How I wish my brain felt to me:
How my brain actually feels:
Since I was on a tear a couple weeks ago over someone calling Andrew W.K. a “complete fake,” I might as well add that I just read a review of Lena Dunham’s new memoir from a high-profile magazine wherein the reviewer calls Lena Dunham, the person, “not real.”
I’m not going to link to the review, because it is truly a garbage attempt at criticism. How emotionally, psychologically, or creatively stunted must a writer be to make such an assessment of someone who grew up in artistic circles and performs and creates for a living? How smug must one be to draw that line and declaim from their own relative obscurity that he or she is one of the “real people”? Why do these authenticity police keep getting paid to do this? Is it just so people who are equally stunted will keep buying magazines?
Say what you will about Lena Dunham, I really don’t care (I mean, don’t be a sexist piece of shit about it), but if you go around deciding that certain people walking around our streets and breathing air are “not real” people, you may be an actual sociopath.
Making friends on Tumblr is great because you can just put all your worst qualities right up front.