Browne’s brassy call to arms isn’t for the prim and prissy. Equal parts Erin Brockovich, Erma Bombeck and Dr. Ruth, her books make readers laugh, even when laughing doesn’t come easy. Browne’s rambling essays on friendship, love and family assume that worthless husbands abound and the best marriages sometimes hit rough water. Children struggle. Best friends get cancer. And then, to top it off, you get old. For Browne, few misfortunes can match the moment when you realize your eyelids have begun to droop instead of staying pinned nicely under the brow, glistening with eye shadow, as God clearly intended. “For most of us, life is hard on a good day,” says Browne, 50, whose unwavering graciousness belies her irrepressible compulsion to act like Auntie Mame. Her mission, she claims, is serious: to help readers rediscover the healing power of fun. “We don’t get too old to play,” she says. “We get old when we quit playing.”
If her writing rings true it’s because Browne herself has lived through bad times. Ten years ago she was barely scraping by. Twice divorced, she was trying to support a school-age daughter and an ailing mother by working as a personal trainer and writing humor columns freelance. “Life gets bad so gradually that you don’t even realize it,” Browne says. “Suddenly, you’re wondering what happened to the girl you used to be.” She kept her spirits up by holding an annual blowout with her best girlfriends. Starting from the uniquely Southern premise that a woman will do anything for a crown, they dubbed them–selves the Sweet Potato Queens. In feather boas and tiaras they climbed aboard a sweet-potato farm truck in an improvised St. Patrick’s Day parade in their hometown of Jackson, Miss. Part beauty pageant sendup, part rum-soaked bonding ritual, this Mardi Gras for perimenopausal women became a local tradition. Women in neighboring states began to start SPQ chapters of their own. Browne’s newspaper columns about the Queens caught the attention of humorist Roy Blount and editor Willie Morris, who pushed Browne to write the SPQ manifesto, “The Sweet Potato Queens’ Book of Love.” The book combines a strong Susan Faludi-esque message of empowerment with earthy dating tips and paeans to the world’s best Margarita mix.
“The SPQ books strike a chord with women all over the country,” says Elaine Petrocelli, owner of Book Passage, an independent bookstore in Marin County, Calif. “They’re funny, but at the core is some very good writing about women’s lives.” After a timid first printing of 12,000, the “Book of Love” has sold more than 630,000 copies since 1999. Another book quickly followed. Both celebrate the joys of a good tan and cute shoes while simultaneously honoring the triumph of intelligence and experience over youth and beauty. Browne also takes aim at her favorite villains, men who just can’t figure out what women want. (Note to Queenly consorts: good jewelry, hot sex and someone to talk to. Not all the time and not necessarily in that order.)
These days, there are 1,900 Queens groups around the country from the Quahog Queens of Coventry, R.I., to the Texsippian Tarts of Dallas. (Their motto: the higher the hair, the closer to God.) Her subjects support their sovereign by buying bloomers, coffee mugs and replacement tiaras from Browne’s SPQ Web site (sweetpotato queens.com). The annual St. Patrick’s Day parade in Jackson, which Browne oversees in a sequin bathing suit and majorette boots, now attracts upwards of 50,000 people.
This year, the three-day marathon of sorority-style drinking, dancing and consciousness-raising coincides with the publication of Browne’s third book, “The SPQs’ Big-Ass Cookbook and Financial Planner.” But Browne isn’t trying to unseat Suze Orman. “I just gave it that title to be funny,” says Browne. “I don’t know jack about money.” Instead, she rolls out coronary-inducing recipes such as Pig Candy (think pralines on bacon) and discusses the economy of hormone replacement (until your estrogen levels off, it’s wise to set aside money for divorce lawyers, maybe even bail). The movement has attracted the attention of the WB network, which is shooting a sitcom pilot about the Queens.
Revealing the funny, feisty core of the middle-aged Southern belle has helped Browne achieve what she archly refers to as “her rightful fortune.” She has a “shiny new husband,” her business manager Kyle Jennings. (And no, says Browne, he will never be the Sweet Potato King.) Although she claims her favorite activity is “lolling around,” she just signed a seven-figure contract for two more SPQ books. The titles will be different but the message will remain the same. Free yourself of a bad mate. Love a good one with all your heart. Replace your “orthopedic” underwear with something very small and lacy because who knows when love will come knocking? “Make your own fun,” she says. “Because laughter is one of the greatest blessings we are given.” Right up there with hairspray and lip gloss.
