Goodbye Dolly Parton, my favourite feminist and ultimate ally

Tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition.

I remember being a little girl, watching and dancing to the movie 9 to 5 with my mom in our home in north Philadelphia. In it, three secretaries (Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin) tie up their evil boss by wrapping him up in those old spiral phone cords to his office chair. It was silly, over the top, camp and completely unapologetically feminist.

I’ve loved Dolly Parton for as long as I can remember. Authenticity, inclusivity and respect weren’t publicist-driven brand decisions, they were Dolly’s way of life. She was a protective mother bear for all of us who ever felt unseen, unloved or unsafe.

Now, at the age of 80, we have lost a towering force who sang about growing up dirt poor in Tennessee and became adored for her amazing storytelling, songwriting, business acumen and humanity. I can’t think of anyone else so universally loved.

Dolly Parton played by her own rules, she crossed genres and generations and did it with a wry glint in her eye and covered in rhinestones.

A few summers ago, I assembled a table of girlfriends at a festival based solely on my Jolene necklace. With those same women, I later went to the very odd production of Dolly Parton’s Christmas at the South Bank. It was a weird Charles Dickens Story with a Dolly soundtrack.

A much better realised tribute to Dolly was jukebox musical Here You Come Again, in which Dolly came to life through apparitions to a Covid-quarantined young man living upstairs from his parents.

She was so many things to so many people, which was beautifully explored in the podcast Dolly Parton’s America. Dolly didn’t explicitly mention politics, but her shows brought together fans from across the globe and she taught us all how to be better humans. She was the epitome of acceptance and joy. She was the ultimate ally.

Dolly was by far my favourite feminist. She lived on her own terms, unapologetically, beautifully, loudly and ambitiously. She was hilarious and audacious, and hearing Jane Fonda’s anecdote about her mooning Kenny Rogers’ house had me in tears again.

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I have always hated the box that people have decided that feminists belong in. Dolly owned her sass and brought the world along with her

She included her husband Carl, in the shadows for decades, who she didn’t ever have to diminish her shine for. Carl died last year after a six-decade marriage.

Dolly Parton sang loudly and proudly and demanded to be paid her worth. She will be universally remembered for her incredible musical talent and gifts, but quietly healed so many of us and was a great teacher and soother of souls.

Dolly is the closest thing I’ve ever had to religion and I am so grateful that she received our adoration while she was still with us. Whenever I am in need of a good kick up the arse, I think about the “fact” that Dolly wrote Jolene and I Will Always Love You on the same day. Apparently she later walked that story back a little, but who am I to get in the way of a good Dolly story.

As a little kid, I spent so much time at my local library that my children’s department librarians made me birthday cake. Dolly Parton is responsible for generations of bookworms like me. Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library started in 1995 and has gifted over 370 million books to children across five countries.

A few years ago, I was attending an event in Shoreditch with an amazing group of people, including Natasha McElhone and Ruby Wax. I was chatting with Ruby about what Dolly had done for children’s literacy, and she was looking at me like I was bonkers. She asked me why millions and millions of children would want autobiographies of Dolly Parton.

We cackled in once I explained that the 370 million books weren’t about Dolly at all but started with The Little Engine That Could and carried on through your childhood. When Dolly sang, it made me feel like I was sitting at her feet and being read a bedtime story.