At first glance, this looks almost exactly the same as Dick Clark's book from last time, To Goof Or Not To Goof. But If I Knew Then, by Debbie Reynolds, has a very different story to tell.
While Dick's was all gladhanding and awkward use of contemporary lingo, it was marked also by a certain earnestness. Dick knows kids; kids know Dick; and for all his mistakes, he seems motivated by a sincere wish to help them. With Debbie, it's all a little less clear.
We know you wouldn't trade her for anything in the world -- but let's be frank. Wouldn't you like to see your daughter stop coming in at all hours -- even though "all the other girls do"? ... And wouldn't you like her to stop trying to out-Brigitte Bardot? Or is she the kind that eats her heart out because she's not going out? (And neglects her homework, completely).
That is a lot of bitterness crammed into one short paragraph. She lashes out at teenage girls, accusing them from the very beginning of breaking curfew and not doing homework, and ridiculing them for being worried about relationship problems. She follows it up with a cheap shot at fellow celebrity Brigitte Bardot, all but calling her a slut, and we're off on the wrong foot.
There are some token gestures of self-deprecation -- Debbie admits that she has dry skin and unruly hair -- but that's the only concession she gives Jane Q. Public. She says of the special hair set made with beer, "It really works, and costs one tenth of what your daughter is paying in the beauty salon now." Is she insinuating poverty? And why mention that it includes beer -- does she assume all middle-class people drink?
The attitude of self-aggrandizement overrides everything else, though. Debbie not only wants to share "how I learned how to enjoy my parents," but also "how I solved the big problems of my own teen-age years." That's not enough for you? She also "broke into pictures... after everyone said I didn't stand a chance" and "learned to be very, very popular with boys."
On top of all that, she "learned to make [her] emotions work for [her]" and discovered "happiness, maturity, and true popularity." If you're not convinced by now that she deserves a Nobel Prize, she covers her shortcomings with a transparent cop-out: "Frankly, I'm pretty busy raising my own family right now."
The whole thing is capped off by a curiosity about SEX that's frankly even more creepy than that in Dick Clark's ad. Debbie dares to ask the question "Should [a girl] ever wear falsies?" In addition, there is advice for "victories over the slinkiest study-hall sirens," and the cryptic heading "Speaking of sex... who doesn't?"
In the end, whereas Dick's was amusing, Debbie's is just sad. The portrait is either of a disingenuous money grab, or a love letter from Debbie Reynolds to Debbie Reynolds which masquerades as advice. Perhaps most telling is a look at Debbie's own daughter and former teenager: Carrie Fisher. Fisher became famous as Princess Leia in the Star Wars movies, but spent years trying to overcome bipolar disorder, alcoholism, and drug addiction. It's a sobering reminder that some things are more important than popularity and unruly hair.
