Like most of America, I've got a ginormous girl crush on Tina Fey. 30 Rock is among the best, smartest, bravest, and most honest shows on TV, not to mention snort-Coke-thru-your-schnoz funny. I really didn't think Fey would pull it off, and was surprised by how much the show hooked me. It's the only one I ever rewind to experience the whipsmart repartee twice. (The episode that changed me from time-killer to stalker-fan contained this piece from Alec Baldwin as Jack Donaghy, Fey's bizarre TV boss: "I don't know what happened in your life that caused you to develop a sense of humor as a coping mechanism. Maybe it was some sort of brace or corrective boot you wore during childhood, but in any case I'm glad you're on my team." I was in love. The New Yorker isn't though.)
And, of course, then came Fey's Palin impression and now she's a bona fide superstar, the proof of which is her Vanity Fair cover and her $5M book deal.
The chick-o-sphere is all over it. Check out Slate's XX here and here for links to the piece and all the great commentary surrounding it.
The nub of the discussion is the profile's near-relentless focus on Fey's 30-pound weight loss and beauty makeover. Would she be a superstar now had she remained merely insanely talented and ruthlessly hardworking ? Apparently not, if the piece—and Fey's pragmatic self—are to be believed.
I always found her low cut blouses and super tight cocktail dresses...distressing.