The hype around HBO’s new show, Girls, has been insane. Over the past couple weeks I have read countless articles—raves and roasts alike—that either celebrate the show for its relevance and honest portrayal of young women or skewer it for self-indulgent, whiny narratives.
All the talk made me nervous about watching Girls. I was unnerved by the idea that writer-director-star Lena Dunham was bringing a “real” representation of twentysomething women to the small screen. As a twentysomething woman myself, I felt pressured to accept Dunham’s narrative as my reality. I was wary before I even saw the show.
However, as a close friend pointed out, the interminable dialogue around Dunham’s “accurate representation” of young women was mostly a symptom of the absolute dearth of female-driven media. Perhaps if there were more thoughtful representations of female life, I wouldn’t feel so pressured to relate to the show.
Of course, I couldn’t help myself. I watched the first two episodes.