Panned long before it ever had a chance to “charm” with its whimsy and throwback nature in terms of daffy New York 80s premises, I Feel Pretty was maligned for its basis around the fact that a blond white girl (but also this is Amy Schumer) feels hideous and riddled with low self-esteem all the time. But it’s true, any woman, no matter how others might see her as objectively beautiful, can fall prey to the trap of nonexistent confidence. Co-written and co-directed by longtime rom-com collaborators Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein (Never Been Kissed, The Vow, He’s Just Not That Into You), the story begins with Renee Bennett (Elizabeth Bennet she is not) looking both longingly and insecurely through the window of a SoulCycle in SoHo, also known as the hub of where twig-like supermodelesque women ride. But it seems to be in Renee’s nature to torture herself by falling headfirst into environments where she can feel inferior (she also apparently likes to go into bougie boutiques where we all know shopgirls are cunts even to thin people).
Asking for a size nine and a half, double wide shoe at the front desk, Renee is horrified as the front desk girl shouts this request to her co-worker, insisting it’s fine she’ll just take the size seven. Mallory (Emily Ratajkowski), one of the only women in the class who acknowledges her, asks if this is her first time. Renee nods, and Mallory assures her that it’s hers as well, that we all have to start somewhere. But this is Renee’s primary issue in life: knowing that no matter where she starts, she will never be given the same advantages as someone that she would describe as “undeniably beautiful.” Following YouTube tutorials about how to give herself a “rocker” hairstyle aren’t going to help, nor is her constant obsession with staring at her body and face in a full-length mirror as though hoping it will change what “God” has given her. No, the only thing that can assist in boosting her esteem is a light head trauma, thanks to SoulCycle and smacking her head on the bike as she falls to the floor. This, of course, after a night spent in drinking wine and watching the character of Josh Baskin (soon to be embodied by Tom Hanks) wishing to be “big” to the Zoltar machine at Coney Island. Inspired by the belief that anything is possible if you wish hard enough, Renee runs out into the pouring rain to make a wish into a fountain. Combined with her bout of a strange strain of amnesia/reverse body dysmorphia post-cycling injury, Renee suddenly feels…pretty. The “Kardashian” kind (which we all know you have to pay a pretty penny for if you don’t have the happy accident of brain trauma).
Soon, Renee is dressing and acting how she has always wanted, how she has always felt she deserved to. And though not everyone is necessarily embracing it without looking at her as though she’s batshit crazy, they are accepting of her contagious confidence, including Ethan (Rory Scovel), an equally insecure man she meets at the dry cleaner and gives her number to, eventually calling him herself to arrange a date.
In the meantime, Renee has also conjured the strength to apply for her dream job as a receptionist (yes, you read that right) at Lily LeClaire Cosmetics headquarters (she’s currently stuck working in the basement of the company’s inexplicable Chinatown office filled with only one other dowdy male employee). For some reason interviewed by the head of Lily LeClaire, Avery LeClaire (Michelle Williams, who sort of makes the movie), and her CFO, Helen (Naomi Campbell), Renee dazzles Avery with her enthusiasm for the brand paired with her bizarre self-confidence (Helen, however, is not impressed–because it’s Naomi Campbell after all).
As she opens doors for herself to avenues she never thought possible (including attracting the eye of Avery’s brother, Grant [Tom Hopper]), Renee starts to lose sight of the “ugly girl” inside–the one that makes her an asset in helping Avery market the company’s new diffusion line (that means cheap makeup sold at Target). She’s even started treating her two best friends, Vivian (Aidy Bryant) and Jane (Busy Philipps) like unwanted accessories she’s forced to wear for the sake of nostalgia. Similarly, Josh in Big gets so wrapped up in his new life as a successful adult that he suddenly has no more free time to hang out with his true best friend, Billy (Jared Rushton). It’s a moral perhaps if not created, at least perfected by the cheesy 80s movie. Which is possibly one of the reasons at the forefront of why, in I Feel Pretty‘s case, there can be no building upon this concept of appreciating what you have–realizing what you’ve got before it’s gone. And just as Renee has this sort of “a-ha” (no 80s pun intended) moment before hitting her head again in act three, she looks at herself in the mirror and has the revelation that her newfound priorities have made her ugly anew.
Thus, like Cady Heron before her, she sucks all the poison out by delivering a presentation that eventually results in a PSA-type speech about not caring how you look. About having the same childlike confidence you once had to just be yourself (strangely, if we look at Big, this theory doesn’t hold up considering Josh was so self-hating for his size that he wished to be taller, even if Zoltar fucked up that request). At the end, we’re aware of Kohn and Silverstein’s attempt to bring the distinctly 80s premise of brain injuries as comedic fodder back into present in the form of Avery asking, “Do you know we have a free mental health program at work?” It’s a little too hooey in 2018 to work.
“Change everything without changing anything,” the tag line of I Feel Pretty somewhat falsely advertises in a manner typical of continued American naïveté. Unfortunately, it’s a naïveté we just can’t seem to afford to buy into anymore, having already done so while the world was crashing down around everyone in the 80s (most especially in New York), choosing to ignore blatant death and decay in the form of AIDS and class warfare. Do we really want to do the same thing all over again in a landscape already so prideful of denial?
