carefree white girl
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In that Kevin Bacon game, perhaps only a kneecap separates me and Lena Dunham from one another. But still, I don’t actually know her. So why do I and so many others feel so entitled and so comfortable raging against her? Why do we feel like she owes us something? Why do we feel like our collective opinion matters the way we think it does? Because it does. I consumed each criticism of HBO’s Girls like the most delectable treat: cringing with rage when a self-proclaimed feminist was too racially careless; bursting manically when someone made an ingenious proclamation of the show and one of its writers as being an active participant in the greater cultural trend of “hipster racism”; and tickled when someone gave a lesson on how to recognize and resist the tendency to bask in such discursive behavior. And (more than once) real-life tears poured down by cheeks at the profundity of feeling invisible despite it all. But there was one thing I couldn’t access in all of it: why? Illusions to the contrary, I do not get shaken to the core by much. After someone asked me “What’s the hullaballoo about?” and another, “Why the ire directed toward Lena Dunham when every other show on network TV does the same thing” and another yet, “How could all of this happen after 3 episodes?” I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d become so ensconced in it. Some are bothered by the nepotism, lashing out at Lena Dunham, Allison Williams, Jemima Kirk and that other broad because they are the daughters of famous people. For others it’s the imperceptibility of class issues. And for others still, like myself, it’s the erasure of people of color from the New York City landscape, one of the show’s boldest and largest characters.  No one has been afraid to weigh in. No one, except Lena Dunham. And her missing voice feels most awkward because her voice is the subject of her fame. Lena Dunham. Lena Dunham. Apocryphal is antithetical to Lena Dunham.  Lena Dunham is the post-modern-Emily Gould. A winner at oversharing in all the right ways. A true capitalist of the  Woody Allen genre, she has been able to conquer the public’s love by using herself as the subject. An intuit, Lena understands that humans are naturally voyeurs, and she makes us feel comfortable in that space. Hell, she invites us in to stay. Her twitter account (though perhaps more speckled with name dropping now) is no different from its nascent and humble beginnings. Her ease at talking to reporters about matters so personal as her sex life makes us feel like we’re her girls. No one, Lena included, would disagree that her show is ripped directly from the headlines of her life that we have come to know so well. That is new, that is fresh, and that is wonderful. Except when it isn’t. Lena Dunham may be dubbed the new Woody Allen but she is fundamentally unlike him.  Lena doesn’t use her movies to tell us who she is. Lena has used herself to tell us who she is and her artwork is consequence of that telling. We have become accustomed to knowing Lena Dunham, the human, and now when things get tough and Lena Dunham, the human, is confronted with some serious and personal attacks on her work, Lena Dunham the human can’t be found. Where has her proclivity for oversharing gone? Make no mistake. It is we, the young gentrifiers of Brooklyn, the liberal arts toting, the people of color rich kids, the working class poor kids who got caught up with the liberal arts rich kids who have followed her from the beginning. And it is we who are feeling deceived by her. Because where our “girl” once stood,  a celebrity has taken her place. So Lena, if you care at all about “us” (small segment of the population though we are), you’ll speak up now. Speak up now, or forever lose touch with your girls.   Because when you lose touch with your base - the ones separated by a knee cap in the Kevin Bacon game - the rest will surely follow.

In that Kevin Bacon game, perhaps only a kneecap separates me and Lena Dunham from one another. But still, I don’t actually know her. So why do I and so many others feel so entitled and so comfortable raging against her? Why do we feel like she owes us something? Why do we feel like our collective opinion matters the way we think it does?

Because it does.

I consumed each criticism of HBO’s Girls like the most delectable treat: cringing with rage when a self-proclaimed feminist was too racially careless; bursting manically when someone made an ingenious proclamation of the show and one of its writers as being an active participant in the greater cultural trend of “hipster racism”; and tickled when someone gave a lesson on how to recognize and resist the tendency to bask in such discursive behavior. And (more than once) real-life tears poured down by cheeks at the profundity of feeling invisible despite it all.

But there was one thing I couldn’t access in all of it: why? Illusions to the contrary, I do not get shaken to the core by much.

After someone asked me “What’s the hullaballoo about?” and another, “Why the ire directed toward Lena Dunham when every other show on network TV does the same thing” and another yet, “How could all of this happen after 3 episodes?” I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d become so ensconced in it.

Some are bothered by the nepotism, lashing out at Lena Dunham, Allison Williams, Jemima Kirk and that other broad because they are the daughters of famous people. For others it’s the imperceptibility of class issues. And for others still, like myself, it’s the erasure of people of color from the New York City landscape, one of the show’s boldest and largest characters.  No one has been afraid to weigh in. No one, except Lena Dunham. And her missing voice feels most awkward because her voice is the subject of her fame.

Lena Dunham. Lena Dunham. Apocryphal is antithetical to Lena Dunham.  Lena Dunham is the post-modern-Emily Gould. A winner at oversharing in all the right ways. A true capitalist of the  Woody Allen genre, she has been able to conquer the public’s love by using herself as the subject. An intuit, Lena understands that humans are naturally voyeurs, and she makes us feel comfortable in that space. Hell, she invites us in to stay. Her twitter account (though perhaps more speckled with name dropping now) is no different from its nascent and humble beginnings. Her ease at talking to reporters about matters so personal as her sex life makes us feel like we’re her girls. No one, Lena included, would disagree that her show is ripped directly from the headlines of her life that we have come to know so well.

That is new, that is fresh, and that is wonderful. Except when it isn’t.

Lena Dunham may be dubbed the new Woody Allen but she is fundamentally unlike him.  Lena doesn’t use her movies to tell us who she is. Lena has used herself to tell us who she is and her artwork is consequence of that telling. We have become accustomed to knowing Lena Dunham, the human, and now when things get tough and Lena Dunham, the human, is confronted with some serious and personal attacks on her work, Lena Dunham the human can’t be found. Where has her proclivity for oversharing gone?

Make no mistake. It is we, the young gentrifiers of Brooklyn, the liberal arts toting, the people of color rich kids, the working class poor kids who got caught up with the liberal arts rich kids who have followed her from the beginning. And it is we who are feeling deceived by her. Because where our “girl” once stood,  a celebrity has taken her place.

So Lena, if you care at all about “us” (small segment of the population though we are), you’ll speak up now. Speak up now, or forever lose touch with your girls.   Because when you lose touch with your base - the ones separated by a knee cap in the Kevin Bacon game - the rest will surely follow.

Beyonce, Jay-Z and the politics of beauty

Akiba Soloman captures the essence of our culture’s never ending preoccupation and desire to be white, or, as light as we can be. When we are defining beauty isn’t it true that - though sometimes coded - European features trump all else ?

Carefree White Girl takes some time off from collecting her newest child in Laos to feel the wet, musky, thick jungle air. Though her dress suggests “colonists in India, 1880,” her heart screams “Hear ye! Hear ye! give me the worlds’ children! Transnational adoption (even those from countries infamous for baby stealing) will solve poverty!” Her mind whirls: “I wonder if the wet, musky, thick jungle air is ruining my Louis Vuitton?”

Carefree White Girl takes some time off from collecting her newest child in Laos to feel the wet, musky, thick jungle air. Though her dress suggests “colonists in India, 1880,” her heart screams “Hear ye! Hear ye! give me the worlds’ children! Transnational adoption (even those from countries infamous for baby stealing) will solve poverty!” Her mind whirls: “I wonder if the wet, musky, thick jungle air is ruining my Louis Vuitton?”

Photographed above are brother and sister comedy/activist/journalist/feminist duo John and Molly Knefel. Don’t let their looks deceive for if the CFWG ethnic cleansing war - to rid the world of everyone else - began they’d totally be leading the resistance.  John and Molly have a radio show called Radio Dispatch and this week they asked me to be on it. You should really listen to the whole thing because it’s very good and they discuss the reopening of Zuccotti Park to protesters, but if you must, I’m on starting at around the 27th minute. c l i c k    h e r e   t o  l i s t e n i say “um” a lot apparently, BEWARE. 

Photographed above are brother and sister comedy/activist/journalist/feminist duo John and Molly Knefel. Don’t let their looks deceive for if the CFWG ethnic cleansing war - to rid the world of everyone else - began they’d totally be leading the resistance. 

John and Molly have a radio show called Radio Dispatch and this week they asked me to be on it. You should really listen to the whole thing because it’s very good and they discuss the reopening of Zuccotti Park to protesters, but if you must, I’m on starting at around the 27th minute.

c l i c k    h e r e   t o  l i s t e n

i say “um” a lot apparently, BEWARE. 

Things This White Girl Learned While In India

Carefree White Girl writes to her friend Chloe (also living abroad) by hand with this physical photo attached “This is a photo taken of me and Leo by my roommate Marie-Claire, a photographer. Last night we were all at the Bar down the road from her parents villa that we’re staying in and she looked at us and said ‘ je veux prendre ton photo en cours de faire l’amour.’ It was a magical night. We stayed awake till dawn making love all over the villa. This was the one I thought you’d like the most though. I miss you Chlo, you’d love it here, it’s just so lovely. We take breakfast in the morning in the salon and oh the jams are perfection! Then we go for a mid-morning walk along the beach all together holding hands. We always wind up in unchartered territory where we set up a picnic and read aloud passages from our favorite novels. Of course you know mine —- Bonjour Tristesse. I think I will stay here for a little while and paint. There is a man in town who wants to buy a painting of mine for 4,000 Euro! He just offered. He told me “Your paintings are an extension of you.” I thought that was sweet. Alright off to the market, yours, Carefree White Girl   

Carefree White Girl writes to her friend Chloe (also living abroad) by hand with this physical photo attached

“This is a photo taken of me and Leo by my roommate Marie-Claire, a photographer. Last night we were all at the Bar down the road from her parents villa that we’re staying in and she looked at us and said ‘ je veux prendre ton photo en cours de faire l’amour.’ It was a magical night. We stayed awake till dawn making love all over the villa. This was the one I thought you’d like the most though. I miss you Chlo, you’d love it here, it’s just so lovely. We take breakfast in the morning in the salon and oh the jams are perfection! Then we go for a mid-morning walk along the beach all together holding hands. We always wind up in unchartered territory where we set up a picnic and read aloud passages from our favorite novels. Of course you know mine —- Bonjour Tristesse. I think I will stay here for a little while and paint. There is a man in town who wants to buy a painting of mine for 4,000 Euro! He just offered. He told me “Your paintings are an extension of you.” I thought that was sweet.

Alright off to the market,

yours,

Carefree White Girl   

(Source: tumblr-mais-18, via theplasticheart)

Shite White Girls Say To Black Girls

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

A new rendition for Zooey: (Can You Teach Me How To Be A Carefree White Girl) This NEW YEARS EVE

happy new year

CFWG: GIVE THE GIFT OF GIVING

Hey CFWGs! Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday. Me and Zooey do hope you’ll -  take some time off from painting your nails with “amazing holiday art”  and writing your loved ones on those DIY Holiday Cards you made with your bf to - donate money to Haiti. Zooey’s campaign, “Haiti Home” is trying to raise money so that all HAITIANS have a “home” just like ours. I think they should too. But the way she describes home is just so sweet. She says: “home is what I miss when I’m away.” I do too! I’m sure the Haitians also miss clean water, some kind of food and any kind of reliable medical care!  The photo above might lead you to believe Zooey is thinking more about “cuteness” and less about “the poorest country in the western hemisphere.” but she isn’t! She’s thinking about the Haitians!
“AND IN CONCLUSION MAY I REMIND YOU THAT IT DOES NOT SAY RSVP ON THE STATUE OF LIBERTY!!!!!!!!!!!! “
Nah but it’s a good cause. My girl up at Columbia University’s Mailman School Of Public Health says you should give to this org. SO BE A GOOD PERSON, OKAY?
UPDATE: i just spent an hour on Zooey’s website. I CANT FRONT ON Y’ALL

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