Lena Dunham and I have a long history together.
I watched Girls at a time when its content was deeply resonant: a twenty-something living in a big city (look, okay, Brissie isn’t exactly The Big Apple, but it felt big to me), making terrible dating decisions and being wildly short-sighted. But there was something running through the show that appealed to me beyond surface-level identification.
The line most people remember from the pilot episode is, of course, the famous “voice of a generation” proclamation (or indeed “a voice of a generation”). But it was Jessa, the chaotic blonde friend of Dunham’s character, who uttered the phrase that stuck with me most: “I’m just sick of women telling other women what to do.”
I was a devotee of Girls for its excellent writing. Dunham wrote and directed much of it, and while I knew of – and agreed with – many of the criticisms levelled at the show, much like Sex and the City, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Gossip Girl, it remains one of my comfort watches.
I read her first book of essays and enjoyed it well enough (but I’m not even going to touch the touchy stuff). After Girls ended its run, I became a subscriber to Dunham’s Lenny Letter newsletter.
Then The Thing happened. You know The Thing. The worst Thing she ever did. And that was it for me. Unsubscribed. Chapter closed. Some hot takes are so hot they may never cool, and Dunham- alongside her business partner, Jenni Konner – landed one of the all-time worst.
But still, I gave Famesick a go. What I never realised, and what Famesick revealed, is just how much my life aligned with Lena’s in ways I hadn’t expected. Not just the unavailable boyfriends.
For most of her adult life, Dunham was living with chronic pain. While our ailments differ, reading about her all-encompassing struggle with endometriosis and a host of other health issues felt eerily familiar to me as someone who lives with chronic migraines.
She also had an older friend and mentor who helped guide her through her twenties. Turns out, that’s hardly unusual. In fact, I know several women who, in their twenties, developed intensely codependent relationships with women who could easily have been mistaken for their young, hip mothers. Konner, the other name that flashed so frequently across the Girls title cards, was an ever-present force in Dunham’s life… and it turns out, not always in a supportive or healthy way.
I won’t belabour the awfulness of The Thing, but reading the story behind it softened my perspective. Importantly, Dunham doesn’t ask for forgiveness in this memoir. She doesn’t seem particularly interested in redemption. What she does offer is context, and I found myself grateful to have it.
I gobbled up this memoir and would recommend it to any Girls fan. But, admitting that publicly feels a little risky. People don’t just dislike Lena Dunham – they loathe her with the fire of a thousand suns. Offering a positive review can feel like inviting some of that heat onto yourself.
But this is Cannonball Read, where we’re supposed to give our honest opinions.
Mine is simple:
5 pink fridges out of 5.
