What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding By Kristin Newman

Let me just preface this review by saying: I wanted to love “What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding.” No, I really, really wanted to love this book. First of all, the flippant, hilarious title is inspired. The idea of a strong female protagonist challenging society’s notions of femininity and purpose, of seeing the world instead of feeling stuck. The premise made me very, very excited.

When I started reading “What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding,” I was entirely charmed by Newman. She is funny, irreverent, honest, and interesting. As a comedy writer, she spent her frequent and long work breaks (a sitcom writer thing, I presume) gallivanting around the world with her interesting friends, going to exotic places, and having steamy affairs with attractive locals.

And then she does it again. And again. But this time it’s Australia. Oh, now it’s Central America! Oh look, same exact story, but in a new location. The monotony of it didn’t upset me as much as her approach to the people in her life. Newman, who goes on these journeys to define herself, grow as a person, and seek new adventures, is consistently critical and harsh of her friends who take the more traditional path. She insinuates they abandon her to seek fertility treatments and life partners. Okay, I guess.

As someone who hasn’t always wanted children, the constant pressure to settle down and start a family has always been present in my life, and I cringe at the insinuation that, at some point, all women will want to settle down and raise a family, as is our Biologically Mandated Female Trajectory. The title of the book would suggest that Newman is seeking out a life worth living without the traditional path of Husband-And-Kids-And-Soccer-Practice-And-PTA-And-And as a means to happiness, and that’s fine. But the dialectic between her bitterness towards her friends who settle down and her constant, endless pursuit of a man hot, rich, and interesting enough who is willing to date her long-term gets increasingly insufferable.

Newman laments frequently about her friends who “settle down” and criticizes them for no longer being available at her beck-and-call to go get drunk on the beach for a month on a whim. And as the book progresses, Newman’s Manic Pixie Travel Girl energy goes from whimsical to caustic.

While Newman touches on her privilege briefly, it gets to a point where it’s all you can think about. Newton has a well-paying job in Hollywood, is a straight, white attractive able-bodied skinny blonde woman, and it shows in her approach to the world. She is treated remarkably well everywhere she travels, never wants for much, and even her most stress-inducing vignettes are entirely of her own making through hubris, irresponsibility, or just a lack of planning and care that can only come from the safety net of wealth that most of us will never achieve in our lifetime.

I enjoyed the first part of this book. I mildly enjoyed the middle. I endured the end (because mama didn’t raise no quitter). And here’s the reality: this is not a book about feminism. This is not a manifesto from a happy, single, childless traveler who finds joy and purpose in exploring new lands. Newman never (not once, at any point) fails to prioritize the men who give her attention in any of her locations. She repeatedly breaks the heart of good men who don’t interest her, attempts to get back with them, and pretends to “grow” when rebuffed.

I felt more dread about living life on my own terms than I did before reading this book because, as she said, “Furthermore, the world hadn’t paused. The good ones had been snatched up, just like people always said they would be. I had always scoffed at this, because I knew so many fantastic guys who were single into their thirties and forties. But chasing some of those fantastic guys unsuccessfully for years had shown me what everyone was talking about when they said ‘the good ones.’ They meant the ones who want to commit, who are excited to build a family and life with a grown-up.”

What kind of message is that? And then, in true form for the book’s conflicting and ultimately ridiculous message, Newman ends up getting married to a guy with kids. He fits the ideal she’s been chasing through the entirety of the book (handsome, wealthy) and it makes you wonder, what was the whole point? She didn’t find herself, she found a man. Which is awesome, and I’m happy for her! But now she’s… married… with kids… and is now a so-called “breeder” who “settles.” You know, the kind that she repeatedly criticized through the course of the book.

In the epilogue, she admits: “I don’t think I would have published this book if I were still single. I would have been afraid it would be too much for someone who was considering dating me.” Uhh, no shit. It felt like a WASP-y woman’s excuse to monetize her party years by pretending to be a book about feminism and finding yourself.

But it was actually just a book about the boring arrested development of a privileged white lady who just wanted to bang a bunch of locals. Which, again, that’s great! Do that! Just don’t shit on a life trajectory, conform to it, and act like you’re anything other than the entitled hypocrite that you are. What I Was Doing While You Were Breeding could have been very interesting. But it wasn’t.