Christine Quinn - How to Be a Boss B*tch

CHAPTER 1
HEY BITCH, GET OFF THE COUCH!

CHAPTER 2
THE FIVE BOSS BITCH LANGUAGES

CHAPTER 3
IT COSTS A LOT TO LOOK THIS CHEAP

CHAPTER 4
WORK, BITCH

CHAPTER 5
MIND YOUR VAGINA

CHAPTER 6
GET RICH AF

CHAPTER 7
MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY

CHAPTER 8
THE SHAME SHAM

CHAPTER 9
MILF MONEY

Let me set the scene: Its a gorgeous, sun-soaked day on the Adriatic Sea, somewhere off the coast of Croatia. The temperature is a perfect 80-something degrees, and were surrounded by glimmering water so stunning that Instagram filters wish they could do it justice #Wanderlust. My husband and I are aboard a three-story, 185-foot yacht with some close friends, celebrating the wrap of Selling Sunsets smash third season. Its first-class all the way, from the 360-degree views to the grand winding staircase to the gold, mirrored foyer that looks like Donatella herself manifested this floating mansion. Its regal, opulent, and completely over the top, but if youve watched even one episode of my hit Netflix series, then you know its exactly my speed for vacation mode. Fuck, for a Tuesday. We have a full staff, a yoga instructor, Jet Skis, a water trampoline, a three-story slide, and pretty much all the toys at our disposal. Its every overconfident drunk persons best friendand every Malia from Below Decks worst nightmare.

Im sitting on one of the yachts oversize lambskin couches on the main level, nestled in a chinchilla throw worth more than my first annual salary. Going over my schedule for the day in my signature Louis Vuitton agenda, I pencil in work meetings that I have to arrange, list emails to reply to, and review my research for upcoming interviews Ive booked during the trip. Doing a lot of press is normal for me by now; whether Im at home or on vacation, it never stops. (But then again, neither do I.) First up on my itinerary is a Zoom interview with a reporter from Vogue. My publicist arranged the interview to chat about real estate, the show, and my style. The usual. What I dont know at this point is that Im about to drop a bomb that will change not only my life but other peoples lives, too.

I get on the call, and the reporter starts listing all of my accolades in real estate and entertainment. We talk about my experience as a realtor in a male-dominated industry, and how Im a top producer in my office. Id recently dominated on multiple listingsone of which was $17 million, the biggest listing for any woman in our office to dateall while filming a top Netflix series six days a week for six months straight.

I really dont know how you do it all, the reporter says. You are the definition of a businesswoman.

Suddenly, Im overcome by a feeling I barely recognize. Theres something about the way shes rattling off all these amazing accomplishments that makes me realize that Im not telling the full story. We continue on with the interview, and Im doing my best to focus, except this feeling wont go away and now Im sweating and anxious like Im back at church. Im shook in a way that I rarely ambecause it only happens when Im lying. I think about how the article is going to read, what message Im sending to people, and realize I cant keep this secret inside any longer.

I stop her mid-sentence. You know what? I say. Theres something I want to tell you that Ive honestly never told anyone in my entire life other than my immediate family and my husband. Seriously, no one knows.

Theres no turning back now.

I dont have a high school diploma or even a GED. I have an eighth-grade education.

I can hear her struggling to find something to say as I break down crying. Im breaking down in front of Vogue, for chrissake. Even my waterproof Christian Dior Iconic Overcurl mascara is failing me as a stream of black tears line my face. Where I come from, everyone finishes high school and goes on to college. Period. Anyone who strays from that past is an outcast. No, a failure. Add that to my already hard-to-comprehend life, and it makes me a straight-up circus freak. And Ive just spelled this out to a reporter whose job it is to share it with the world.

But then a funny thing happens. Within seconds, literally, of making this confession, I feel better. (Though, mental note: Lets not make a habit of doing this!) I feel like a weight has been lifted because for years and years, Id been lying on resume after resume about my education, hoping that people would give me a chance instead of judging me off the bat. (Its not exactly like being tall, blonde, and big-boobed has people assuming that Im actually really smart.) And the super fucked-up thing is that Ive built a life on authenticity. Whether its my clients, my friends, my husband, or my fans, they know exactly what theyre getting with me because Ive realized that to try to be anyone else but me is letting myself down in the end. Here I was preaching about keeping things real and telling it like it is when Id been carrying around this massive secret. Not only that, I was covering up for something thats pretty much bullshit anyway. I may not have finished schoolfor reasons Ill get into laterbut all those accomplishments that the reporter was oohing and aahing over? Thats all me, baby. I made that happen, degree or no degree.

But I didnt always see it that way. I was ashamed of what I perceived to be this shortcoming, and because I saw myself as less-than, I let that define me. After years of playing the dumb blonde in order to fit into the spaces I thought I needed to squeeze myself intoat work, in relationshipsI had begun to think that I was that person. But there eventually came a point when I could say Wait a minute! Im not perfect. So what?! I felt it was my duty to let women know, starting with this interview. I wasnt going to let that imperfection define mefuck no. Because I may not have all the right degrees, but you bet your ass I have a PhD in life. And right now, in this moment, Im about to prove that when it comes to living my truth, I get all the extra credit.

A few weeks later, after Id left the luxury of the yacht for my Los Angeles homewhich, granted, with its infinity pool and closet for my four hundred pairs of Louboutins isnt exactly slumming itthe article came out. It was everywhere... and then came the flood of messages. I held my breath as I scrolled through the DMs pouring in on Instagram. But instead of calling me dumb or making me feel shame for what I thought for so long was a shortcoming, people were thanking me. By being honest and owning my shit, I had inspired them that they, too, could achieve great things with a less-than-stellar resume and, even better, made them feel better about their own deep, dark insecurities.

This was a huge turning point for me. Laying it all out for Vogue taught me that sharing your whole truth is not about throwing yourself a pity party; its about re-labeling the parts of you that society wants to slap its own brand on, not giving a fuck about what anyone thinks about it, and soaring even higher because you dont have a bunch of extra baggage weighing you down (no matter how cute it is). Im not sorry for who I am, where I come from, or who Ive become; Im not apologizing for any of it. Neither should you. And you know what that makes us? A couple of Boss Bitches.