Bossypants by Tina Fey
Let’s talk about hair. Why do I call it “yellow” hair and not “blond” hair? Because I’m pretty sure everybody calls my hair “brown”. When I read fairy tales to my daughter I always change the word “blond” to “yellow”, because I don’t want her to think that blond hair is somehow better.
My daughter has a reversible doll: Sleeping Beauty on one side and Snow White on the other. I would always set it on her bed with the Snow White side out and she would toddle up to it and flip it over to Sleeping Beauty. I would flip it back and say, “Snow White is so pretty.” She would yell, “No!” and flip it back. Not even three years old, and she knows that yellow hair is king. And, let’s admit it, yellow hair does have magic powers. You could put a blond wig on a hot-water heater and some dude would try to fuck it.
Like other autobiographies I’ve read that are not written by writers, this one is stream-of-consciousness style. Despite the attempt in the title, there is no overall theme, just a lot of funny anecdotes that reveal slices of Tina Fey’s life without even revealing her real name. Still, it is a consistently funny and pleasant experience, just like Tina Fey.
Before Liz Lemon, before “Weekend Update”, before “Sarah Palin”, Tina Fey was just a young girl with a dream: a recurring stress dream that she was being chased through a local airport by her middle-school gym teacher. She also had a dream that one day she would be a comedian on TV.
She has seen both these dreams come true.
At last, Tina Fey’s story can be told. From her youthful days as a vicious nerd to her tour of duty on Saturday Night Live; from her passionately halfhearted pursuit of physical beauty to her life as a mother eating things off the floor; from her one-sided college romance to her nearly fatal honeymoon – from the beginning of this paragraph to this final sentence.
Tina Fey reveals all, and proves what we’ve all suspected: you’re no one until someone calls you bossy.