Charity Gaye Finnestad describes herself as a modern-day Alice in Wonderland who has fallen down the rabbit hole. While sill in her 20s, Charity left Oregon and her second husband to move to Hollywood to pursue her dream of becoming a writer. Along the way, she started her popular blog, Hollywood in Heels, where she documented her adventures while dating and learning to navigate the entertainment industry.
Her new book of the same name expands on the blog and is smart, funny, and unapologetically honest. Charity writes that Hollywood’s primary commodity is sex and that “illusion is the name of the game.” In Hollywood in Heels, she learns to master both and describes them with intimate details. Leading by example, Charity tells her readers to work hard at their dreams, but to also have fun and fall in love at every opportunity.
In this edition, host Jeffrey Masters sits down and talks with Charity Gaye Finnestad about this memoir, Hollywood in Heels.
Charity Gaye Finnestad spent her childhood as a rolling stone, thanks to her dad’s severe case of grass-is-greener syndrome. She finally ended up in the tiny hamlet of Sisters, Oregon, where she discovered that just because a town doesn’t possess a stoplight, that doesn’t mean it’s not chock-full of rules for fitting in. She didn’t. So she made the regrettable deal with her parents that if they would let her graduate early at age sixteen and split town, she would go to a religious college in-state. That’s how the naughtier than nice Charity ended up graduating summa cum laude from Eugene Bible College with a degree in religion and education. Rumor has it that she was the only non-Birkenstock sporting chick in all of greater Eugene at that time.
Charity currently lives and loves her two men (short and tall) in the Hollywood Hills. She attends glamorous parties with the big one by night. By day you will find her and holed up in her writing studio, or on the playground with her son. She is two-hundred and fifty-five pages into her next book, a novel, so no, she won’t be answering emails or phone calls for the next three months. And if you should bump into her on the street, please pretend you do not see the post-it’s stuck to her yoga pants or the chocolate ice-cream smeared on her cheek. And no, despite all the adventures that you’ll read about in HOLLYWOOD IN HEELS, that is not cocaine on her nose. That is powder from the jelly donut she split with her little man. Oh how the mighty fall.