Books to Hold in your Hand While Eating Pretzels

a review of “Wow, No Thank You.” by Samantha Irby

The internet has rained a storm of horror on humankind. Of course, a horror storm existed pre-internet and the difference is now we can like and comment on said horror storm. Nobody asked for this! But here we are, online, googling “are racist people getting fired,” “Florida covid,” “susie park budget director chicago” and “paws chicago.” Say what you want about humanity, but we be googling. With all that salty sweet information in our tongue, what’s next, you ask? Simply move on with our lives and engage with other human beings? Of course not! Enter “blogging” stage right. 

Samantha Irby has been blogging since 2008. Her blogs become books and the books are something you can buy and hold in your hand and read while eating pretzels. Irby’s writing welcomes you into the 5BR 2.5B of her brain by holding the door ajar. There’s no deli tray or fruit bowl or “welcome friends” doormat. We don’t need it; Irby’s writing is effortlessly hospitable. There is no reason she has to tell us about her showering habits or bowel functions or inner monologue. It is suuuuch a privilege and luxury to attend an open house of someone’s brain, and we live in a time where--thanks to the internet--it’s readily available.

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 In Wow, No Thank You Irby writes funny, honest essays about being uncomfortable in different locales. Some of her essays are sparse and rely too heavily on “the bit”--to use a term I am highly qualified to use after taking 3 levels of improvisational comedy. But Irby’s writing is interesting by default because she is such a sincere narrator (it’s an imperfect comparison, but reminds me of the way Dave Chappelle’s audiences laugh at his premises before the punchline because they know they’re in safe comedic hands). 

In college, I wrote a column called #ColgateProblems about “the inevitable blunders of collegiate life” (to quote my resume). Like Irby, I wheeled and dealed in personal embarrassment. I wrote about falling down the stairs at the library, getting called out for not making eye contact, grinding at non-grinding parties, getting friend-dumped. Everything feels terrible and embarrassing until it’s in a funny essay riddled with Drake references and inane metaphors. Once, I got an email from a graduated student who was working at the university and it said: “I just wanted you to know that I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. And this comes from someone who does not read the Maroon News often. Lol the Drake reference was gold.”* The external validation sent shockwaves of joy throughout my life, since here we are in 2020 and I’m quoting it verbatim. When you’re writing for no one and someone says “that’s nice” it feels electric. 

We are lucky that Samantha Irby writes. My favorite writers to read are people who I have something in common with and then also nothing in common with. Irby is a self-described “cheese fry-eating, slightly damp Midwestern person” as well as someone with chronic pain, a Black woman, queer, successful, Diet Coke drinker. I love her writing and if you enjoy a side of shits n giggles with your nonfiction, then you will too.

*Yes I did log in to my college email to find this and maybe that’s sad but to that I say Do you love this shit? Are you high right now? Do you ever get nervous? Are you single? I heard you fucked your girl, is it true?