“Tough Titties” is my favorite non-apology, the original “sorry not sorry.”
Want me to work nine to five? Tough titties.
Want me to have kids, like you do? Tough titties.
Want me to watch less TV? Tough titties.
Want me to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then massage the person next to me at this conference? Yeah, hell no. Tough titties.
— Laura Belgray
Tough titty said the kitty but the milk tastes good! — my Mom, every time she said no to me.I hadn’t heard of Laura Belgray before — she’s apparently a well-known “genius copywriter”, and that’s a niche service I haven’t found myself in need of — but this self-helpish memoir caught my attention (that cover! that font!) and I’m happy to have taken a chance on it. I grew up in the same era as Belgray, and while that means that Tough Titties covered all the familiar cultural touchstones (from Laverne and Shirley to Donkey Kong), her life was so different from mine — and her path to success so unlikely — that Belgray’s story isn’t exactly relatable, but it is entertaining. With a self-deprecating but unapologetic tone, Belgray lays her entire life bare (perhaps too bare at points), and if nothing else, her story proves that it’s never too late to discover your calling. I found myself really liking Belgray and I liked this book. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final form.)
I guess it’s what everyone wants. To access their full potential, step into their greatness, and unleash their awesomeness. That “unleash” stuff smacks of rank bullshit and, also, it speaks to me. I always loved the idea of someone unclipping the leash on my awesomeness and letting it run loose in the park. Go, awesomeness, go chase that squirrel!
Belgray acknowledges right from the start that her “‘it all works out’ perspective comes from a place of privilege”, and along with a private school education, when she was done college she moved back home with her parents in Manhattan’s Upper West Side — working sporadically as a bartender but mostly partying, for years — until she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Networking and lucky breaks — an internship here, a temp job there — saw her plucked to write ad copy for Spy magazine, creating content for an early blog, and eventually, writing the promo copy for Nick at Night sitcom marathons. Belgray says that she’s essentially lazy and disorganised, routinely late for work and late with assignments, but one can only assume that she was massively talented at this work if she was kept around — and this “do as much as you feel like doing and it will all work out” doesn’t feel like transferable advice. Is this a self help book?
As for the memoir aspects of Tough Titties: Belgray admits to being an obsessive person — obsessed with body image in particular, and she is constantly referencing her diet and exercise regimes — and obsessed with money (a cultish self help group she went on a Costa Rican retreat with became tired of hearing of Belgrave’s goal of tens of millions of dollars), and obsessed with being desired (which manifested in a lifetime of unhealthy partnerships before she met her husband). I may be the same age as Belgray, but not being from NYC, I never skipped school to play videogames in seedy Times Square arcades; never snuck into Studio 54 underage; wouldn’t namedrop Anna Sui babydoll sundresses, Clergerie slides, or Kangol bucket hats. Belgray and I don’t have much in common beyond our ages, but I liked her; we could be friends.
Best thing about getting older, unimaginable as it was in my teens (or even my forties), is, you stop caring so much about being noticed and attractive to the opposite (or same) sex. Not that I don’t desperately buy every neck cream and still want to be considered “hawt.” But these days, “You’re so lucky” is what I say to a friend who can sleep all night without getting up to pee.
Belgray discovered that her niche was writing short, funny bits (which is great practice for someday writing an entertaining book), and she eventually began to make her millions when she started using her online presence to teach others how to write short, funny bits for their own online pursuits; the dream job she created, in her fifties, that allows Belgray to sleep ‘til noon, keep her calendar blank, and still make her afternoon dance class:
I wanted to sit on the couch, blissfully unaware of the time, and write my emails, which had replaced blogging as my main form of content. They were the most me thing I wrote. If I could get paid just to write those, I fantasized, I’d be getting paid to be me. Happily, I found a way to do just that. Once I finally created my own courses and group programs, which, bonus, could help many people at once, I used my emails to sell those. And that, to oversimplify things, is how I got to my first million. Write fun things and then the money comes in, minimal appointments on the calendar.
Again: This is not exactly a self-help book — most people can’t not work at a job that’s not perfect while waiting for friends of friends to give them a break. Belgray does give some advice along the way (mostly along the line of “self-help books are pretty much BS”), but the biggest takeaway is that she learned something about herself through the opportunities she was given and only discovered how to make a dream job out of her talents in her fifties; and that’s an interesting and valuable lesson. As for her life story: Totally not relatable to me, sometimes off-putting, but I’d go get a Tasti D-Lite with her anytime to hear Belgray tell more stories.
