I know you are not, in actuality, a character. You are a real person. However, there are so many wondrous qualities that make up that person, the Big Shoulder Broad on the tiny frame, that you seem almost like a fantastic character from a screwball comedy.
One of my secret weekly traditions is that each Friday night, after my children are asleep, I settle onto my couch, snuggle with my Pit Bull, and watchFashion Police. Your one liners on that show often make me laugh more than most scripted television and certainly more than many movies. Yes, I know you have writers, but I have also seen you off-the-cuff, so to speak, and your wit is like a bull whip. My heart lifts up each time you unnerve some media-trained starlet with a simple yet scathing analogy. I giggle like a school girl when you make others hide their faces, shocked that you will loudly trumpet things the rest of us think and do not say.
My admiration goes beyond the superficial trappings of comedy. When so many women lie and say silly things about diet and sleep and exercise when everyone knows they’ve had a snip, you own your vanity, laugh at yourself first and loudest, and never make pretense to be something you are not. The great irony, my dearest Ms. Rivers, is that behind all the plastic, you are genuine.Your life has not always been one punch line after another, and if anything, I appreciate that you are a survivor above all else. And damn funny.
I recently saw a television interview where you claimed your greatest inspiration came from Lenny Bruce in a note he sent you backstage during an early stand up routine that failed miserably: “You’re right, they’re wrong. Keep doing what you’re doing.” Thank you for taking that advice and keeping it stuffed in your bra for all those years. J’adore, Joan. Thank you for being smart, funny, and brash. Perdi and I look forward to seeing you next week.
PS. Your documentary, Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work was hilarious and touching. Too bad Oscar sometimes only looks skin deep.