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Robinson created and stars in “Everything’s Trash,” a new series that “is a celebration of people who aren’t in a rush to change who they are,” she said.“Everyone is trash,” Phoebe Robinson explained. “We all have our great qualities, but we also have flaws. Sometimes they’re lovable. Sometimes they’re not. And it’s OK.”This was a on a recent summer morning and Robinson — a writer and performer best-known for her essay collections and the podcast-turned-HBO-show “2 Dope Queens” — was sermonizing in between sips of lemonade at a coffee shop in Downtown Brooklyn. She had arrived a few minutes late. (Lateness, she would later explain, is one of her trashiest qualities.) Around the corner stood a blue Bigbelly garbage can ornamented with her image, an ad for her new show, “Everything’s Trash,” which debuts Wednesday on Freeform. Robinson stars as Phoebe, a podcast host facing down adulthood with pluck and hedonism while her very together older brother (Jordan Carlos) runs for state office.Robinson, 37, adapted the show from her 2018 collection, “Everything’s Trash, But It’s Okay.” If creating, producing, writing for and starring in a show sounds like a lot of jobs, I should also note that this is the second show from Robinson’s production company, Tiny Reparations; that she runs a publishing imprint of the same name; and that she recently published a third essay collection. She also debuted her first standup special, “Sorry, Harriet Tubman,” last fall on HBO Max. Really, it’s enough to make a person want to go back to bed.In “Everything’s Trash,” Robinson stars as a podcaster stumbling toward adulthood.Giovanni Rufino/FreeformOn this morning, she greeted the day in sequined sandals, pants that matched the lemonade and a crinkly black jacket. (A Hefty bag, but make it fashion.) Under that jacket was a cropped T from U2’s “The Joshua Tree” tour. (Robinson is on record as loving U2 maybe more than anyone alive.) Over that lemonade, Robinson, exuberant and focused, discussed exploiting her young adulthood for laughs and whether she is still trash. Spoiler: “Of course I’m still trash!” she said.These are edited excerpts from the conversation.The book is based on the events and missteps of your late 20s and early 30s. How close does the show hew to your actual life?It’s a healthy combination of writers’ room and real life. My brother really is a state rep. But I would not hook up with his political rival. That’s not my vibe. We wanted to have fun with it — the times when I was crazy broke and running around, hustling. The whole wear-and-return thing? I did that for years. I would get a cute outfit for an event. And then I would be like: “OK, no one spill on me. No one sweat. Because I’m going to return this later.” We just mix it all up together. TV Phoebe is certainly messier than I ever was. She’s smart and funny and lovable, but she operates with whatever feels good in the moment. I like to believe I’m a bit more mindful than that. She’s just living her life.When I think of comedies about young women being trash, I think of “Girls” or “Broad City.” Have Black women felt as free to be trash?We know that the answer is no. But there are a lot of great shows out there — “Insecure,” “Abbott Elementary,” hopefully my show — that show people just living their lives. I didn’t create this show thinking about respectability politics. It wasn’t even a topic of discussion. We really just wanted to make a show that was hilarious and honest, and based on stuff that’s happened to the writers in the room. I will always fight for the right to be silly, to be messy, to make mistakes. I don’t want us to get to a place where we aren’t showing characters being human.You were a podcaster, and your character podcasts, too. Is the podcast in the show a version of “2 Dope Queens” or your other show, “Sooo Many White Guys”?It’s invented for the show. But this idea of, “Yeah, I have a podcast that’s successful and I don’t have any money in the bank,” that’s ripped from the headlines, as they say on “Law & Order.” I really just wanted to have fun with it. I love podcasting so much; it’s such a great medium. It’s oversaturated now, so I’m glad that I was able to do it when I did.You’ve joked about being a “melanated Carrie Bradshaw.” But on “And Just Like That,” Carrie Bradshaw has a podcast now. So is she actually the white you?She’s doing her thing. I’m doing my thing. But when I saw that, I was like, Oh, that’s a cute evolution for her character and also feels true to life that she would — I love that I’m talking about her like she’s a real person — that she would be a podcaster now.“I will always fight for the right to be silly, to be messy, to make mistakes,” Robinson said.Donavon Smallwood for The New York TimesA lot of shows that are set in New York aren’t made in New York. This one is. And Brooklyn looks great in it. Why was that important?I’ve been here since I moved out at 17 to go to college, and I really fought for the show to be shot here. Initially, there was some discussion of like, “Maybe we could do it in L.A. on soundstages …” and I was like: “No, no, no. New York is in its DNA.” I’ve lived in Crown Heights, Kensington, Clinton Hill, all those areas. I love all those areas. I want to show actual Brooklyn, not just the parts that have been gentrified.Is there a message you want people to take away from the show?I just want people to embrace where they’re at. We’re always so focused on, Oh, I have to get this next thing and I need to improve in this way. This is a celebration of people who aren’t in a rush to change who they are. They’re just like: “OK, this is who I am. This is my truth. This is my journey.” I hope that when people watch, they laugh a lot, but then maybe apply a little bit of that to themselves.You’re going to see different kinds of Blackness, you’re going to see beautiful Brooklyn, you’re going to see people make mistakes and try to figure [expletive] out and hopefully get more things right than wrong. People just get so down on themselves because they think they’re not doing enough or they’re failing in some way. And I’m like, You’re doing fine.One of the things I really fought for: I didn’t want it to be like, Oh, Phoebe’s so messy, and then by the end, she’s going to settle down, move to Connecticut, have kids. I don’t know how her journey is going to end, and she doesn’t either, and I think that’s OK.I look at you now: You have a production company, a publishing imprint, an apartment with color-coordinated bookshelves, a Peloton. Are you still trash?A Peloton doesn’t make you Mother Teresa. Come on! I’m always 10 to 15 minutes late for stuff. I can be stubborn. I can be forgetful sometimes. Of course I’m trash. Listen, everyone’s trash. M.L.K. Jr. was trash. Let’s be real. He was great. He did a lot of great things. He was also trash. More
The comic has a publishing imprint, TV deals, even a primer on leadership she wrote after noting the absence of Black women’s perspectives in business books.Mention “The Devil Wears Prada” to the comic Phoebe Robinson and she’ll lean forward and tell you she has some opinions. The real villain in the tale of an ultra-demanding fashion magazine editor and her assistant is the assistant’s boyfriend, played by Adrian Grenier, for complaining when she has a work event. “Do you know centuries of women stood by their men pursuing careers?” Robinson said over lunch. “Adrian, calm down.”As for the title character — Miranda Priestly, the Anna Wintour-type boss — Robinson, 37, has more mixed feelings. “It’s easier to judge someone from afar,” she said, adding that women of her generation had to be tough to get ahead. “At the same time, you don’t have to be a monster.”In a time when pop culture and the news are filled with portraits of bad bosses, Robinson has been thinking a lot about what makes a good one. In the past few years, she has evolved from a hustling stand-up into a mini-mogul with a staff, a production company and myriad projects. This year alone, she released a Comedy Central series, “Doing the Most With Phoebe Robinson”; shot her debut hour special (“Sorry, Harriet Tubman,” premiering Oct. 14 on HBO Max); started a book imprint, Tiny Reparations; guest-hosted for Jimmy Kimmel; sold a half-hour sitcom; and wrote her third book, “Please Don’t Sit on My Bed in Your Outside Clothes,” which is, among other things, a primer on leadership. If that’s not enough, she’s in the process of moving.Robinson backstage before filming her new comedy special, “Sorry, Harriet Tubman.”Sabrina Santiago for The New York Times“It’s a lot, not going to lie,” she said, pointing out that her career models have shifted from comics like Wanda Sykes to multihyphenates like Reese Witherspoon and Mindy Kaling.Robinson’s style has always been down to earth, self-deprecating, with proudly basic music taste (U2 is a lodestar). Her instinct was to be the cool boss, she said, but the uneasy looks on her employees’ faces after she asked them to go bowling on a Friday night taught her a lesson: “I was like: ‘Right right right right right, I get it. If my boss asked me to hang out on a Friday I’d be like, no, I see you every day, I’m good.’”The first time I saw Phoebe Robinson was a decade ago. She had been doing stand-up for a couple of years, typically in vests, jeans and a T-shirt. “I dressed so nothing would signal I’m a woman,” she said, adding that she was hyperaware of being the only female comic in the room. “I was so insecure and nervous.”Even then, she had an ingratiating voice that cut through the clutter of competition, often playing with language, tweaking words, showing signs of a literary bent that would eventually lead her to publishing. When I reminded her of a joke she told about movies that cast handsome people as rapists, she cringed, saying she would do that in a more nuanced way now. At that moment, the sunlight shifted and she grabbed her sunglasses. Before putting them on, she said: “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this to look cool.”In early August, a week before shooting her new special at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Robinson walked onstage at Union Hall in a headband and comfy dress. The Delta variant had forced audiences to put their masks back on and she wasn’t hearing the explosive laughter that she had only weeks earlier, even though the crowd immediately responded when she started talking about her relationship, which has become a regular part of her act. “I’m the Rosa Parks of the bedroom,” goes one line aimed at her British boyfriend. “I’m not getting up for any white man.”Robinson decided to write about leadership after realizing there were a dearth of business books with a Black woman’s perspective.Penguin RandomhouseA week later, Robinson said she was too in her head in that show, that she needed to remind herself to have fun. “It’s hard to stay in the moment for someone like me who is always thinking about the next 20 moves,” she said by phone.Robinson had done a chunk of material about the difference between her 20s and 30s, including one bit about being more concerned with frivolous things earlier, like shaving body hair, which she did so much, she said, “that she didn’t read a book for 10 years.”Now she’s an author and publisher who tries to read a book a week. “I miss that innocence a bit,” she said, explaining that she didn’t have to worry about her employees or brand back then. A few years later, her profile would grow thanks to a regular show with Jessica Williams called “2 Dope Queens” that moved from small rooms to HBO. In the years since, she said, their paths have diverged. “It’s one of those things where you meet for an amount of time and then you grow in different ways.”A multitasker at heart, Robinson has juggled writing, performing and podcasting. She even recently joined Michelle Obama on her book tour, interviewing the former first lady, a major career turning point for Robinson, one that also provides the set piece closing out her new special.An imprint that would let her champion writers of color had been a longstanding dream that Robinson pitched over the pandemic. She said her first book, the 2016 best seller “You Can’t Touch My Hair,” was rejected by every publisher except Plume (which now runs her imprint), and the reason she heard was that books by Black women don’t sell. That stuck with her. Following the September debut of “Please Don’t Sit,” Tiny Reparations has two releases set for the spring, both debut novels by authors of color: “What the Fireflies Knew,” by Kai Harris, a coming-of-age story, and “Portrait of a Thief,” by Grace Li, about an art heist. “I don’t want to read trauma all the time. That’s something I have been particular about,” Robinson said. “I really want hopeful stuff.”Robinson filming her special at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.Sabrina Santiago for The New York Times“Please Don’t Sit on My Bed in Your Outside Clothes” is filled with thoughts on management and work, the product of an immersion in business books, podcasts and personal experience. The book is in part a response to the absence of Black women’s perspective in this genre. She writes: “Where’s ‘Lean In’ for us?”Robinson calls herself a “reformed workaholic,” but she’s not short of plans: an idea for a romantic comedy, a talk show, specials she would produce and, perhaps the most challenging one, a two-week vacation. Meanwhile, she must manage a growing business. With the pandemic, people are questioning how they work, and while Robinson understands balking at excessive hours, she insists there’s a middle ground that involves working more efficiently. She has cut down on meetings, for instance. “I love Zoom but I don’t need to see your face,” she said.Robinson said she knew that stereotypes about Black women might get her judged more harshly, but she had learned that one of the hard things about being a boss is asking your employees to do things they don’t want to do. “As someone who does comedy where you want everyone to feel good, you’re like, oh, I’m the problem?” she said, laughing at herself.Miranda Priestly isn’t as far from her as she used to be. “It’s really tough to be a boss,” she said, “because you have to accept you are going to piss people off.” More
