmus test” when he asks if “the black guy that did that to you” (10) was ever caught. Others show sympathy in an attempt to make themselves look “brave or sensitive or wonderfully direct” (10). Fey sees through the self-serving comments, stating: “I’m not interested in acting out a TV movie with you where you befriend a girl with a scar” (11).
Adults and kids treat her kindly because of the scar. Later she realizes that “people weren’t making a fuss over me because I was some incredible beauty or genius; they were making a fuss over me to compensate for my being slashed” (11). Fey writes that she has been happy for this “wonderful misunderstanding,” which has helped her live “as if [she] really were extraordinary” (11).
When she is 10 years old, Fey receives from her mother a “my first period” kit with supplies and a cheerful pamphlet called “Growing Up and Liking It” (14). She is then left to learn on her own when her mother “slipped out of the room” (14). She “achieved menarche” at age ten; however, she doesn’t realize at first what has happened because she “knew from commercials that one’s menstrual period was a blue liquid that you poured like laundry detergent into maxi pads” (15).
Years later, at a workshop Fey attends, women are asked “to write down the moment they first ‘knew they were a woman’” (15). Most women write down an instance in which “some dude did something nasty to them” (16). While she herself experiences this “creepery” (16) as young as age 13, she attributes her first feeling like a woman to her purchase of a white denim suit, which she wears to the Senior Awards Night in 1988.
When she is 23, despite that her “whole setup was still factory-new,” Fey visits Planned Parenthood so that she can “be proactive about [her] health like the educated young feminist [she] was” (17). She cracks a joke to the stoic nurse practitioner, then faints when examined with the speculum. The annoyed nurse informs her she has “a short vagina” (18) and sends her home.
At age thirteen, Fey visits Wildwood, New Jersey with her cousins Janet and Lori, who teach her “everything [she] know[s] about womanhood” (19). When Janet criticizes the size of a woman’s hips, Fey learns “that there are an infinite number of things that can be ‘incorrect’ on a woman’s body” (20). From a young age, Fey understands that “[t]he standard of beauty was set” (21) and that it involves blond hair. For this reason, when she reads fairy tales to her daughter, she replaces “blond” with “yellow,” a word more comparable to “brown” (21).
Fey describes how when she was growing up, “beautiful brunettes […] were regarded as a fun, exotic alternative” (22) to blond women. While the popularity of Beyoncé and Jennifer Lopez could have resulted in women “embrac[ing] their diversity and realiz[ing] that all shapes and sizes are beautiful,” in fact it only lengthens “the laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful” (22). The list includes contradictory qualities such as “long Swedish legs” and “small Japanese feet” (23).
When she was growing up, one was simply beautiful or not. Those not considered beautiful “could just chill out and learn a trade” (23). Nowadays, however, “if you’re not ‘hot,’ you are expected to work on it until you are” (23). Fey wonders how we can teach our daughters that “they are good enough the way they are” (24) and says she wouldn’t trade any of the “healthy body parts” (24) that make her stand out in a crowd—except her father’s feet.
Fey titles the first chapter “Origin Story,” and while it is indeed the story of her physical origin, it also sets the stage for the origins of who she becomes as she grows up.
She suggests that she learns many of her most significant life lessons by observing the behavior of others. For example, she discovers that her parents are "old" (9) when a kindergarten teacher tells her father that the children no longer take naps. Her cousin Janet’s snide criticism of a woman’s wide hips leads to Fey’s realization that women’s bodies are full of “deficiencies” (20) to be corrected. Women in her workshop divulge that even their first experiences of womanhood are defined by others—the catcalling of men, not a change within themselves, was the catalyst that propelled them from girlhood to womanhood.
Her revealing interactions with others take the air out of Fey’s idealism. In kindergarten, “used to being praised and encouraged” (10), she shows a boy a picture she’d drawn; when he tears it up, she’s stunned silent, though she recognizes she’s “entered the real world” (10). Until Janet’s comment, she “didn’t know hips could be a problem” (20). She cheerfully goes to her first gynecologist appointment feeling like an “educated young feminist” (17); in reality, she passes out in pain and is brusquely hurried out of the room by an impatient nurse. Finally, being a woman, it turns out, is less about the chipper period-related conversations presented in her “Growing Up and Liking It” brochure and more about being shouted at by men in cars. Fey paints a picture of gradual disillusionment, of emerging from one’s bubble into the reality of the world.
However, these experiences do not prevent Fey from proudly being herself and from finding the humor in what otherwise might be disappointing. In her increasingly absurd fictional examples of conversations in “Growing Up and Liking It,” she acknowledges the pamphlet’s unrealistic hokeyness and the futility of representing in reading material the actual experience of getting one’s period. While she now believes the kindness with which people treated her as a girl was inspired more by pity over her scar than by admiration of her talent, she announces she will happily keep the Golden Globes she won with the help of the resulting self-esteem. She praises her “soda case hips” and the “greenish undertones” (25) of her skin despite the current and ever-changing standards of female beauty. Even her responding to the incident of “car creepery” (16) with equal force and crudeness demonstrates her bold refusal to submit to the objectification of women. With gentle self-deprecation, she recounts how her childlike ideals have been dispelled into the humble realities of adulthood, painting a picture of the bumbling stages of adolescence that mold us into the people we eventually become.