Dunham’s insatiable need (and extreme courage) to display her imperfect-in-the-eyes-of-society nakedness raises the hackles of critics hell bent on perpetuating the notion that only size zero women have the right to freely display their bodies, and the true message of their critiques is loud and clear: If we (meaning the judgmental dicks of society) consider you beautiful, we want to get off on your nakedness, but if you don’t fulfill our fantasy of what beauty is supposed to look like (a make-up plastered skeleton), we call it offensive and take swipes.
Lena Dunham’s spirited lack of self-consciousness makes her a role model for women, young and old. She’s unafraid of what others think of her and proudly defends her artistic style and her personal choices to be who she chooses to be. She’s shows us her ugly side (on the inside) in Girls and shows – dare I say it – normal human flaws. Ones that all of us possess.
Yes. We. Are. All. Flawed. Inside. And. Out.
Let’s Focus On Ourselves, Own Our Flaws.
Let us question why sit-coms, over and over again, cast midde-aged, overweight, balding, frumpy men as the proud, mismatched husbands of young, thin, vivacious, sexy women. Why aren’t critics hucking it up over this instead of fretting over a young woman who is comfortable in her own skin?
Girls' main character loves a man who, at times, borderline rapes her yet at other times, shows us how much he, in his own fucked-up way, loves her with all his heart. I think Lena Dunham deserves credit for screenwriting that borders on therapeutic journaling by letting the characters unabashedly share their hopes, dreams and shortcomings without concerning themselves with what anyone will think of them.
Perhaps we would all benefit from a healthy dose of introspection and self-exposure.
Perhaps we would all benefit from a healthy dose of introspection and self-exposure.
Here are a few YouTube clips of Lena Dunham's Girls:
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