Bossypants by Tina Fey Page B

curled up in tight rings (with dry raggedy ends). I would study the curls in the mirror, impressed with both the appliance and my newfound ability to use it.

    Then, without fail, at the last second before leaving for school, I would ask myself, “Am I supposed to brush it out or leave it?” Why could I never remember? That feeling of “I’m pretty sure this next step is wrong, but I’m just gonna do it anyway” is part of the same set of instincts that makes me such a great cook.

    On some level I knew I wasn’t supposed to brush it out, but I couldn’t stop myself.

    My hand—gripping the brush like it was a hand transplant from a murderer who hated beauty!—brushed through the curls, turning them into a giant static-filled mess. By the end of homeroom it was pulled into a ponytail, which really works on me, so there you have it.

    Right after I graduated high school I decided to cut my hair off. This was my chance to reinvent myself before college.

    After a harsh disagreement over the ideational hollowness of sausage curls, my mother and I had ended our artistic experiment with the Gordon Phillips Academy. We were now getting our hair cut by my classmate’s mom, who was also a professional Ann Jillian look-alike. Yes, the feeling you’re experiencing right now is jealousy. The whole family was glamorous that way. I always envied their lives because they seemed like they were living in a sitcom. They were all blond and good-looking. The mom cut hair out of her basement salon and Ann Jillian–ed part-time. You could sell this show to CBS just with that! The dad ran a restaurant. Their uncle was our school’s “cool” English teacher. The oldest son was a young Bon Jovi type who was the star of our high school choir and went all the way to New York once a week for private hard-rock vocal coaching. The middle son was a brilliant, funny, cuddly giant who drew sardonic cartoons in the margins of things, and the baby of the family was the Jason Priestley–level adorable kid who, clearly, the producers of the family had added in the last season to boost ratings. I mean, just looking at this family, you knew they were going to make it to syndication.

    It was natural that I would trust Mrs. Doyle to transform me into my new college self. I wanted to cut it all off. Not the coward’s move, not a bob: the full choppery. Mrs. Doyle put my hair into a thick ponytail, cut that ponytail off, and handed it to me. I still have it somewhere in a cardboard box in my parents’ house. I know because my mom has been politely asking me to “maybe spend an hour going through those boxes” for over twenty years now.

    The haircut was cropped close on the sides, fuller on top, with two long Liza Minnelli–esque wisps that hung down like peyes. I loved it. Then I asked whether we needed the wisps, but once it was explained to me that they were mandatory, I went back to loving it.

    Nerd no more, this new cut let people see the real me that was inside—a mother of four who was somehow also a virgin.
    9) When It Comes to Fashion, Find What Works for You and Stick with It

    A wise friend once told me, “Don’t wear what fashion designers tell you to wear. Wear what they wear.” His point being that most designers, no matter what they throw onto the runway, favor simple, flattering pieces for themselves.

    Anyone who has never met me can tell you that fashion has always been very very very very very very very important to me. For example, I once told my cousin that my dream would be “if the whole store Express was my closet!” How prescient, because now, of course, I wear nothing but Express.

    It can’t be said enough. Don’t concern yourself with fashion; stick to simple pieces that flatter your body type.

    By nineteen, I had found my look. Oversize T-shirts, bike shorts, and wrestling shoes. To prevent the silhouette from being too baggy, I would cinch it at the waist with my fanny pack. I was pretty sure I would wear