Unqualified

by Anna Faris

  Not that it’s a competition. Well, I guess the awards are by their very nature a competition, but that’s not something I have to worry about just yet. I feel like a virgin in the best way. The worst thing, I think, would be to get nominated for an award, lose, and never get nominated again. You have all these people talking to you every day for two months about your nomination, and then you have to get in a dress and plaster your face and take a Valium and wait to have your name not called. I’m okay with having sidestepped that.

  But if I do ever get nominated, the good news is that I’ve delivered plenty of drunken acceptance speeches at Allison Janney’s house, where her seven Emmys are perfect for my practice runs. You know, just in case.

  Unqualified Advice: The Bush Is Back

  The other night I had a dream that I had a huge hairy bush and I lived in a cabin in the mountains. I was nervous, I think, about my huge bush, but I loved being in that cabin.

  It’s funny that I would have that dream, actually, because I recently started laser hair removal. The place I go to for facials offers the service, and when I was checking out one day they told me they were offering laser service for a discount, so I started doing my bikini area. Why not? I was totally late to the game, though. I was thirty-nine when I started this process that you should probably be starting when you’re, like, twenty-five, if you’re going to do it. The good news, for those of you considering it: laser is so much less painful than waxing. It hurts, but they have this whole new cooling thing that they use while you’re getting the treatment, and it’s nothing compared to getting your skin ripped off with hot wax.

  To be clear, I’m not bare. I just wanted to get cleaned up so that I wouldn’t have to worry about shaving when I put on a bathing suit. After I started, I went to my gynecologist and I was like, “Guess what?! I got lasered! Aren’t you proud of me?”

  She just looked at me said: “Oh, honey, you’re getting lasered now? The bush is back!”

  This is a Beverly Hills gynecologist. She knows what she’s talking about.

  It’s so like me to do something just as the trend is waning.

  • • •

  Body hair is a complicated issue. Growing up in Seattle, I was incredibly lazy about shaving my legs and was really unknowledgeable about body grooming in general. It wasn’t something my mother was especially concerned with, so she didn’t teach me much in the way of hair maintenance. I had never been waxed before I moved to LA, and even then I lived here for eight or nine years before I tried it for the first time. I always shaved my bikini line—it wasn’t all just free-flowing—but I’d never waxed, and I certainly didn’t know that they also did your butt. That was a real surprise.

  One time I was at a pool party with a guy I was seeing, and I was wearing a white bikini. As I started walking toward the house from the pool, my date yelled, “Hey, Anna! Your pussy’s showing!” I looked down and I was covered, but I think maybe you could see a hint of darkness through the suit? I was so mortified. And I remember everyone looking at me—not at my crotch, but just watching, wondering how I was going to react. I walked away, but it was cruel and humiliating and felt like a truly low blow.

  There’s a whole thing about body hair when you’re pregnant, too. So many people are examining your vagina on a regular basis, and while I was pregnant with Jack I really wanted to know what the protocol was. Are you expected to be more maintained? Is that, like, a courtesy you should be showing your doctor? Or is pregnancy when you are supposed to really embrace your natural motherliness?

  Generally, I like to keep myself groomed. But I did grow out my armpit hair once. I was filming The Dictator and I played a Williamsburg militant type and when I was cast they asked me if I’d mind not shaving for a while, so I said sure. By three weeks in, it was really starting to get thick. I guess I thought there would be less than there was, but it was a lot and it was kind of straight and wiry but then got curly at the end in this wispy disgusting way. I think I could have handled it better if it was curly from the onset, like a man’s beard, but my hair couldn’t make up its mind. And it was dark. My pubic hair is not blond but it’s not super dark, but my armpit hair was black.

  For the duration of filming, that hair became my identity. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Plus, we were filming in New York in the summer, so it was hot and sweaty and just generally unpleasant. As the movie progressed, there would be moments when I was supposed to raise my arms, and even while we were shooting I could see the look in the crews’ eyes when they spotted my pits. There was horror in those eyes.

  The hairy armpits definitely affected my feelings of attractiveness. I wish I could have been like, “I am woman! I own this shit.” But I just couldn’t. I did not own that shit.

  I do remember the very real struggle of trying to hail a cab in New York during that time. I’d keep my elbows glued to my rib cage in the least aggressive taxi hail ever. The hair was kind of like a giant tattoo. When something on your body goes against the norm in that way, it becomes a badge, whether you like it or not. You have to understand that it will be a talking point behind your back. And for some people that is what they want, but I just can’t handle the inner demons of that. I’m an actress. I care too much what other people think.

  Chris was in LA while I shot The Dictator, and I can’t imagine he loved the hairy pits, but if he hated them, he never let on. He was just like, “Babe, you’ve got this.” One of the great things about being married to an actor is that he really admires the ownership of a role. So we would talk late at night about the decision of a certain line or creating my character and all that nerdy-actory stuff, and he’d tell me he was turned on by my dedication. “It’s thicker than my armpit hair, but the way you own that role is sexy,” he’d say. A lie, but such a sweet, sweet lie.

  Still, all I could think was, When can I shave this off? The night we wrapped, I got home late, like at 5:00 A.M., and before I even got in bed I went in the shower and shaved. It was so satisfying to watch as my hair clogged up the drain.

  A couple of hours later I got a call asking if I could hold off shaving, in case we had reshoots.

  Thank God for armpit doubles.

  Can I Marry You?

  I am an ordained minister.

  You know how some people get ordained online because they’ve been invited to officiate the wedding of close couple friends? So they stand up in front of the crowd and tell stories about the bride and groom and speak about love and devotion and the beauty of building a life together? And then after the ceremony is over all the guests congratulate the officiant and want to shake his or her hand because oh my God their words were so personal and touching and they brought tears to everyone’s eyes and why don’t they just quit their day job because this was certainly their calling and they were so much better than a real minister could have ever been?

  None of that has happened to me.

  I got ordained out of boredom.

  If you haven’t already picked up on this, I do a lot of weird shit for no other reason than to entertain myself.

  For example, you know those stickers on the back of trucks that read “Problem with my driving? Call 555-5555”? Every now and then when I’m on the road I’ll call and just say, “Truck 313131 is a wonderful driver.” A real, live person always answers the phone—always a woman—and they are completely shocked to hear from me. Then they say, totally confused, “Ummm, I’ve never heard this before. So good to know. Uh, thank you.” And I’m like, “Yup! They are obeying all the traffic laws!” I take total delight in the operator being completely shocked that someone is calling to report something positive. I just get a real kick out of myself.

  When I was in Phoenix filming Take Me Home Tonight, I was hanging out, kind of bored, in my temporary apartment one night. What better time to become a minister with the Universal Life Church? It seemed like a good credential to have on my résumé, and maybe one day a cou
ple would ask me to marry them. I fantasize about having the power to do something like that. Also, I wanted bragging rights. I wanted to announce to people that yup, I’m a minister, I can marry you right now! Ask me for advice, too. A minister!

  All you have to do is agree that you will attempt to be a good person and you’re in. Universal Life Church. Easy peasy.

  You can also pay $50 or $60 to get the framed certificate, which Chris did once we started dating. I registered under Anna “White Unicorn” Faris, and my documentation sits right next to my 2007 High Times Stonette of the Year Stony Award for Smiley Face. The award is a giant bong. It’s the only award I’ve ever won, but I’m beyond thrilled about it. If I die—or, when I die, I guess—I don’t want to only be remembered for that award, but it should probably be a big part of my legacy. In the entertainment world, where we give each other awards for the most ridiculous shit, I am proud to have the Stony. It’s pretty fucking cool.

  Back to White Unicorn. You’re probably thinking, But you hate weddings! True, but I don’t hate them across the board, I just hate the bad elements that weddings bring out in people. I hate the frenzy and the drama, and I hate that sometimes the focus gets taken away from where it belongs.

  But to officiate a wedding? That’s different. I love the idea of bestowing such a grand gesture upon people. Now, that’s power.

  I got ordained in 2007, and still have yet to minister a wedding. I signed up for my certification with the blind hope that one day I’d get asked, but . . . still waiting on those requests.

  A decade later my minister credentials still hold up. There might be state-by-state rigmarole—like I might have to fill out some paperwork if I’m going to marry someone in Mississippi—but that’s cool. A small price to pay to get the power vested in me.

  Unqualified Advice: Unicorns Aren’t Found, They’re Made

  During the decade or so that Chris and I were together, social media took on a life of its own. We were married in 2009, and Instagram, for example, hadn’t launched until 2010, so we certainly didn’t have any strategy when we began sharing moments from our personal lives in these public forums. But when Chris started his Instagram feed—posting pictures of the braid he did in my hair or of Jack and me on a porch swing—it was flattering that people responded so positively. It was a huge compliment that folks really seemed to admire, or at least get a kick out of, the two of us as a couple.

  It’s hard to know why people reacted that way—what did they see that made Chris and me stand out for them?

  I like to think that fans picked up on the fact that we really enjoyed each other’s company. There are loads of pictures out there where I’m guffawing at something Chris is saying on the red carpet—usually it was something about our mutual feelings of “What are we doing here? We’re just two kids from Washington! Did they get this right?” We both have a bit of impostor syndrome when it comes to red carpet events. We’re not glamorous Hollywood, or at least we don’t feel that way; so we definitely shared a sentiment of “Are they going to figure out we don’t belong here?”

  There’s also the fact that we both come from comedy. I think people relate to comedy actors a little more, overall.

  I had a hard time adjusting to social media, to be honest. I didn’t come up in the Hollywood world where you publicize your every move. I was taught that you hide from paparazzi and you don’t talk about your relationships or personal stuff; you talk only about the movie or the project. But as we delved deeper into the world of social media, we unknowingly cultivated an image of the perfect Hollywood couple—perfect, I guess, in a down-to-earth, just-regular-people kind of way. And mostly it was lovely—we were happy and in love, and we really are just regular goofballs, so it felt fairly easy to keep up the idea of #relationshipgoals.

  A while back, Chris asked me if I felt a lot of pressure from being in a high-profile relationship, and I told him that I did—it was an odd circumstance. That he was asking the question made me think that he probably felt that way, too. No one wants to live their lives according to a hashtag. Still, it felt that a good offense was the best defense. So instead of being a couple who never spoke publicly about their relationship, we posted silly photos. We tried to let people into our lives to some degree, and that became a joy for us, because we mostly got positive and loving feedback, and, who are we kidding, that feels really good.

  Of course, social media hasn’t always been kind to us. I’ve had a few stints of bullying on Twitter—angry fans saying cruel things—and it totally hurts my feelings. Well, a lot of things hurt my feelings, so maybe I’m not a great example, but it would be a very odd person who is completely numb to something really nasty that is said about them. Most actors have built their careers off the idea of being creative but also around questions like, Are people going to like me? Are they going to like my work? That’s why they cry when they win an Oscar, because it’s validation that audiences appreciate them. It’s easy to laugh at Sally Field’s “You like me!” moment, but I’m sure that’s what most winners are thinking. So much of our success relies on appealing to viewers, and I think only a sociopath would be completely numb to the cruelty of strangers’ nasty digs.

  I imagine that strangers who vocalize their negative opinions about celebrities just want to be heard, but the nastiness confuses me because it would never occur to me to write to Jodie Foster and say, “I didn’t like that dress that you wore.” The motivation there is baffling to me. That said, I’ve written one fan letter in my life. In college I wrote to the band 311, and it was a really angry letter. Before they got big on the national scene, they had two albums that my friends and I loved. We went to their concerts and felt like we were true fans who appreciated their art, even if it wasn’t mainstream. Then they came out with a single called “My Stony Baby” and I thought it was a new, sellout sound for them. So I wrote a letter to say how they had disappointed me. I’m sure they appreciated my self-righteous lecture that was literally like, “I can’t believe the direction you’ve turned.” I never heard back.

  Despite a few bouts of negativity, overall, Chris and I were lucky to have had mostly positive interactions on social media, and we liked Instagram and Twitter because they were great places to communicate the reality that we were just a silly little family.

  Or something. I don’t know.

  I bring all this up because one of the most common questions we have gotten on the podcast from single female listeners is: “How do I find a unicorn like Chris?”

  But I think the question is less about how someone can find a guy just like Chris (though he is funny and hot and kind, and those aren’t bad things to look for in a partner) and more about how to find a relationship that is fun and respectful and loving and that appears, even to outsiders, like a happy one. And I do have some thoughts on that, unqualified as they may be.

  The first is simple: Know what you’re looking for. It took a lot of maturing over time on my part to get to a place where I could recognize a kind person, and also to know that that’s what I wanted. It took almost the entirety of the time that Chris and I worked together before I realized that I actually wanted a man who is happy and who other people got along with. And that remains true. Being around a content and well-liked person makes for a more pleasant relationship in general. That doesn’t mean the partnership will be perfect, or that you don’t still have to work at it, but it will be more likely to entail an element of respect that will reverberate through your relationship no matter how it unfolds.

  So know what you want.

  But also, look around at who’s already in your orbit. It’s easy, I think, to overlook a lot of the people in our lives because we think we are looking for something entirely new. But don’t necessarily write off a good person that you already know. Recognize a good person, and open yourself up to him or her.

  I also happen to believe that women listen to their friends’ critiques way too much.
Sometimes those voices are important, like when a friend recognizes that the guy you’re with makes you feel like shit, but the stuff that is not important is the “he’s not that hot” or “he works for UPS” or whatever petty putdowns they unload on you. Being able to ignore the unhelpful feedback from friends is hard, but so important.

  Guys are guilty of it, too. I talk about this with Sim sometimes, the idea that the minute a guy’s friends say, “She’s a six,” or whatever lame things men tell each other about the women they’re seeing, the next thing you know, that guy has broken up with a great person for no reason. So I think one of the best skills anyone can have is the ability to cherry-pick the friends who have good intentions and want the best for you, and the friends who just say gnarly stuff like, “He’s not rich enough,” simply to pass judgment. That takes a ton of maturity, though, because those voices land hard. When Chris and I started dating, one of my friends gave me her review: “He’s okay,” she said, “but he’s such a boy.” At the time Chris was new in my life and that comment really hurt my feelings.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “He still throws darts at the wall in his apartment and I don’t know how often he changes his sheets. But he’s so sweet.” I was at a place by then where I could see a much bigger picture than his supposed childish ways. And eventually he made the bed every morning!