An Open Letter to Samantha Irby
Throughout my life, whenever I’d ask my perpetually white friends for my celebrity look-alike, I would always get pegged for Oprah- which is false and racist. I’ve spent the last five years telling anyone who would listen that Beyonce and I are both 5’7” and, therefore, if she’d just let herself go we could be twins- which is false and insulting to Queen Bey. It wasn’t until early last year when working at the greeter’s desk on the first floor of 30 Rock that I was finally given an accurate reading. As I set down your book We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, the French woman in front of me looked down at your photo and gasped before asking if I had authored the book. Why she would dare think that the dead-eyed girl in the too-tight Page uniform was a published author (who reads her own books in PUBLIC?!) I don’t know. But before I could conjure up a retort that would allow me to both retain my dignity and not lose my job (Je suis une femme noire mais pas CETTE femme noire) I paused. She wasn’t too far off. I pointed her in the wrong direction for Jimmy Fallon tickets and wept knowing that I could finally stop working on my “You get a car” impression and embarrassing myself with allusions to Beyonce. I finally had a look-alike.
This brings me to the point of this letter. Samantha, I’m fat, I’m black, I have short hair, glasses, and, at the time of writing this, the secondhand confidence of a white man. Please let me play you on TV.
No, you don’t know me from anything and yes, most of my previous work is from college BUT I went to college in your hometown of Evanston (destiny???) and Natasha Rothwell is getting more expensive by the day. This was obviously meant to be, take a chance on me.
Here is a list of things I am ready and able to do if given this role:
Expose my lower stomach and naked hip while miming diarrhea for the entertainment of others.
Please provide a 48-hour notice if you would like to be portrayed without belly stubble.
Stay fat
I recently hit yet another milestone for how *~luscious~* I can become without my ankles swelling up. Combine that with a growing reliance on Prozac and a quarantine full of self-acceptance culminating in me dressing up as Lizzo for Halloween (photos only available upon request because my mother told me that putting them on Instagram would make me “unemployable”) and I now plan to stay this way.
Improvise scenes
Alt: Not improvise ever again in case you hate that.
Move back to Chicago
But lowkey not LA because The Big One is COMING. I don’t know why people are trying to pretend having bottled water in their car is gonna help when the San Andreas fault swallows them whole on their way to pilates.
Only say nice things about you in interviews
You seem great but inevitably I will learn some dark secret about you. When that time comes, I am more than ready to rebuke any and all negative press that gets too close to the truth.
Laughing. Crying. Eye-Rolling. Sleeping. Partying. Eating. Singing (Alto range). Hitting my ‘Mark’. Not Looking at the Camera. Being Nice to Interns. I can do it all just give me the chance to fuck it up a couple times first.
This is the first year that I have swapped out my usual New Year's Resolution of ‘Finally develop an eating disorder’ for something more positive. This is why my motto for 2021 is ‘Do as the white man does- except for all that shit white men do’. For example, I am currently practicing something called ‘self-promotion’ but I will not be, say, telling National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman that her writing is “too confident” (Can you believe that shit?!) And, according to the many white men that I, unfortunately, know (read: former improv teammates) writing to you is, apparently, an appropriate thing to do. Although I must stress that my black-ass stomach is in knots at the thought of inconveniencing anyone, let alone my favorite author, with the knowledge of my existence. And yet I will persevere for fear that one of those aforementioned white men will steal my idea and somehow white man his way into this role.
If that is not enough then please feel free to reach out to any of my references below:
Megan Stielstra- My former nonfiction creative writing professor at Northwestern and self-proclaimed friend of yours
Megan would be happy to tell you that I am a longtime fan of yours and once wanted to do a class presentation on your work but was beat out by another classmate and instead forced to give a timed PowerPoint presentation about Tina Fey. If asked, I’m sure Megan would 1) at least remember me a little bit and 2) openly gush about my wit and uncanny ability to write nearly identical first and second drafts.
Ilana Glazer- My former employer and friend to Abbi Jacobson (who a little birdie told me you know)
I worked as Ilana’s personal assistant and the coordinator for her production company for a whopping 6 WHOLE MONTHS! If asked, I am confident that Ilana would describe me as ‘nice’, ‘generally okay at her job’, and ‘more cut out for something else’ such as playing you on TV!(????)
Abbi Jacobson- CURVE BALL She’s producing this very show!
One time, I went to FedEx, picked up a binder full of scripts, rode the bus to the wrong address, walked half a mile, and hand-delivered said binder to Abbi in the rain. I have no doubt she would describe me as ‘damp’, ‘a fast walker’, and ‘smiling behind her mask’. I also, through no fault of her own, know her email address and respect her far too much to clog her inbox with this nonsense. Thus proving that I do, in fact, possess humility despite putting this on the internet.
Aidy Bryant*- Whom I assume you know/met once/recognize the name of through your work on her show, Shrill
*Just kidding- but I am close personal friends with her assistant, Meryl which should count for something cause she’s awesome. Meryl would describe me using some effusive language like ‘funny’, ‘talented’, and ‘built like a dump truck’ which I am too insecure to think of let alone write down because what kind of terrible person would dare say positive things about themself without immediately negging themself by activating that voice in the back of their head that will berate them about being ‘neurotic’, ‘hairy’, and ‘having a butt that’s mostly just thigh’?
If, by chance, this letter is met with naught but a sigh and a restraining order- that’s okay. I get it. If this letter is met with international applause and a leading role in a show without the budget for Natasha Rothwell- that’s dope. Thank you! And, if after reading this, you (Samantha Irby) are excited but unable to hand me this role due to the studio knowing it’d be impossible to afford the SFX to blur out my chin hairs for 6 seasons and a movie, that’s very nice of you. Please know that I don’t blame you, I blame the system. Which system? I don’t know but I’m sure lizard people are involved.
Before you make your final decision, you should know that I am willing to accept any of the following roles in your life/on your show:
Writer
Writer’s Assistant
PA
Internet friend that you only communicate with through memes
Make-A-Wish kid that you invite to set, smile at, then quickly usher out the door
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best,
Maya Armstrong
A girl with nothing to lose
