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Let me just start by saying that I agree with everything Cody says about Lena Dunham. But only because it’s true. Except mostly it isn’t. What I mean is, it’s true of everything of that ilk. The ‘ilk’ I’m referring to is any hip ‘indie’ thing made after 1995. Clerks is the only good movie like this and I suspect it’s because it was made by a fat white nerd with a chip on his shoulder at a time before that was a cool thing to be. Kevin Smith made it cool, so of course everything after it sucks. And if it weren’t for the ‘big word’ chapter cards interspersed throughout it (included just to appeal to the bohemian, intellectual, college crowds) it’d probably be a perfect movie.
I’ve been putting off writing this essay for some time, waiting for the ‘right moment’ I guess. As though there is ever a ‘right moment’ to write a scathing criticism of an individual and their artistic output. It’s kind of a dick thing to do, I’ll admit. But god dammit, when it comes to Lena Dunham, it really needs to be done—and done by smart ol’ me. Because even though there is plenty of distaste out there for her and her work, it seems no one is really getting to the root of exactly why she should be despised. So, over the course of this essay, I will break down, on a deep, intellectual level, exactly why she is a counterfeit artist, and why Girls is a hazardous product that goes against the proper functions of storytelling.