Narrator: Imagine you’re nineteen, new to a big city, and flattered when an older, professional photographer asks to take your picture. He picks you up in a dirty car that gives you a bad feeling. He drives you to a secluded lookout point, far from anyone who could hear you scream. Every instinct tells you this is wrong, that you should leave. But you stay. You stay because you don’t want to be rude. You stay because you’ve been taught to be polite. When he asks you to take your top off, you comply, your fear overridden by a lifetime of social conditioning. This harrowing experience, a real story from one of the authors, sits at the heart of a powerful and darkly funny philosophy. It’s a philosophy explored in the book Let's Sit Crooked and Talk Straight, by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark, the creators of the hit podcast My Favorite Murder. They argue that the lessons we learn about politeness can be the very things that put us in danger, and unlearning them is a radical act of self-preservation.

Narrator: The book’s most famous mantra, "Fuck Politeness," is not a call for universal rudeness. It is a survival strategy. Kilgariff and Hardstark argue that society, and women in particular, are conditioned to prioritize the comfort of others over their own safety. This ingrained need to be accommodating makes people, especially women, vulnerable to manipulation and danger. The core idea is to give oneself permission to trust that gut feeling—the internal alarm that signals something is wrong—even if it means appearing impolite, awkward, or confrontational.

This concept is powerfully illustrated by co-author Georgia Hardstark’s own story from when she was nineteen. A regular customer at the restaurant where she worked, an older photographer named Lawrence, charmed her into a photo shoot. Despite numerous red flags—his dirty car, the secluded location in the mountains, the growing sense of dread—Georgia pushed her feelings down. She didn't want to make a scene or hurt his feelings. When he asked her to take her top off, she did, feeling scared and powerless. The experience left her ashamed and angry, not at him, but at herself for ignoring her intuition. Years later, she contrasts this with an incident at a bar where a man repeatedly pressured her to take a shot she didn't want. Remembering her past self, she instead looked him in the eye, turned the shot glass upside down on the floor, and walked away. This act, though seemingly rude, was an act of self-protection—the "Fuck Politeness" philosophy in action.

Narrator: The authors extend their safety advice beyond physical threats to include psychological ones, identifying a different kind of danger: the "cult." This doesn't just mean traditional cults, but any destructive belief system that preys on insecurity, whether it's the "cult of booze," the "cult of perfection," or the endless cycle of hope and rejection in Hollywood. The antidote, they propose, is captured in another of their famous phrases: "You're in a cult, call your dad." This is a metaphor for having a trusted inner circle—a "clutch-five" group of friends or family—who will tell you the truth, even when it’s hard to hear, and pull you out of a bad situation.

Karen Kilgariff shares a story from her youth that brings this to life. At thirteen, she went through a shoplifting phase, feeling angry and deprived. One day, she was caught stealing a cheap pair of earrings. When the store security told her to call a parent, she knew she couldn't call her mom, who would be furious. Instead, she called her dad. He showed up not with anger, but with tears in his eyes, expressing his disappointment and love. He handled the situation, paid the fine, and never made her feel like a bad person. That act of unconditional support was the "dad" she needed to call. It taught her that even when you make a terrible mistake, there are people who will help you, and reaching out to that support system is a crucial defense against isolation and destructive choices.

Narrator: In a world saturated with commercialized "self-care," Kilgariff and Hardstark redefine the term. They dismiss the notion that self-care is about bubble baths and face masks. Instead, they argue that true self-care is the difficult, often uncomfortable work of addressing your own issues. It’s about taking responsibility for your quality of life, going to therapy, and learning to communicate consciously with the people you love. It’s not about indulging yourself; it’s about understanding yourself so you can be a better person for yourself and others.

Karen describes learning this through therapy. She realized she was "throwing her shit all over town," dumping her anxieties on coworkers and outer-circle friends who weren't equipped to handle it. Her therapist taught her the concept of "clutch-five" friends—the small, core group you can truly rely on. She learned that even with them, communication must be conscious. You can't just unload your negativity without considering their emotional state. True self-care, she realized, was managing her own emotional output, saving the "shitstorm" for therapy or for moments when her friends had the capacity to help, and focusing on building esteem through "esteemable acts" rather than seeking constant validation.

Narrator: As hosts of a true-crime podcast, the authors constantly grapple with how to discuss safety without blaming victims. Their phrase "Stay Out of the Forest" began as a simple piece of advice: avoid obviously dangerous situations. However, they came to realize the limitations and potential harm of this mindset. Through feedback from their listeners, they understood that focusing on what a victim could have done differently implicitly shifts blame away from the perpetrator.

They point to the case of the Scarborough Rapist in Toronto as a stark example. As a serial rapist terrorized the city, a local constable publicly advised women, "don’t put yourself in a vulnerable position." This infuriated the community, as it placed the onus of prevention on potential victims, not on stopping the criminal. The authors champion a different perspective, influenced by thinkers like Jackson Katz, who notes that we often use passive language—"a woman was raped"—that erases the perpetrator. The authors conclude that while being aware of your surroundings is wise, the world itself is a forest. If someone is assaulted, it is never their fault. It is the fault of the person who chose to commit the crime. The focus must remain on the predator, not the prey.

Narrator: This final theme ties together financial independence and emotional self-reliance. "Buy Your Own Shit" is a call to action to not depend on others for your happiness, security, or even your transportation. It’s about taking control of your own life and understanding that you are the only person you can truly rely on to mend your own heart and build the life you want.

Georgia tells a defining story of heartbreak that taught her this lesson. As a young woman, she fell hard for a cool, quiet man named Aiden, who owned a Vespa scooter that represented freedom and adventure. She projected all her fantasies onto him, ignoring his emotional distance. When he unceremoniously dumped her, revealing he had a girlfriend the whole time, she was devastated. After months of grief, she took her savings and bought her own scooter. That purchase was transformative. Riding it through the city, she wasn't just getting around; she was reclaiming her independence. She realized she didn’t need Aiden to have the adventurous life she craved. She could create it for herself. The scooter became a symbol of her ability to provide for her own needs, both material and emotional, and to heal her own heart.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Let's Sit Crooked and Talk Straight is that self-preservation is a multifaceted and deeply personal practice. It’s not just about avoiding dark alleys; it’s about rejecting the social scripts that tell you to be polite at your own expense, building a support system that tells you the truth, doing the hard work of self-care, and taking radical responsibility for your own happiness and independence.

Ultimately, the book challenges its readers to embrace their own imperfections. Kilgariff and Hardstark built a global community not by being polished experts, but by being flawed, honest, and vulnerable. Their message is a reminder that your mistakes and scars are not sources of shame, but the very things that connect you to the rest of humanity. The most challenging and inspiring question it leaves us with is: What "polite" rule are you following that is no longer serving you, and what would happen if you decided to break it?