The dust has settled on Mm. Dunham’s débuts littéraires, and the consensus reached by the bourgeoisie petit du monde seems to be that the author is some kind child molester, possibly false-rape accusation statistic, and even a hack. Well don’t worry, darling, it’s nothing Bourgeois Woman hasn’t been accused of in the many decadent years of her life. They’re nought but jealous.
So, Bourgeois Woman read (and very strongly identified with) the text. Here’s what she said about it.
Bourgeois Woman #wokeuplikethis.
In light of Dunham’s “rumoured” advance of $3.7 million, Bourgeois Woman considers how she will spend hers.
Upon reading Dunham’s mots immortels, “There is nothing gutsier to me than a person announcing that their story is one that deserves to be told, especially if that person is a woman”, Bourgeois Woman wonders whether that includes the gutsiness of say, women who garner the courage necessary to risk their lives in order to leave abusive partners, or Black Americans who lay their bodies down before police officers who can murder them with impunity, or intelligence experts who continue to leak powerful information whilst living statelessly. No matter! She guesses it works as a convenient justification for Dunham’s *less exciting* chapters.
Like Dunham, Bourgeois Woman too had a “lucky little girlhood.” She too didn’t have to “worry about much except what gallery to go to on Sunday” and whether or not her “child psychologist was helping with [her] sleep issues.” But that doesn’t mean Bourgeois Woman doesn’t have anything valuable or interesting to say! Except that possibly there is not much to be said about a lucky little girlhood. She’d much rather learn what those fat cat producers said to Dunham behind closed doors, not what Dunham’s favourite food was when she was five.
And speaking of food, golly gosh, all that dieting. Pssht! Lena, darling, don’t worry: thigh gaps are gauche. Besides, where would a Bourgeois Woman keep her bottle opener were it not resting between valleys of heavenly flesh?
Bourgeois Woman is not sure why everyone is always saying callous and clinical things about sexual congress. Take page 103, where Dunham writes, “The first time I got naked with a guy, grotesque as it was, I was just so relieved he wasn’t inhaling my naked scent or running his hands up my torso to the strains of Chris Isaak.”
Well frankly, Bourgeois Woman believes that there ought to be a LOT more meaningful body odeur inhalation and Chris Isaak worship at the altar of lust. Just ask Bourgeois Boyfriend!
Bourgeois Woman and Lena Dunham identical in many (most!) ways. Except, that is, in the instance of menstruation. Where Dunham damns the institution (“the pain, the volatility, the feeling of utter despair”) every time blood pours forth from her yoni, Bourgeois Woman is reminded of her Inner Goddess.
Inner Goddesses love scented candles.
God bless Dunham for writing that “It’s a special privilege to be born into the body you wanted, to embrace the essence of your gender even as you recognize what you are up against.” Bourgeois Woman would like to add that even more special is recognising the Inner Yoni Goddess Madonna Queen Beyonce that is essential in your gender. Your special extra femme essential gender!
Bourgeois Woman, too, remembers her childhood self as one who was “obnoxiously self-aware.” Perhaps not, like, being aware of the self in a way that recognises its material impact on others and their selves, but a self is a self is a self is a self is a self! And like all good Bourgeois Women, she has carried this fortunate trait well into adulthood.
Bourgeois Woman is moved by displays of anxiety that focus on mortality. And what could be a more meaningful end to a book than one which reiterates the closing in of all ends (death)? But is death really the end, or is it actually the beginning?
Sometimes, when Bourgeois Woman is feeling special about the fact that no-one in her life has ever died tragically or unexpectedly, she wonders if the secret to a long and happy life is simply inherited privilege.