Unqualified - Anna Faris

Скачать книгу

me to feel like I wasn’t respected or heard, and those feelings were a huge part of my life as a kid. They defined a lot about me in terms of how I related to friends and boys, and I think that sentiment was one of the main contributors to what I call my “proud and angry” phase, which I think was an attempt to overcompensate for my small stature.

      Since all that, I’ve become a little bit obsessed with that one-word adjective that people use to describe you when you’re young. You’ve had that experience, haven’t you, dear reader? It’s not just me, is it? I’ve always wanted to explore that question—can other people relate to that simple identifying adjective, or am I crazy? Have you been described as the rebel or the Asian or the goody-goody?

      One of the biggest rewards of doing a podcast has been learning that all the weird shit we go through, other people have been there, too. More often than not, those defining experiences that can make us feel weird or lonely or embarrassed are actually universal. So I decided to poll my listeners, to hear their stories but also to find out if other people have let these childhood labels define them like I did, and to learn how they overcame it. What resulted was an overwhelming chorus of stories that reminded me that we’re all in this together and that being a kid can be fucking hard.

      Here’s a sampling of the amazing responses, all of which gave me comfort in the knowledge that we’ve all been there.

      Growing up, I never knew what to do in awkward or sad situations, so I’d just make a goofy face or tell a bad joke to ease the tension. Everyone would laugh and things would go back to normal, which made me happy. But whenever I was introduced to people, my friends would say, “This is Christina, she’s the goofy one of the group.” Being labeled “goofy” as you’re growing up and trying to figure out who you are as a woman and how you relate to men was like climbing a mountain. I didn’t want guys to see me as “goofy.” I wanted them to see me as sexy or intelligent or able to lift heavy boxes. ANYTHING except “the goofy girl.” For a long time, it made me believe that I didn’t deserve love and I would be forever relegated to the best-friend role, the main character’s sidekick who helped set up everyone except herself. As I got older, though, I realized that I want to enjoy life as much as possible with as much humor as I can. And that means I want to find someone who is just as goofy as me to laugh my way through life with. Now I shout off the rooftops, “I am goofy, and I’m damn proud of it!”

      —Christina

      I was the weird cat girl. At my first boy-girl party, a gaggle of us went for a moonlit walk. One of the boys brought a BB gun and was going to shoot a cat with it. Just for fun. Horrified, I picked up the cat and refused to put it down until we got back to the house, where the gun would be put away. That night was the end of any hope I had for being popular ever again. That, and I accidentally wore a sweater to school (the same year) that my cat had peed on.

      —Catherine

      I was definitely the goody-goody growing up. Some of that was based on my actions, but most of it was that I was quiet and shy and studious, and people perceived that as being a Goody Two-shoes. Even now, at twenty-five, I have a hard time shaking that image. Anytime I do anything that doesn’t fit that image, people claim it’s so not like me, even though it’s who I’ve been the whole time. I’m studying human sexuality, I have two tattoos, and I started occasionally doing live storytelling events; all of these choices have been met with shock and awe from the people who claim to know me best but who can’t see past that label from my childhood.

      —Tara

      I was the only female redhead in my grade in elementary school, and to make matters worse, my hair was approximately five times the size of my head. So I was known as “the redhead” or “puffball” because of my puffy hair. As I got older, the names got worse. In first grade, kids said I couldn’t sit with them because I had red hair. In sixth grade, a kindergartener told me my hair made me scary. By the time I got to high school, I was “ginger” and “fire crotch.” People couldn’t see past the hair. I begged my parents to let me dye it, but they wouldn’t. I never had a real relationship in high school or college. People would tell me that I was too different to ever find love or that I was “pretty … for a redhead.” Today, I’m extremely grateful my parents didn’t let me change my hair color. I still tend to straighten it, out of the fear that it will look too thick and “puffy” if I don’t. But, I like being different now.

      —Jenny

      I was always known as “the oldest.” I’m older than my brother, so I always took care of him. To this day I feel the need to treat him like a baby, and we are in our thirties! I’m also the oldest grandchild, so that left me always having to babysit my cousins, always being the “responsible” one, always having to set the example. It’s still hard for me to cry or show any type of vulnerability because I always have to be the strong one.

      —Vanessa

      I was the quiet one. I actually became increasingly shy as I grew up because that’s what I was told I was. It was difficult to get over it, but now I’m able to talk to strangers and make eye contact without turning bright red. I was always quiet, but a lot of the time I was just observing what was going on around me. I’m still observant, but I no longer see it as a bad thing. I learn things about people, and I actually listen to what they have to say.

      —Siobhan

      “The best friend.” As in, the person all the dudes confide in about wanting to date your friends, but never you. It has persisted through adult life and stopped only in the last few years (I’m twenty-eight). After a while it’s hard not to see yourself as the one people confide in rather than the object of their affection. It’s a ridiculous trope that unfortunately was so true for me from ages thirteen to twenty-five.

      —Maddie

      The lesson here? Screw the labels. But also, there’s power in sharing our stories.

      Also, did I mention that you guys are awesome?

      In August 2016, Patti Stanger, the Millionaire Matchmaker herself, appeared on an episode of Anna Faris Is Unqualified and told a female caller that to attract a man at a bar, she should simply “smile and signal.” No approaching a man, Patti said, not even to ask the time or the score of the game.

      It was an eye-opening strategy for me, since for a long time my approach was pretty much the opposite of smile and signal. Instead, I called it “proud and angry.”

      For a long time, I had incredibly low expectations of men, and I felt so smug every time a guy proved me right. I loved manipulating them into doing something to show they were as shitty as I thought they were.

      It started in college. In the nineties, the University of Washington had about forty Greek houses and for whatever reason (or, for a very specific reason named Chad Burke) I wanted to lash out at them. And so I would crash their frat parties.

      It was my freshman year, but I looked quite young. As the daughter of a sociologist (my dad was a professor before joining the advertising world), the concept of field studies was a familiar—and enticing—one. So I decided

Скачать книгу