Yup. That’s old E. Jean up there showing her underpants at the Miss Cheerleader USA Contest. And DAMN, HONEY! Look at that jump! The scotch tape in the upper left I can’t remove. The photo was taped so long to the wall of my Pi Beta Phi bedroom, it permanently stuck. Anyway I won Miss Cheerleader USA and I’ve never stopped yelling and shouting since.
When I open an Ask E. Jean letter, what do I do? I start roaring and clapping and cheering for the correspondent to pick herself up and go on. And by Gawd! The correspondent does pick herself up and go on. Because if she doesn’t, I keep yelling at her.
I roared and whooped at the correspondents who wrote to the Ask E. Jean column for 27 years. The column appeared in Elle. Then I accused Donald Trump of assault, sued him for defamation, and Elle fired me.
And now Ask E. Jean is back, Baby!
Ready to chastise you, and cheer you on!
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I was raised in this red brick school house, in Dutch Ridge, Indiana. I grew up to be a cheerleader who happened to go on to write for Saturday Night Live, have a TV show called (what else?) Ask E. Jean, and skip around the world writing for Esquire, Outside, Elle, The Atlantic and Vanity Fair.
So write to me!
No matter what problems are driving you crazy—-your career, your wardrobe, your love affairs, your lusts, your loneliness, your friends, your orgasms, or your finances— you can always reply to my newsletter directly, or send Q’s to AskEeeeJean@gmail.com. And please! Drop me photos of your pets!