Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain in Ultimate Popsugar Reading Challenge

May 21, 2011 jess rated it liked it · review of another edition

Shelves: audiobook-d, ladyish, 2011

First Ricky Martin, now Portia? I promise you I am not on a gay celebrity memoir kick. It’s just a coincidence. I’m not working on an examination of celebrity, gay shame, coming out and visibility.

In this book, Portia de Rossi chronicles some of the most vivid, excruciating, meticulous details of her disordered eating. From her first modeling job at age 12 through an adolescent of inadequacy and a young adulthood of gay shame, her eating disorder is her constant companion through this sorrowful First Ricky Martin, now Portia? I promise you I am not on a gay celebrity memoir kick. It’s just a coincidence. I’m not working on an examination of celebrity, gay shame, coming out and visibility.

In this book, Portia de Rossi chronicles some of the most vivid, excruciating, meticulous details of her disordered eating. From her first modeling job at age 12 through an adolescent of inadequacy and a young adulthood of gay shame, her eating disorder is her constant companion through this sorrowful coming of age. Her self-loathing, distorted perceptions and absolute conviction function as the scaffolding for what seems like a very fabulous life. Make no mistake about it; Portia de Rossi goes to some very dark places in this book. If you have a history of struggling with this kind of behavior, I would encourage you to tread carefully in reading this book. It can be, for lack of a better word, triggering for certain behaviors.

I listened to the audio book, read by the author in her dry, forthright voice. It was eerie to hear someone describe these things without being emotional. It is deeply unsettling to hear the deadpan delivery of self-loathing and fat-talk of an actress who weighed less than 90 pounds and still thought her thighs were enormous.

Portia is a queer woman and a self-identified feminist. I was fascinated when she discussed a book her therapist gave her called The Beauty Myth, her inability to identify as butch or femme, and how she reconciled her feminism with her eating disorder. When she writes about going to Banana Republic to buy a new wardrobe before she started Ally McBeal, she is talking about leaving behind holey t-shirts and engineer boots and shopping with the stylish girl she’s desperately crushing on. On the forefront of her mind are the media’s portrayal of women, heterosexual availability, conditional love from your parents and the (in)ability of a lesbian to get a job in that town. It must have been terrifying for her to navigate those issues. It was excruciating to read, in the way that re-reading diaries from your own early-twenties feminist self-discoveries would be excruciating.

This book, with all its earnestness, could have benefited from more editorial guidance. The sheer lunacy and outrageousness of her disorder careens wildly until she ends up with an autoimmune disorder, osteoporosis, cirrhosis of the liver, and several major organs on the brink of shut-down. Then, bang! She’s done being ‘crazy.’ The story has been rightfully criticized for the disney-fied version of her recovery after so much time is spent detailing her 300-calorie diets, laxatives, binging and purging, extensive workout regimes and tips for keeping your hair and makeup looking good while you run on a treadmill in your Ally McBeal dressing room on break. Ellen sums it up in the last chapter when she reads Portia’s book and says, “Baby, you were so crazy.” And now everything is okay! She is so happy and in love and complete! I'm happy for the changes she made in her life, and yeah, the book needed to wrap it up, but after so many dark, painful stories, it was too simple for her to just snap out of it like that. ...more

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