Ross Mathews made me snort-laugh so hard that Frida literally fell off my lap in protest.
I was deep into a logo redesign at 2 AM, running on cold coffee and desperation, when I decided I needed something light to get me through the final stretch. Five hours later, the logo was done, my mascara was a mess from laughing, and I had a new appreciation for anyone who grew up gay in a small farm town and came out the other side this gloriously unapologetic.
The Energy Is Contagious (And I Mean That Literally)
Here's the thing about Ross narrating his own memoir—you can HEAR the exclamation points. Every single one. The man reads like he's telling you the best gossip of his life while slightly caffeinated, and honestly? It works. His comedic timing is impeccable, especially during the more absurd stories. When he gets to the bit about facing his high school girlfriend's "lady bits"—and the genuine terror in his voice as he recounts it—I had to pause because I was wheezing.
But it's not all camp and chaos. There are these moments where Ross talks about growing up feeling like the weirdest kid in his Washington farm town, dreaming of Hollywood like it was actual Narnia, and his voice shifts. Gets a little softer. A little more vulnerable. Those moments hit different at 3 AM when you're remembering your own teenage dreams that seemed impossible.
A Really Good Appetizer, Not Quite a Full Meal
Okay, I gotta be honest here. At just over five hours, this is a quick listen, and sometimes it feels like it. Ross gives us the highlight reel—the celebrity encounters with Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow, the embarrassing small-town stories, the pot butter incident (which, yes, is as chaotic as it sounds). But there were moments where I wanted him to go deeper. Like, tell me MORE about the emotional journey. Give me the ugly parts, the hard parts.
Instead, we get Ross at his most performative, which is entertaining but sometimes feels like watching someone's really polished Instagram stories versus their actual life. The "embezzled sandwiches" story is hilarious, but I found myself wondering about the stuff he wasn't telling us. The book has that same "outrageous friend telling you stories at brunch" energy as Chelsea Handler's work. What a Time to be Alone has a similar conversational warmth, though it leans more introspective than Ross's all-out comedy.
Some listeners found the humor forced, and I can see that. There are moments where Ross leans hard into the "aren't I CRAZY?" energy that can feel a bit much. But for me, growing up watching telenovelas with my abuela where EVERYTHING was dramatic, this felt like home.
Who Should Press Play (And Who Should Skip)
If you already love Ross from Drag Race or his Tonight Show days, you will eat this up. His personality translates perfectly to audio—maybe even better than print, because you get all the vocal inflections and the barely-contained giggles. Skip this if you're looking for a deep, introspective memoir about identity and struggle. But if you want to feel like you're getting drinks with the funniest person at the party? Perfect.
I will say—there's language and some sexual content, but nothing that would make abuela do more than raise an eyebrow. She'd probably have opinions about Ross's life choices, but she'd be charmed despite herself.
Sometimes Your Heart Just Needs This Kind of Lightness
Look, not every book needs to make me ugly-cry. Sometimes you need the audiobook equivalent of a really good reality TV show—entertaining, warm, and leaves you feeling weirdly inspired. Ross's whole thesis is basically "be your weird self and good things happen," and while that's not exactly groundbreaking, hearing him tell it with such genuine joy is kind of beautiful. Things That Matter explores a similar journey of staying authentic through decades in the public eye, though with more political weight behind it.
The production is clean—just Ross, no sound effects, no music—and honestly that's all it needs. His voice IS the show. I listened at my usual 1.0x because rushing through this would be like fast-forwarding through a friend's story. You'd miss all the good parts.
Would I recommend this to everyone? No. It's definitely for a specific audience. But for those of us who grew up feeling like the weird kid, who dreamed impossible dreams, who maybe needed someone to tell us that our authentic selves are enough? This book felt like a warm hug from someone who actually gets it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find Ross's other work because apparently I'm a fan now. Diego is judging me. I don't care.
