Part 2
That old man? He was the rain. He came into her life, scammed a free meal, and then beat her with a cane. Most people would be furious. Dolly? She paid the bill. She confronted him. She got whacked. And then she made it funny. That’s the rubbers. That’s the armor. Resilience through comedy.
She learned it young. Growing up country, she said, comedy is part of your being. It’s what gets you through hard times. You make fun of stuff you shouldn’t even laugh at. That’s the funniest stuff. You find the humor. You keep moving.
So when life swings a walking stick at your chest, you don’t crumble. You tell the story. You make people laugh. You turn the bruise into a bit. That’s not denial. That’s defiance.
And that philosophy extends to everything. Including fashion.
Dolly Parton has been called worst dressed. More than once. She’s been on worst-dressed lists. The critics sneer. The fashion police wag their fingers. And Dolly? She laughs. She said designers pay her not to say who made her gowns. That’s a power move. She flips the script. She owns the joke.
Her response to critics? 'I’m happier than that guy that wrote that.' Simple. Devastating. True. She’s not just surviving the rain. She’s dancing in it. In heels. With rhinestones.
That’s the same energy as the walking stick story. Someone tries to shame her. Someone tries to hurt her. She takes the hit. Then she takes the mic. She turns the insult into a punchline. She turns the pain into a story. She wins.
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But it’s not just about comedy. It’s about identity. Dolly is proudly female. Proudly feminine. Proudly over-the-top. And she knows exactly what she’s doing. She once joked: 'If I hadn’t been born a woman, I’d have been a drag queen.'
Think about that. She’s saying her look — the wigs, the makeup, the curves, the sparkle — is a performance. A deliberate construction. And that performance is armor. It’s a way to control the narrative. If you’re going to be judged anyway, you might as well go all in. You might as well be the one laughing.
Drag queens know this. They build a persona. They exaggerate. They own the joke before anyone else can. Dolly does the same. She’s not just a country singer. She’s a character. A brand. A force. And that character can take a beating — literal or figurative — and keep on smiling.
That’s the rubbers. That’s the raincoat. That’s the walking stick turned into a prop.
So when teenagers hear 'act like it’s raining every day,' they’re not just getting weather advice. They’re getting a blueprint. Expect the worst. Laugh at it. Protect yourself. And never let them see you sweat. Unless it’s under the stage lights. Then sweat is just glitter.
Dolly’s been in the business for over six decades. She’s written thousands of songs. She’s acted in films like 9 to 5 (1980, directed by Colin Higgins, 109 minutes), Steel Magnolias (1989, Herbert Ross, 117 minutes), and Straight Talk (1992, Barnet Kellman, 91 minutes). She’s had hits on country and pop charts. She’s built an empire. And through it all, she’s kept that sense of humor. That resilience. That ability to turn a scam into a story.
That old man with the walking stick? He’s probably long gone. But Dolly’s still here. Still telling the story. Still making us laugh. Still wearing her rubbers.
And that’s the lesson. The rain will come. The scammers will come. The critics will come. The walking sticks will swing. But if you’re prepared — if you’ve got your rubbers on — you can take the hit and keep on walking. Right to the next punchline.
Next up: how Dolly took that same philosophy into 9 to 5, and how she held her own against Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin. The perky revolution. The office comedy that became a movement. Stay tuned.
9 to 5 and the Art of Being Perky: Dolly vs. Jane and Lily
Cut to 1980. The set of 9 to 5. Three women. Three energies. Jane Fonda, the activist, teaching an exercise class between takes. Lily Tomlin, the comedian, rolling in with a scarf and rollers. And Dolly Parton, already made up, already perky, already on. The contrast is the comedy. The contrast is the point.
Dolly remembers it clear. Jane would have everyone doing leg lifts. Lily would shuffle in looking like she just rolled out of bed. And Dolly? Full hair. Full face. Full sparkle. She didn't just play Doralee Rhodes. She was Doralee Rhodes. The odd one out. The country girl in a Hollywood boardroom. But she didn't shrink. She shined.
That's the walking stick story in a new light. The old man scammed her. Then he beat her. But she got the last laugh. On set, she took the hit of being different. She turned it into charm. Into a character. Into a movie that made $103 million on a $10 million budget. 9 to 5 wasn't just a hit. It was a phenomenon. Directed by Colin Higgins. Written by Patricia Resnick and Higgins. A comedy about secretaries getting revenge on their sexist boss. And Dolly? She wrote the theme song in one day. On set. With her acrylic nails. It became an anthem. A Grammy winner. A Broadway musical. A legacy.
