Please Don’t Sit on My Bed in Your Outside Clothes: Essays
by Phoebe Robinson
978-0-593-18490-5 (copyright 2021) published by Tiny Reparations Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House
This is a book of essays written during the pandemic lockdown, starting with an essay about that slap in the face that was March 2020, when we all realized what was happening and the panic set in. Robinson jokes about the myriad responses, from those who put society as a whole above themselves to those who pushed and trod over the infirm to get to their next roots appointment at the hair salon. While some people were struggling to get toilet paper, others were on social media cooking up recipes in their chef’s kitchens and taking selfies by their private pools. Not only all that, there were serious differences between Black and brown experiences and those of the non-marginalized members of society during those trying times, and that’s how the scene is set for the rest of the book. There’s the relatable stuff, and there’s all the rest. That year that we all thought was going to be a fresh, beautiful start to the rest of our charmed lives, ended up being a shitstorm of fear and disappointment, as if climate change, racism, and war wasn’t enough, there was pandemic. In some regard, it’s ended up not being a time of action so much as a time of tattered sweatpants and small victories. But this book doesn’t attempt to reconcile us with all that. It’s just a book written in a time of paralysis and its intent is to bring levity to gravity. Maybe while you read the book, you’ll engross in a bit of enjoyment and then when the covers close, you’ll be ready to take those first fragile steps back into real life. Because despite the time capsule of Covid, Robinson shows we’ve actually been living our real lives all along.
Robinson talks at length about a few topics that are the main tenets of her own life, such as her career and brand building, quarantining with her boyfriend, the Black and brown experience, and waxing poetic about her life choices and past experiences. The book feels like it’s set in real time, with occasional references to writing her book as she’s writing it. A bit rambling at times, in a charming way, it’s written with the cadence of a friend chatting to you over the phone. It’s evident how seriously she takes her writing and her work. She describes her work ethic of steel, doubling down on the hardest jobs and taking on more. That energy is infectious and she’ll tap into the entrepreneurial spirit of her readers, walking through her strategies as a badass lady boss. She’s a Black lady boss, in particular, and it’s important to have voices that speak to that and provide representation for others. She talks about her journey creating Tiny Reparations Production Company and Tiny Reparations Books (the company she runs and the imprint that publishes this memoir). She navigated being a Black boss without ever having witnessed one herself, and she created a company run by and for Black people, respecting both the education and buying power of the Black population. She shares some of her valuable lessons as an empire builder, such as understanding that employers are there for a paycheck, not to follow someone else’s dream; it’s important to delegate and be decisive; and have fun but also get a lawyer and learn to manage your finances. Robinson provides the business lessons she learned the hard way, by doing, and lets us all in on it with her joyful sense of adventure and humor. Like a good pal, not only will she encourage you to build the empire of your dreams, she’ll make you giggle about its ups and downs.
She spent the pandemic cohabiting with her boyfriend whom she refers to as “British Baekoff” or “Bae.” She knew it was love when the relationship progressed from eating gross food in front of him to becoming completely open about bathroom indignities and wholly accepting each other’s annoying habits. She’ll not only teach you what she knows about building an empire but she’ll tell you about the business of realizing you’ve met your soulmate. Also, as Robinson teaches Bae, her white, British boyfriend about the highlights of Black, American pop culture, the reader vicariously goes on that funny ride.
She also talks about her decision not to have children. Despite that most of her childhood was spent carrying around a doll that she didn’t care was decapitated, she grew up accepting the socially engrained idea that having kids was a woman’s destiny. Her essay about choosing not to be a mother cuts deep into the myths and realities of motherhood with hilarious clarity and promotes the idea that while motherhood is great for some, what should really be celebrated is a woman’s choice to be the architect of her own life’s trajectory. In her deeply personal essay about her decision not to have children, despite scrutiny, she shares with readers who may connect with her experience that women have worth in all kinds of other ways. But this essay translates to other relatable things, like learning not to compare yourself to everyone on social media and feeling like you’re not sizing up to what society expects. She cautions readers not to scrutinize themselves and feel damaged just for going against the grain. Everyone has to decide their own vision and follow that faithfully and, if you do, you’ll end up on the journey meant for you. She also conveys the concept of how nice it is to be supported by like-minded people in a world of diversity.
This book is also an eloquent disquisition on race in America. Woven throughout all her tales is her perspective on American culture as it relates to her own experiences but also the Black and brown experience in general. The essays cover heavier issues such as white savior complex and performative allyship during and after the scarring civil rights violations against Black people during the summer of 2020 and the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement. Robinson powerfully reminds readers that equality isn’t just a social media post, that notions of “progress” are routinely condescended, and that there is a significant way to go towards ending systemic racism. In addition to race relations and career empowerment, one of her best chapters is on the power and culture of Black hair styles. Her essay is rich with historical information and personal identity.
In a ramble of hilarious anecdotes, she weaves together lessons learned from her parents, her neurotic inner monologue before sex, and her very relatable and charming list of “Phoebe-isms” to live by, such as not sitting on her bed in your outside clothes. One of her concluding essays is on the commercialization of the self-care industry run amuck during the traumatic year of 2020. She discussed navigating ways to actually find mental and physical peace without being manipulated by technology-aided advertising into always feeling the need for self-improvement. She discovers having a sense of community is a defining factor for her. She goes on various rants about life’s indignities, from the pressures that society puts on us to the pressures we put on ourselves and she tells the reader kindly, “I see the scars and they are healing” (p55).
Even readers not familiar with her career will find book endearing and want to read more.