What Dolly Parton Means to Me
I’ve been thinking a lot about Dolly Parton lately.
Then again, I guess I kind of always think a lot about Dolly Parton. If you’ve read my blog for any time at all, you know that she’s basically my hero.
I’m not the only one, though. It seems Miss Dolly has been everywhere in pop culture lately. She recently celebrated her 50th Anniversary as a member of the Grand Old Opry. Her brilliant film 1990s film Steel Magnolias enjoyed a limited theatrical run earlier this year, and the British adaptation of her 9 to 5 musical debuted in January. She played a surprise gig with the Highwomen at the Newport Folk Festival a few months ago, recently co-hosted the CMA awards, and had a huge role in telling the story of country music in Ken Burns’ brilliant, recently-aired documentary. She has a series of Netflix films on the way and she is the subject of the most intriguing podcast that I’ve heard in ages. If you have any ties to the Southeastern United States, then you already know that she’s a national treasure. With Miss Dolly’s name on everybody’s lips, I recently had a bit of a realization.
I’ve kind of spent my adult life trying to be Dolly Parton.
Okay, that sounds a little too cute by half. Hear me out, though. I spent my teens and early twenties as a curvy, opinionated, big-haired southern girl during the “waif is in”, Kate Moss-fueled 1990s. Back then (and, truthfully, to this day still), I really only knew how to fix my hair by making it bigger. After all, as Dolly’s Steel Magnolias character Truvy brilliantly noted, “there is no such thing as natural beauty.” But beyond the big curves and even bigger hair, there’s always been a lot about Dolly Parton that resonates with me. When you look past the hair and the boobs and the rhinestones, Dolly’s story is pretty common among Appalachian women: it’s one of hard work, good humor, dedication to family and, above all, it’s a story of kindness.
Now, of course, there was a time when Dolly’s folksy humor, rife with self-deprecating boob jokes, seemed dated and cringeworthy to me. In analyzing her message as an adult, however, I’ve realized how much mystique she’s been able to maintain by only talking about her most obvious assets. In a great recent New York Times piece, Lindsay Zoladz argues that the things that once made Dolly a little brash and — dare I say it — a little trashy are no longer taboo; in effect, popular culture has caught up with her. She knows how to tell a grandma joke and, in her own words, make Jimmy Fallon look like a dumbass. There’s certainly an art to saying things that are just a little bit dirty or outré in order to deflect from truly personal or substantive conversation. “When all else fails, tell a tit joke,” Dolly laughs to Dolly Parton’s America podcast host Jad Abumrad in reference to the 2017 Emmy Awards, when her 9 to 5 costars Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda made pointedly anti-Trump remarks while Dolly laughingly changed the subject to her own most famous assets. There’s a tinge of sadness in her voice, but a whole lot of resolve. She’s not going to be put on the spot or bullied into saying something that she doesn’t want to. Over the years, I’ve noticed that, time and again, she tells interviewers that they can ask whatever they want, but that she’ll only tell them what she wants them to hear. She skims over the more personal details of any story Mr. Abumrad seeks out, often saying “well, that’s personal” when a question goes too far. She portrays herself as an open book when it comes to her love of flashy clothes, cosmetic procedures, and wigs (“It costs a lot of money to look this cheap,” she’s often quoted as saying), but private details of her life are just that — private. After all, she’s been quite open about choosing to have cosmetic alterations and a particular silhouette. There’s a remarkable amount of power in owning that narrative and moving forward with its implications in an honest and unflinching manner. Like many other aspects of Dolly’s story, it’s a reminder that being a lady has absolutely nothing to do with one’s financial or educational background, but rather with how one conducts herself. She’s never been involved in tabloid scandals or gossip; in fact, she’s been married to Carl Dean for 53 years. Dolly isn’t a lady in spite of her hillbilly upbringing or her Nashville glitz; rather, she’s a lady because of it.
Dolly Parton and Carl Dean. Photo via Country Living
Dolly hails from Sevierville, Tennessee, a small town in the Appalachian mountains. Sevierville is about two hundred miles south of my own tiny Appalachian hometown, and her experiences in her Tennessee Mountain Home are certainly familiar to me. In the podcast episode in which Mr. Abumrad describes Dolly’s homestead, he draws the parallel to his father’s modest home in rural Lebanon; I immediately saw the house where my grandfather grew up in 1920s Knott County. In the same podcast episode, when it’s referenced that Dolly’s nieces and nephews call her “Aunt Granny”, I felt a fast kinship. That particular brand of colloquial endearment took me home to the holler immediately.
My grandparents with my father and aunt. Easter, 1950s
One of the major themes of Ken Burns’ Country Music was the rise of what was originally called “hillbilly music”— one of the formative influences on modern country music. Of course, for any of us who were raised in the holler, the “h” word is pretty loaded. We try hard to escape it and we rail against it with an odd mix of pride and shame. When I ran across a quotation from Dolly about her hillbilly childhood in a 2014 Southern Living interview, of course her stance made sense. Maybe leaning into the hillbilly narrative —taking back the idiom, as they say — is the most powerful way to proceed. As always, Dolly herself said it best: “I’m proud of my hillbilly, white trash background. To me that keeps you humble; that keeps you good. And it doesn’t matter how hard you try to outrun it—if that’s who you are, that’s who you are. It’ll show up once in a while.” It’s the story she’s told time and again in songs like Coat of Many Colors. And, at least to this mountain girl, it’s far preferable to railing against popular perceptions and misconceptions of hillbilly life; rather, she acknowledges its reality and celebrates its beauty. Miss Dolly has better things to do with her time, and I like to think that I do, too.
My aunt Marie and Uncle Ed with my father and aunt.
Dolly’s connections to her Appalachian upbringing don’t just resonate with me in a sociological analysis of mountain culture; her stories also feel very similar to my own mountain experiences. When Dolly’s nephew Bryan Seaver talks to Jad Abumrad about “Aunt Granny”, I immediately see my Momaw Ree — my great aunt Marie, an over-the-top fabulous aunt who had no kids herself, but who loved her dogs and spoiled her nieces and nephews. It’s a role I proudly find myself taking on with my own nieces as time progresses. In fact, just the other day, I found myself curling my eldest niece’s hair and saying “you know your hair turns out better if you listen to Dolly Parton while you’re fixing it, right?” To her credit, she nodded enthusiastically.
To me, Dolly Parton symbolizes a deep love of Appalachia and of folks who could use a helping hand. Her commitment to charities that help people in underserved areas — specifically her Imagination Library and her assistance to people of Gatlinburg who lost their homes to forest fires — is so remarkable. This isn’t about a wealthy singer looking for a tax shelter; it’s about helping people who, like Dolly herself, have experienced life in a tremendously economically depressed area.I love that she is about helping people get on their feet and make their own lives better. I love that she’s helping people without any sort of savior complex. When she references helping kids learn to love reading at an early age because her own daddy was illiterate, her words are filled with compassion, not exploitation.
My grandfather taught school and played a Martin guitar; he lived in a small Eastern Kentucky town.
For most folks who grew up in Appalachia, the land, the culture, and our own families are inextricably linked. We know that you’re committing the sin of vanity if you “get above your raisin’.” And, the “hillbilly music” that my granddaddy and his brother played will always tell part of our generational story. My grandfather loved old time country music, and he loved Miss Dolly. I suppose, as these things go, it makes sense that my daddy doesn’t particularly enjoy what is, to him,“dad music” like Dolly and Porter Wagoner — he’s more of an Allman Brothers and Beatles guy. But, I grew up with my grandparents listening to Dolly Parton and Loretta, and the voices of those strong women always take me back to my childhood.
Now, I’m pretty sure that Dolly’s message doesn’t just resonate with me. Obviously, she’s having a huge media moment. Walk into any Draper James store and their staff will tell you they can’t keep the What Would Dolly Do items on the shelf; look up the “Dolly Parton’s America” podcast on iTunes and you’ll see over seven thousand reviews. Dolly’s certainly having a moment, and I think it’s attributable to way more than having a good PR team. I think that her unwavering message of kindness is certainly something that we all need to hear these days. When Garden and Gun ran a feature article about the thirtieth anniversary of Steel Magnolias, an anecdote from playwright Robert Harling stuck out to me: “Julia said, ‘Dolly, we’re dying and you never say a word. Why don’t you let loose?’ Dolly very serenely smiled and said, ‘When I was young and had nothing, I wanted to be rich and famous, and now I am. So I’m not going to complain about anything.’” I mean, this is so beautiful and profound. It’s why Dolly deserves every ounce of adulation and recognition that she receives. And, it’s why she’s loved by such a disparate group of fans.
Dolly’s universal appeal, as referenced by Mr Abumrad throughout Dolly Parton’s America and celebrated in the film Dumplin’, is that she is equally loved by evangelicals and drag queens, hipsters and hillbillies. Part of this, of course, is her hauntingly beautiful singing voice and her rare talent for writing enduring songs. Part of it is her message of love and kindness — her conception of God as loving all people. Part of it, too, is her treatment of everyone with dignity. One of the most interesting points raised thus far in Dolly Parton’s America is what Dolly’s nephew Bryan Seaver calls “Dollitics” — Dolly’s personal and public views on political and social issues. She’s at once outspoken and evasive. The oddest and most uncomfortable portions of the Dolly Parton’s America podcast arise in regard to Dolly’s political stances. Mr Abumrad and his producer, Shima Oliaee, seem committed to the idea that Dolly almost owes them a declaration that, as a young Nashville singer-songwriter, she was a protofeminist. Similarly, they seemed floored that she won’t make a ragingly anti-Trump statement. The analysis seems very “Ok, Boomer” at times: maybe if we keep reframing feminist ideas in a palatable manner, we’ll force Dolly to admit that she espouses these views. Similarly, there’s an air of disbelief that she won’t renounce President Trump and his voters. We live in very polarizing political times, and I do think that there is a strong belief that every American falls neatly into the red-or-blue cable news ideological dichotomy - what my friends Sarah and Beth over at Pantsuit Politics call our political jerseys. Even Dolly’s sister, who teaches domestic violence awareness courses, has criticized Dolly’s refusal to openly declare political stances. That’s all a little odd to me.
We live in an era in which we all feel compelled to take strong political stances. Nearly all of us have friends and relatives who identify strongly along both sides of the partisan divide. It’s very easy in the era of party-specific news channels and seemingly endless daily Facebook rants to characterize those with whom we disagree as cartoonish buffoons. I know that I try in my own daily life to consider the motivations and merits of those who disagree with me. I want to see the same in Dolly Parton. I tend to hope that she’s trying to see the value in her disparate fans’ opinions. I like to think that Dolly embraces the diversity of messages her fans espouse — “I’m here for you evangelical Christian Republican AND for your hyper-liberal counterpart” is the very reason why she has established the universal appeal for which she’s currently being celebrated. She’s embraced her LGBTQ fans with such kindness and compassion in a manner that incorporates her own Christian faith, and she is resolute in providing a message of inclusion and grace for all. But, whether she’s America’s open-hearted “Aunt Granny” or a shrewd businesswoman who doesn’t want to piss off any of her constituent fan bases or, as is most likely the case, a little of both, how much of a political opinion do we actually need Dolly Parton to express? Is it necessary for the woman who gave us some of the greatest songs of the country music canon to also provide staunch political commentary? Maybe it’s enough for her to say “all of y’all are welcome in the Dollyverse. Let’s lay aside our political differences, I’ll make a boob joke, and we’ll all sing along to Jolene.”
I’ll be one down in the front row with my hair teased up as high as it’ll go.
Love Dolly as much as I do? Don’t miss my holiday gift guide for Dolly lovers!
