How to Be a Boss B*tch , livre ebook

ABRAMS BOOKS - Quinn Christine Quinn

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78 pages

English

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"Let's get one thing straight right up front: If you're going to call me a bitch, I'm going to take it as a compliment." Christine Quinn, the breakout star of Netflix's hit Selling Sunset, shows women how to unapologetically own their power in business and relationships to live the life they want. Part prescriptive how-to, part manifesto, part tell-all, Christine Quinn's How to Be a Boss Bitch candidly covers sex and money, fashion and fame, gossip and gratitude, confidence and consciousness. Quinn has been called everything from "the most-talked-about woman on TV" to "the villain 2020 needed," and she isn't shy about any of the qualities that got her the success she has today: tenacity, confidence, and fearlessness, all while dressed in full glam and designer. By sharing details of her journey from high school dropout to self made millionaire, reality TV star, and fashion and beauty entrepreneur, Quinn gives her readers the tools to define their own Boss Bitch style and manifest their own success-without being held back by society's terms. From branding yourself with a signature style that reflects your unique strengths, to using your opponent's poison as your power, to learning the basics of a successful negotiation, to getting fired-and being ecstatic about it, How to Be a Boss Bitch is a modern guide to living a bold, authentic life.

Sujets

Employabilité, métiers et formations

Mind

Body

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	17 mai 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647006358
Langue	English

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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: A TYPICAL TUESDAY
CHAPTER 1 HEY BITCH, GET OFF THE COUCH!
CHAPTER 2 THE FIVE BOSS BITCH LANGUAGES
CHAPTER 3 IT COSTS A LOT TO LOOK THIS CHEAP
CHAPTER 4 WORK, BITCH
CHAPTER 5 MIND YOUR VAGINA
CHAPTER 6 GET RICH AF
CHAPTER 7 MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY
CHAPTER 8 THE SHAME SHAM
CHAPTER 9 MILF MONEY
EPILOGUE: STEAL THE SHOW
INTRODUCTION A TYPICAL TUESDAY
Let me set the scene: It s a gorgeous, sun-soaked day on the Adriatic Sea, somewhere off the coast of Croatia. The temperature is a perfect 80-something degrees, and we re surrounded by glimmering water so stunning that Instagram filters wish they could do it justice #Wanderlust. My husband and I are aboard a three-story, 185-foot yacht with some close friends, celebrating the wrap of Selling Sunset s smash third season. It s first-class all the way, from the 360-degree views to the grand winding staircase to the gold, mirrored foyer that looks like Donatella herself manifested this floating mansion. It s regal, opulent, and completely over the top, but if you ve watched even one episode of my hit Netflix series, then you know it s exactly my speed for vacation mode. Fuck, for a Tuesday. We have a full staff, a yoga instructor, Jet Skis, a water trampoline, a three-story slide, and pretty much all the toys at our disposal. It s every overconfident drunk person s best friend-and every Malia from Below Deck s worst nightmare.
I m sitting on one of the yacht s oversize lambskin couches on the main level, nestled in a chinchilla throw worth more than my first annual salary. Going over my schedule for the day in my signature Louis Vuitton agenda, I pencil in work meetings that I have to arrange, list emails to reply to, and review my research for upcoming interviews I ve booked during the trip. Doing a lot of press is normal for me by now; whether I m at home or on vacation, it never stops. (But then again, neither do I.) First up on my itinerary is a Zoom interview with a reporter from Vogue . My publicist arranged the interview to chat about real estate, the show, and my style. The usual. What I don t know at this point is that I m about to drop a bomb that will change not only my life but other people s lives, too.
I get on the call, and the reporter starts listing all of my accolades in real estate and entertainment. We talk about my experience as a realtor in a male-dominated industry, and how I m a top producer in my office. I d recently dominated on multiple listings-one of which was $17 million, the biggest listing for any woman in our office to date-all while filming a top Netflix series six days a week for six months straight.
I really don t know how you do it all, the reporter says. You are the definition of a businesswoman.
Suddenly, I m overcome by a feeling I barely recognize. There s something about the way she s rattling off all these amazing accomplishments that makes me realize that I m not telling the full story. We continue on with the interview, and I m doing my best to focus, except this feeling won t go away and now I m sweating and anxious like I m back at church. I m shook in a way that I rarely am-because it only happens when I m lying. I think about how the article is going to read, what message I m sending to people, and realize I can t keep this secret inside any longer.
I stop her mid-sentence. You know what? I say. There s something I want to tell you that I ve honestly never told anyone in my entire life other than my immediate family and my husband. Seriously, no one knows.
There s no turning back now.
I don t have a high school diploma or even a GED. I have an eighth-grade education.
I can hear her struggling to find something to say as I break down crying. I m breaking down in front of Vogue , for chrissake. Even my waterproof Christian Dior Iconic Overcurl mascara is failing me as a stream of black tears line my face. Where I come from, everyone finishes high school and goes on to college. Period. Anyone who strays from that past is an outcast. No, a failure. Add that to my already hard-to-comprehend life, and it makes me a straight-up circus freak. And I ve just spelled this out to a reporter whose job it is to share it with the world.
But then a funny thing happens. Within seconds, literally, of making this confession, I feel better. (Though, mental note: Let s not make a habit of doing this!) I feel like a weight has been lifted because for years and years, I d been lying on resume after resume about my education, hoping that people would give me a chance instead of judging me off the bat. (It s not exactly like being tall, blonde, and big-boobed has people assuming that I m actually really smart.) And the super fucked-up thing is that I ve built a life on authenticity. Whether it s my clients, my friends, my husband, or my fans, they know exactly what they re getting with me because I ve realized that to try to be anyone else but me is letting myself down in the end. Here I was preaching about keeping things real and telling it like it is when I d been carrying around this massive secret. Not only that, I was covering up for something that s pretty much bullshit anyway. I may not have finished school-for reasons I ll get into later-but all those accomplishments that the reporter was oohing and aahing over? That s all me, baby. I made that happen, degree or no degree.
But I didn t always see it that way. I was ashamed of what I perceived to be this shortcoming, and because I saw myself as less-than, I let that define me. After years of playing the dumb blonde in order to fit into the spaces I thought I needed to squeeze myself into-at work, in relationships-I had begun to think that I was that person. But there eventually came a point when I could say Wait a minute! I m not perfect. So what?! I felt it was my duty to let women know, starting with this interview. I wasn t going to let that imperfection define me-fuck no. Because I may not have all the right degrees, but you bet your ass I have a PhD in life. And right now, in this moment, I m about to prove that when it comes to living my truth, I get all the extra credit.
A few weeks later, after I d left the luxury of the yacht for my Los Angeles home-which, granted, with its infinity pool and closet for my four hundred pairs of Louboutins isn t exactly slumming it-the article came out. It was everywhere . . . and then came the flood of messages. I held my breath as I scrolled through the DMs pouring in on Instagram. But instead of calling me dumb or making me feel shame for what I thought for so long was a shortcoming, people were thanking me. By being honest and owning my shit, I had inspired them that they, too, could achieve great things with a less-than-stellar resume and, even better, made them feel better about their own deep, dark insecurities.
This was a huge turning point for me. Laying it all out for Vogue taught me that sharing your whole truth is not about throwing yourself a pity party; it s about re-labeling the parts of you that society wants to slap its own brand on, not giving a fuck about what anyone thinks about it, and soaring even higher because you don t have a bunch of extra baggage weighing you down (no matter how cute it is). I m not sorry for who I am, where I come from, or who I ve become; I m not apologizing for any of it. Neither should you. And you know what that makes us? A couple of Boss Bitches.
CALL ME YOUR BITCH
Let s get one thing straight right up front: If you re going to call me a bitch, I m going to take it as a compliment. Bitch is just a name people give you when they don t know what to do with you, or you make them uncomfortable, or you push them outside of their comfort zone. It s a word men call strong, assertive women who threaten them, but when women use it, it should be a power word. It s time to change the narrative.
If you re anything like me, people have probably called you a bitch with the intention to label you, use it against you, and hurt you. But when I use the word bitch, I wear it like a badge of honor where it used to be a scarlet letter. I expect you to do the same. Because no one s ever been called a bitch for being a quiet, amenable woman who never makes any waves. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, well-behaved women rarely make history. Bitches have opinions and they make things happen. So, it s about time we took the word bitch back for ourselves. From this page forward, when I say it, I am referring to you, a badass who takes no shit, goes after what she wants, and doesn t apologize for it.
I ve always been different and outspoken, and I ve never had any trouble telling people No. As a result, I ve been categorized as a bitch for most of my life. From my teen years onward, whenever I had an unpopular opinion, or spoke up in a situation that others didn t, boom, the bitch label got slapped on me yet again. Particularly after Selling Sunset first came out, and I heard that all-too-familiar refrain about myself: Oh my God, she s such a bitch.
But why? Because I m saying the things that everyone else is thinking but they don t have the balls to say? Does that really make me a bitch? Or does that just make me good at what I do? I believe that when women are strong and voice their opinions, it s hard for people to know what to do with that. The easiest thing is to label them and move along. I say let s flip the implication that speaking up and being your own person is something negative. There s absolutely nothing wrong with being honest and authentic. But until the world catches up and realizes this along with us, bitch is going to be our label. Personally, I m going to own it, like I own all the labels I wear. (Yes, I whipped my hair over my shoulder when I wrote that, and no, I m not sorry for it!)
So, when I call you a bitch, know that I mean it as the highest praise, and also as a way to build your confidence and light a fire under your ass so you can stand up fo