Greetings, everyone! Welcome. Lonnie Love, renowned comedian, actress, and co-host of “The Real,” recently shared an intriguing revelation about her past. In her new book, “I Tried to Change So You Don’t Have To,” she candidly discusses her audition for the popular sitcom “Girlfriends.” Despite her talent, Lonnie didn’t land the role, purportedly because she didn’t fit the desired image – she was deemed “too big.”
Lonnie’s journey, detailed in her book, unveils a remarkable transformation from her upbringing in the Brewster-Douglas projects of Detroit to pursuing engineering in college, before ultimately venturing into the world of comedy and, subsequently, Hollywood. Dreaming of achieving comedic success akin to figures like Roseanne Barr, Lonnie faced formidable challenges along the way.
Struggling to establish herself in the competitive comedy circuit, Lonnie encountered the pervasive industry expectation for black female comedians to conform to stereotypical personas. Refusing to be confined to such limiting caricatures, Lonnie grappled with maintaining authenticity while navigating the demands of Hollywood.
Weight became another obstacle in Lonnie’s path, highlighted by a poignant encounter with a child who remarked on her size in a grocery store. This awakening paralleled Lonnie’s realization of how her weight impacted her career opportunities, exemplified by her rejection from the “Girlfriends” audition.
Lonnie’s narrative serves as a testament to resilience in the face of adversity, shedding light on the complexities of identity and representation in the entertainment industry. Her story resonates with authenticity and offers valuable insights into the challenges of pursuing one’s dreams while remaining true to oneself.
I attended an audition for a television series in development at the now-defunct UPN network. The casting call, listed in Backstage LA, sought a 20-something professional black woman for an ensemble cast in a sitcom about single life in LA. Being a 20-something professional black woman living the single life in LA myself, I felt tailor-made for the role. If they had asked for my shoe size, it would have been the cherry on top. Upon arriving at the audition, I encountered a diverse array of black women in the waiting room, reflecting the real-life diversity of the city. However, when the pilot aired a few months later on September 11, 2000, the cast did not resemble the vibrant mix of women I had seen at the audition. Instead, ‘Girlfriends’ seemed to depict some TV executive’s unrealistic ideal, with each woman being as thin as a toothpick. It baffled me how a show purportedly about black women and sisterhood could present such a narrow depiction of body types. Despite recognizing the brilliance of Tracy Ellis Ross in her breakout primetime role, I couldn’t bring myself to fully enjoy ‘Girlfriends.’ Disappointment over not being cast led me to instinctively change the channel whenever it aired over the eight years it was on the air. Whenever Tracy Ellis Ross graced my screen during that time, I found myself dropping to the living room floor, executing swift shoulder rolls like a Navy SEAL diving for the remote.
Initially, I was convinced that my failure to secure a role in “Girlfriends” stemmed from a lack of talent. However, as I sat on my sofa reflecting on the grocery store incident, a new realization dawned on me: perhaps that child in the cookie aisle understood the industry better than I did. Maybe my rejection wasn’t about skill, but appearance. Could it be that I was overlooked because I didn’t fit the stereotypical image? Perhaps my weight was the barrier. I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in opportunities afforded to full-figured white men like Kevin James, Chris Farley, Norm from “Cheers,” or even Santa Claus. Even Ron Jeremy, despite his weight, seemed to navigate show business more easily than I did. It was what I termed FWMP—Fat White Male Privilege. Conversely, I struggled to name more than one full-figured black woman with a leading role in a sitcom: Monique, known for her portrayal of Nikki Parker in “The Parkers.” The odds were discouragingly slim. “Girlfriends” was just one of many auditions that didn’t pan out. I tried my luck with soap opera commercials, shampoo ads, and various roles, but none came my way. The only job I landed was a fast-food chain commercial, where they only wanted to showcase me eating. It was a sobering realization—I was a curvy, cocoa-skinned black woman, and to succeed in Hollywood, I needed to change.
Like many in Hollywood, Lonnie Love felt the pressure to alter her image, believing that shedding weight would lead to more acting opportunities. Her sentiment stemmed from the limited availability of roles for black women at the time. While roles existed, opportunities to secure them were scarce, especially within the small realm of black Hollywood where certain connections often dictated casting decisions. Lonnie lacked such connections, necessitating her to exert double the effort to establish herself. Additionally, she didn’t conform to the preferred image held by some industry figures, posing another hurdle in her path.
It’s conceivable that her appearance played a role in her failure to secure a part on “Girlfriends.” However, this isn’t to suggest that the actresses chosen for the show were solely selected for their slender physiques. The casting of “Girlfriends” was impeccable; Tracy Ellis Ross was irreplaceable as Joan Clayton, Jill Marie Jones perfectly embodied Toni Childs, Golden Brooks portrayed Maya flawlessly, and Persia White nailed the role of Lynn. Each actress authentically brought their characters to life, yet their physical attributes undoubtedly provided them with an advantage in securing their respective roles.
Lonnie made an intriguing observation about the contrasting standards of appearance imposed on women versus men in Hollywood, particularly emphasizing the leniency afforded to white male celebrities in terms of body image. She highlighted instances where overweight white male stars still thrived in their careers. However, Lonnie noted a stark contrast for plus-sized black women, citing Monique as one of the few examples she had seen starring in her own TV show. Yet, Monique’s portrayal diverged from the professional, empowered black women depicted in shows like “Girlfriends”; instead, she was depicted as a desperate figure pursuing unrequited love. This comedic portrayal, while amusing, shed light on Hollywood’s limited perception of certain types of black women, often relegating plus-sized black women to roles as comedic relief or other stereotypical portrayals. Lonnie grappled with this societal bias, seeking acceptance and resorting to various unsuccessful dieting attempts, including extreme exercise regimens that led to a hospitalization due to overexertion.
Lonnie shared how her preoccupation with her appearance led her to overlook opportunities for stand-up and honing her craft. She made a conscious decision to embrace authenticity over image obsession, propelling her career forward and breaking barriers for herself and women like her. Her recount of missing out on a role in “Girlfriends” was compelling, mirroring the candid and inspiring tone of her book, “I Tried to Change So You Don’t Have To.” It’s a blend of inspiration, humor, and honesty, making it an engaging read. If you haven’t explored it yet, I highly recommend giving it a read. You’ll uncover facets of Lonnie’s journey not typically discussed on “The Real.” Share your thoughts on this video below, remember to like, comment, and subscribe, and feel free to share it. Thanks for tuning in, and until next time, take care!