Some books nudge the culture. Eat the F*cking Cake takes a serrated cake knife to it.
Amoré Littrell-Fellini’s second book is equal parts memoir, manifesto, and middle finger to every diet rule scribbled in the margins of a women’s magazine. Breezy yet unflinching, cinematic yet scalpel-precise, it is the rare book that makes you laugh out loud while quietly rewiring your brain.
This is not a book about food. It’s a book about freedom—from obsession, deprivation, guilt, and the endless loop of “starting over Monday.” With the wit of a reformed romantic and the bite of someone who’s been there (closeted frosting and all), Littrell-Fellini reclaims appetite as intelligence. The road to freedom is cake-crumbed.
What makes Eat the F*cking Cake revolutionary isn’t just its message, but its method. Littrell-Fellini doesn’t preach. She narrates—through a string of irresistible, often absurd true-life stories that feel like scenes from a Nora Ephron-scripted movie following the protagonist’s coming-of-age from corseted on the set of Bram Stoker’s Dracula to cornered on an estate in Bel Air.
Threaded through it all is her radical reframing of the food war: She doesn’t villainize cake—she friend-zones it. That “eating whatever you want” isn’t a cheat—it’s the breakthrough.
Littrell-Fellini has written the Bridget Jones’s Diary for a new era—one where the heroine doesn’t just stop counting calories, she stops giving them power. Her voice is clear, comic, and earnestly true. This isn’t theory—it’s lived experience, sustained for over three decades. That alone makes the book a unicorn in the genre.
For anyone who’s ever canceled plans because they felt fat, cried over carbs, or tried to quiet cake-brain with celery sticks—this is your liberation story. Not soft, not woo-woo, and not a “love your body” poster in disguise. It’s a blueprint. A rebellion. A relief.
And yes, there’s actual cake.
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