I want to hate Cat Marnell. I really do. She even warns us in the beginning of her memoir, “How to Murder Your Life,” that we will probably end up hating her and her stupid entitled world she lives in. And I wanted to. SO badly. Typical rich kid with daddy issues gets hooked on drugs. How could this be entertaining?
But it was. So much so that I finished “How to Murder Your Life” in like 48 hours. Any free spec of free time I had was dedicated to Cat Marnell’s wild ride filled with drugs, fashion, and bad decisions. And when it was over, I craved more. To the point where I ended up stalking Cat on Twitter and Instagram for a stupid amount of time, gasping over how thin she was (normal, right?).
I’ll be honest, apart of me hates Cat, for nothing more than pure selfish reasons. I, once upon a time, dreamed of picking up after college, moving to NYC, and working at a glossy magazine. But alas, due to the economy sucking, and being stupidly broke, that dream did not pan out (#noregrets).
So reading about her effortless move to NYC, her parent’s paying for her lifestyle, and just falling backwards in a drug haze into the glamorous world of magazines was only slightly infuriating to me. Slightly. Okay a lot. Maybe more than a lot :::shakes fist::: Arrrrggghhhh.
And then I kind of adored her. Because of her honesty and self acceptance (also … Jesus Christ this is SUPER hard to write about without giving away any spoilers … ugh). But, without saying too much, she starts living her true self and gets to write about it … no matter how fucked up it was or how much it made you cringe, she was getting paid to write her truth.
Cat paints such a vivid picture of her drug-filled existence that sometimes I felt like I was in the corner of her room watching her shoot up some sort of drug. I felt like I could reach out and smack the needle out of her hand as I took a break from rummaging through her designer-stuffed closet to say, “STOP DOING DRUGS, YA DUMMY… but may I borrow this Balenciaga clutch?”
It’s really every writers dream to be able to get paid to write about what they know best (for me it would probably be black outfits, cats, and wine). And when you write about something you know, and are passionate about, that writing becomes magnetic … which is what happened here in Cat’s memoir.
Sometimes it’s nice to jump inside the lives of others, no matter how messy they are (and trust me, Cat’s is like the messiest mess of all time). I kept waiting for the part where she dies … but had to stupidly remind myself, “self, she wrote this fucking book, clearly she somehow survived and may or may not be bullet-proof.” I mean, for the love of God, whose boss sends them … DAMMIT ... spoiler. Nevermind.
So if Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra had a rating system for books, I would give Cat Marnell’s memoir like 4 bras out of 5 (guess I don’t hate her THAT much).
And also, don’t do drugs. Cat did an excellent job of making a drug habit look disgusting and horrifying, so if you were thinking about taking up a drug habit, this is a MUST READ for you.
Also don’t do drugs, ya fucking idiot.