I didn’t pick up Bretman Rock’s new memoir, “You’re That Bitch: & Other Cute Lessons About Being Unapologetically Yourself,” thinking I would hate it. In fact, as a lover of both celebrity memoirs and Rock, I was positively excited to start reading. But there are only so many disparaging comments about lesbians and tactless editorial choices that a reader can take.
The memoir begins with a cute intro — literally, it’s titled “A Cute Intro” — about Rock’s early life growing up in the Philippines, his relationship with gender and sexuality, and a brief background on his stardom as an internet celebrity. Gender and sexuality are two principal themes of Rock’s memoir, given his status as a pioneer of “the new standard of genderless beauty.” Throughout the memoir, Rock uses both “he/him/his” and “she/her/hers” pronouns and clarifies his lack of preference. Since “he/him/his” pronouns are used in his biography and in the book jacket blurb, those are the pronouns I will use throughout this review.
Though Rock’s discussions of gender are mostly enlightening, his descriptions of transcending the binary often fall victim to stereotypes. “I’ve always been a divine blend of masculine and feminine—so if I look like a lesbian after a bicep bulging workout, call me he, but if I’m in full makeup wearing a Catholic schoolgirl plaid skirt and barrettes, call me she,” Rock wrote in the introduction. It seems that there is an intrinsic relationship between lesbianism and masculinity for Rock, and while there are lesbians who claim that description, it’s not something Rock can. He only refers to himself as a gay man, and clarifies time and time again his aversion to vaginas: “I will always try everything once. (Just not vagina. I’m no vagitarian. That’s one thing I’m certain of.)”
Rock also feels comfortable using the lesbian slur as an adjective, which is certainly an interesting choice for someone with such an unabashed aversion to lesbianism. I don’t doubt that my own identity makes me acutely aware of Rock’s lesbian commentary, but it’s not the only problem with his memoir.
On a surface level, “You’re That Bitch” lacks any semblance of written prowess. Beyond simple spelling and grammatical errors — I’m not talking about purposeful errors, like the fact that Rock manages to spell “sexy” three different ways on the same page, but errors that had me checking to see if I received an uncorrected proof — the memoir’s structure is falling apart at the seams, the organization is almost laughable. For instance, Rock ends one paragraph with “When I first started creating content, I wanted to be accepted in the white world, too,” and begins the next with “Sometimes I think a lot of people assume that because I’m an influencer, I’m illiterate.” The lack of editorial guidance means Rock repeatedly stands in his own way of crafting meaningful discussions and dialogue, erasing the potential of the work and the substance of his experiences.
Yet, even when Rock’s writing did have the chance to shine, his pen failed him, like when he described his move to the United States from the Philippines: “Right before we landed, everyone put their window shades up, and I almost broke my neck trying to take in all of Oahu, my new home, from the air. It was drizzling, but the sun was also out. It was so poetically beautiful, I almost feel like I could write a poem about it, but I’m not going to, yeah.”
I won’t lie and say there wasn’t anything I enjoyed about “You’re That Bitch.” Highlights of the memoir were Rock’s efforts to make the reader laugh, with lines like “Walmart was the birthplace of my essence,” and when he declared Junie B. Jones a “diva of the written word.” Moments like these made me disappointed because they nodded to Rock’s potential and abilities. If he had leaned more comedic, following the example of authors like Jill Gutowitz, and taken advantage of his natural talent, his story would’ve been better served. Instead, it was hard to grasp any of his story because I was entirely preoccupied with its poor execution.
Unfortunately, “You’re That Bitch” is not a book I would — or could — recommend. In truth, I’m not sure who the intended audience is. From inserts on “Douching Your Ass Like a Bad Bitch” to “How to Deal with Bullies” and “Finding Connection,” the planned readership is unclear. I hope Rock tries again, because he clearly is a force to be reckoned with and someone with stories worth listening to. Until then, stick to watching his YouTube channel.
Daily Arts Writer Lillian Pearce can be reached at pearcel@umich.edu.