Girl Logic

by Iliza Shlesinger

  Remember you were told Eve was made from Adam’s rib? Guess what, a rib is a bone; a bone is a metaphor for a dick. The Bible wants you to know that Eve was made from Adam’s dick for Adam’s dick. That’s right, she was made to serve him. Which is why when she decided to eat from the tree of knowledge and started having her own thoughts, she became the know-it-all who corrupted Adam because she made him eat the apple, and, to pay for that, women now have agonizing childbirth. That’s how the Bible story goes, right? I chose to look at it like she was curious and didn’t wanna chill in the garden where there was no Wi-Fi. So she got bored and said, “I want what I can’t have; I’m a woman!” and ate the apple, which prompted her to be like, “Fuck yeah, I want more knowledge! How do cows work? What’s air? Why aren’t there any non-evil cable companies?” So God punished her for wanting to learn, and Adam was just a poor hot dummy who went along with it.

  (Side note: The idea that clothes weren’t even invented but still Adam and Eve were like, “Hey God, we’re hiding from you because we’re naked,” doesn’t make sense. Somehow, though, we ignore the stupidity of the story while retaining the assumption that women are evil temptresses, not ambitious creatures with a thirst for knowledge.)

  Point is, from the get-go, it’s been excruciatingly difficult for women to be strong and make our way in this world. We’ve had to fight hard for everything we’ve achieved. And sometimes we’ve had to fight each other. We’re taught to do it, we’re trained to do it, and our most reactive, base-level Girl Logic tells us we HAVE to do it to get what we want. It’s GL—or sometimes just gut instinct—not to like a woman who feels like a threat; say, your boyfriend’s Eva Mendes–lookalike new boss, or Sharon in marketing who nabbed that shiny award you were angling for, or your best friend’s new sidekick who’s suddenly stealing her away every other night for girls’ nights out, and, when you say you don’t like her, your friend says, “Really? Jamie has never said anything bad about you.” And you’re like, “EXACTLY! She doesn’t even mention me! At least I have the decency to talk shit on her!” Cut to immediately feeling like judgmental garbage. So what if Jamie is a member of Soho House, I know a bar that has free popcorn!

  I am here to tell you: You can’t always heed your Girl Logic. Sure, it’s just trying to protect you when it decides that Sharon is an underhanded asshole trying to steal your job. Though the irregular, sometimes-irrational headphone cord knots of GL might kick into freak-out mode and tell us other women are out to get us, it’s on us to choose how to react—to take the high road and attempt to act from kindness instead of fear or pettiness.

  When I finally left my twenties behind, I realized that women don’t have to hate each other. To my credit, I have never disliked other women because they were beautiful. I have always been a neofeminist, meaning I have never blindly accepted a woman or anyone, simply because of her gender. If I don’t like a woman, it is because she’s shitty, not because of how she looked. I can’t stand fake people, and if you suck, I can’t sit through brunch with you. Any woman I might not have initially liked through ignorance, sense of perceived threat, or whatever, I have overcome by being nice to her and simply introducing myself. OK fine, if you’re jealous of Scarlett Johansson and you try to conquer that by introducing yourself randomly to her at a Starbucks, her security might intervene. But, for me, when it comes to other comics, colleagues, or women at auditions, all it takes is a hello and sometimes a compliment. Remember, everyone wants to be liked! People respond kindly if you are kind. It really is that simple most of the time.

  Of course, it’s not like my female friendships are all rainbows and sunshine. Occasionally you’ll have to confront a friend about saying something dumb, behaving weirdly, or just hurting your feelings. The important thing to remember, when your head is spinning in that kind of situation, is that when you speak from your highest self—from a perspective of truth and love—nothing bad can truly happen. When you confront a friend, if you approach it from a place like, “I want to let you know I am hurt, and I want to resolve it,” your intentions are pure. Even if she reacts negatively, that’s her deal—it’s not on you. Instead of stewing and freaking out, you can use your Girl Logic to help you map out the best- and worst-case scenarios: “My friend cares about me, so she will want to fix this; we will both end up feeling totally fine about things again. If I bring this up and she shuts me down, oh well, worst case comes true, and she isn’t my friend anymore, or we take a break to figure shit out and discuss it later.” Either way, using your GL to help you plot the right course can help you avoid pitfalls, reduce anxiety, and do the right thing when it comes to dealing with hiccups in your relationships with other women.

  As I’ve told you, building close female friendships hasn’t always come easy for me. Because of that, I appreciate the girlfriends I have today even more. At this age, friendships aren’t convenient. No, the stakes are high and life is hectic. If you don’t have the scaffolding of school or work to support your friendship, and you still stay close? That means you really love each other. I remember visiting Calgary once, and I dropped into a club to do a guest set. I laid low in the back of the room, sort of keeping to myself. This woman came bouncing over to me. She was in her early forties and had huge hair. She giggled and said, “My name is Lori Gibbs, I’m a comedian here, and I want to be best friends with you.” It was the beginning of my career, so I hadn’t met many other women on the road, let alone women who were this pumped to meet me. We talked and talked and became friends. She’s a comedian, housewife, mother of two, and she has a “Have Fun” tattoo on her forearm. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be best friends with this woman? That was over five years ago; now she features for me regularly, and I stay at her house whenever I go to Calgary. We spend our weekends together napping, crafting, and doing comedy. She feels like home when I’m far away.

  Another time, a few years back, I was on the Comedy Store’s patio, and a girl came up to me with her parents. It was sweet—they had been fans since I was on Last Comic Standing, and the girl was a comedian herself, a friend of a friend. She was cool, smart, funny, and just so charming. We became friends, and she decided to move to New York to do stand-up there. Our friendship morphed from a fan thing to a mutual respect, and now she features for me whenever I play the East Coast. Her name is Kate the Wasp, and she’s awesome.

  Do I befriend every woman or female comedian who talks to me? No. But I appreciate real women who aren’t trying to get something out of me, who bring not just humor but hustle. These women were going to work hard with or without me, and I respected that. I’m glad they were willing to come up, say hi, and be vulnerable. It makes me more likely to be that way, too. It’s also nice to be reminded that, in such a competitive industry, we truly can be friends.

  Of course, I’m not some socially evolved feminist goddess who’s risen above ever feeling threatened by another woman. Sure, I’ve matured, but I’m still a person. I’m still a girly-person! But I never wake up in the morning setting out to be any sort of monster, to other women or anyone else. (Okay, maybe I’ve fantasized about a few arguments, but they never come to fruition.)

  But I like to think we all start our days with the best of intentions, with our Girl Logic leading us toward being bright, gleaming white lights of potential. Then our days roll on, and our GL might start growing muddier after we check Twitter and encounter sweet missives like “You’re a dumb bitch and I hope your dog dies.” While I know said assholes are losers with their accounts on private, sometimes I can’t help but think to the universe, “Really? I haven’t even opened my other eye yet and that’s the first thing you throw at me?” Bright white light gets downgraded to an eggshell white. Or a beigey, coffee-stained white. Or a burned cream with blood spatters.

  By the end of the day, after rejections, harassment, dropping your phone five times, watching the news, realizing your vote didn’t count, breaking up, shitting your pants, whatever, your soul has morphed from luminescent light to a dull
poop brown. By now your GL might be telling you to check the fuck out, curl up in a ball, and hide away from the world. At least until tomorrow. And you know what? Sometimes you should curl into a ball. Sometimes the energy of a day is so fucked, all you can do is go home, turn off your Twitter, sleep it off, and see what the lottery brings you tomorrow.

  9

  The Unfunny Chromosome

  Women are so afraid of not being liked or, worse, being misunderstood, that we sometimes bite our tongues or don’t act on our best impulses. Girl Logic is constantly assessing the ins and outs of every scenario from every angle, and it can become overly preoccupied with being liked; with perpetually maintaining the facade of the nice, good, sweet girl. For example, when a guy says something shitty to you out of nowhere, your Girl Logic might shut you up because you don’t want to “cause drama,” instead of knocking him out (a risky and potentially illegal move) or laying into him. As women, we don’t have the luxury of saying, “Fuck it, here comes the BOOM,” because of the magnified potential ramifications on every front: physically, emotionally, and professionally. And, sure, taking the high road is usually the right thing to do, but sometimes we want to fire off a warning shot; let someone know, “Hey, by the way, I could destroy you.” We don’t do it, though, because we see too many ways it could go wrong for us. (God, I wish I were less thoughtful. Sometimes I envy crazy people.)

  What if someone in your office talks down to you? What if speaking up could affect your shot at a promotion? What if you’re working at a comedy club and the emcee keeps demeaning you by calling you a “sexy funny lady”… to your own room full of fans? What about when you’re going out and you don’t feel like dressing up and you say, “Fuck it, I’m wearing overalls and dressing for me,” and, oops, it turns out that was the one time you actually needed to care because all of your crushes from high school and the movies are in one bar!?

  Girl Logic is about wanting to make yourself happy and make everyone else happy. And, sometimes, you end up making yourself unhappy because you’re trying to make everyone happy. The truth is, the more successful you are, the more respected you are when you call the shots. That emcee who wouldn’t stop bringing up my looks and gender? I told the club manager if he did it again, he would be fired. The guy was so scared that he not only gave me a sanitized intro, he didn’t step foot in the green room the rest of the weekend. And do you know what gave me the confidence to request that I be treated professionally? I had sold out that weekend. I had money on my side.

  Working as a comic has drilled this lesson into my being over and over again. It’s invaluable, but it can hurt. To me, being a stand-up comedian is kind of like being an X-Man—you’re born that way. From a young age, stand-up comedians have a natural proclivity for observation and introspection. But when I started out in stand-up, I knew nothing about show business. I had never heard of any club other than the Addison Improv, and that was because I passed it on my drive to high school every morning. I would always check the marquee to see who was there. What’s so trippy to me, even to this day, is remembering names up there from when I was sixteen… and now those comics are my colleagues. Still blows my mind.

  Because I was funny growing up, it never occurred to me that women weren’t funny (or that other people might not recognize them as such). I was funny, Ellen was funny, Paula Poundstone was funny, all the SNL women and sitcom stars like Roseanne and Brett Butler were funny. It sucks, but women have to go above and beyond; be extra creative. Oh, you’re in a sketch troupe playing the “ditzy southern girl” or the “hot dumb girlfriend” or the “mom”? What a creative character choice! But, for the longest time, those were all the options girls had. You almost had to earn your way up to the unique characters. You had to fight the typecasting and kick your way to the top to get to showcase a character like Mary Catherine Gallagher or Colette Reardon on SNL, or Megan Mullally as Karen on Will and Grace, or all of the women on Golden Girls, or anything Laurie Metcalf has ever done. You had to deal with years of twentysomething white guys getting the good lines in the sketches, and the good stand-up spots, and the immediate acceptance from the audience. As a woman, you had to know you had something special to create. What I didn’t know before I started was that it would be such a fight. No one told me.

  When I started out at twenty-two or so, I knew nothing but my jokes. I didn’t know how agents worked, and I hadn’t grown up studying stand-up. I just knew that there were people out there being funny for a living, and I was going to be one of them. I didn’t have a concrete goal. The extent of my preparation for Hollywood was writing sketches for my friends, filming them in my living room, and then editing them on a Mini DV tape; God, I spent a fortune on those. In college at Emerson, I wrote and produced a ton of sketch comedy, and at the end of school I did a one-woman show. This is a right of passage for most creative women—venturing onto the stage alone, living and dying by your own comedy. It’s a puddle of simultaneous giddiness, exhilaration, anxiety, and loneliness, and it’s worth every well-timed minute.

  Also, performing in a one-woman show during college is the only chance most women have to expose their breasts in the name of art. (I chose not to, but I would probably do it now! For the “likes.”) See, college is a safe space for women to artistically explore their own sexuality—you’re given free rein to dress provocatively, to turn on your audience, to use yourself as a character of sorts.

  Tangential side note: in college ALL my acting friends wanted to be in a student film where there was a sex or rape scene. It’s kinda funny and kinda disturbing, but honestly, who could blame them? “Art” is a perfect guise under which it’s A-OK to explore the vulnerability of sexuality without being punished for it. And I was certainly not above attempting to be sexual on screen. Somewhere there exists footage of a fifteen-year-old me fake-crying in the shower after an off-camera rape scene. We shot it at camp. I was in a Tommy Hilfiger bathing suit. It was highly inappropriate for Summer Session I Video Production. Seventeen years later I ran into the kid who “directed” that film. I was drunk at 1 a.m. at South by Southwest and I said, “OH MY GOD YOU HAVE A TAPE OF ME AT FIFTEEN, HALF-NAKED AND FAKE-CRYING!” and without missing a beat, he said, “I KNOW! I CAN’T SHOW ANYONE OR I’LL GO TO JAIL!”

  When I started out in 2005, doing stand-up about women’s bizarre behaviors wasn’t a “thing” like it is today. I was the only comedian getting up there as a young woman, and, without being overtly crass, talking honestly about the everyday girl experience: our behaviors, expectations, our desires, and our kooky inner monologues, everything from wedges to being obsessed with fall. I talked about Girl Logic. The constant barrage of information we would use to plan a night out: “Do we share tapas? Can we split a bottle? Should we text boys? Which boys? What if we text boys and only the ones we don’t like show up? What if two we like show up? Should I bring a jacket? What if I have to carry it? What if I have to walk far and look cute? But what if I’m cold? Do I have cash for a cab? What if we want to eat late night? What if my shoes hurt my feet? Will I look weird if I wear flats?”

  Soon, shows like Girl Code, a show that is just girls talking about being girls, appeared. Then there were the excessive numbers of mean-spirited, mocking Instagram accounts. If you haven’t noticed, there are tons of accounts that exist for the sole purpose of making fun of women’s makeup, bodies, clothes, anything, and everything. One recent meme said something like, “She doesn’t do gluten, GMOs, or processed anything, but she pops MDMA for two days straight at Coachella.” As if there aren’t plenty of men out there with similar food restrictions who drink to excess and do mountains of blow and HGH or, ew, drink Gatorade with dinner. Where are the accounts picturing some ugly bald dude, noting that he “can’t talk to girls, is a little racist, and is unhealthily close to his mom—but he made $5 million last year with an app so he’s allowed to be a monster”? And the fact still remains that if and when there are memes making fun of men, the impact isn’t felt as fully for men as
it is for women, since women are already under constant attack. There are thousands of accounts endlessly enforcing the idea that your vagina has to be perfect, your body has to be flawless, and as long as you’re being “bae,” you’re cool. If these accounts are run by men, or, worse, women, they’re just feeding into our society’s desires to make women seem inherently awful. I’m not saying that some of them aren’t funny, what I’m saying is that shitting on women is ubiquitous.

  Anyway, back to stand-up. You don’t have to be especially tough to do it. Sure, it requires sufficient inner fortitude to deal with rejection, but other than that you don’t have to possess much other than a strong sense of self and a burning desire to share your observations with the world. I knew I was funny because that was the staple compliment I’d received all my life. Of course, I didn’t know how many terrible guys I’d come up against after I won Last Comic Standing in 2008. Since I had no formal stand-up experience at that point, winning LCS was a little like trying to get into the military but skipping basic training and heading right to BUDS.

  When I auditioned for LCS at twenty-five, I still had a day job in an office. I worked as an assistant at a company called the Ultimate Blackjack Tour—or the Ultimate BJ Tour, as I would call it when I instant-messaged my friends at work. I was the assistant to the head of marketing, and my duties included making copies, putting together press kits, and faking being awake at 10 a.m. when I was hungover. I would pull up a Word doc, prop up my head to look like I was reading, and… fall asleep. I had a passion for neither blackjack nor marketing, but it was a good gig; I was proud to have my own cubicle! I remember the day I got offered the job. I called my mom and screamed “I’m making $40K A YEAR!” To the twenty-four-year-old me, new to the corporate world, it might as well have been a million dollars.