Scrw the Crew: Nine Years, Too Many Dildos, Not Enough Xanax

Superyachts. Secrets. Sin.
What happens below deck should've stayed there.

Forget Below Deck. This is the version they'd fire you for writing.

Ivy Yveline joined the yachting industry with a suitcase full of crystals, affirmations, and ambition. She left with burnout, a Xanax prescription, and a thousand-yard stare. SCRW THE CREW is her love letter and her revenge-equal parts character roast, emotional exorcism, and brutally honest satire of the luxury world's most dysfunctional workplace.

This is not a memoir.
It's not a novel.
It's a portrait gallery of the unhinged.

Inside:
- Billionaires who cry over blueberries
- Stews who inventory dildos before breakfast
- Deckhands with six-packs and one brain cell
- Chefs on the edge, Captains in denial, and Engineers who feel nothing
- Strip clubs with owners, mistresses disguised as yoga teachers, and one poor girl still in laundry trying to sage the trauma away

Each chapter pulls back the linen-draped curtain on yachting's underworld-where sexual coercion is written off as "guest preference," breakdowns are hidden in the crew mess, and no one is who they pretend to be.

It's a life of tips, tantrums, and 19-hour days performed in a matching polo and a smile. It's a high-stakes fantasy where the teak is polished, but the crew quietly falls apart.

Told in savage, punchy vignettes and laced with pitch-black humor, SCRW THE CREW is for anyone who's worked in hospitality, fantasized about escape, or found themselves crying in uniform while serving Champagne to someone who thinks your name is "Service."

Ivy doesn't name names.
She doesn't need to.
If you've worked in yachting-or just fantasized about throwing a billionaire overboard-you'll recognize every single character. Because it's always the same story:
Same personalities.
Different boat.

A love letter and a warning shot to the floating circus where your breakdown is just another line in the handover notes.