I can safely say I have never read, watched or listened to anything that resonated with me as a young woman the way Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl did. Not because I relate to every single anecdote, or even the majority of them. Nor because I completely, or even partially, understand Dunham’s experiences and feelings. In fact, there were times when I felt slightly alienated as a reader. Uncomfortable, almost.
It was because by the end, I understood what she was trying to tell me. I understood that she was explaining the feeling of being a young woman and suddenly becoming aware of what you are up against. Of being terrified, and then of slowly coming to understand that you are powerful enough to carry on regardless.
I realised the discomfort I felt reading certain parts of Dunham’s book was instrumental, too. She is capturing the uneasiness of that transition, of facing big decisions about life and careers and relationships and realising there are roadblocks everywhere you look. As if you are witnessing the retelling of a complex personal joke that you were never privy to in the first place.
But far more importantly, the book is about how to overcome that feeling. Here’s what I learned.
Lesson 1: You can be a feminist on your own terms. We have recently witnessed a resurgence of familiar debates about who is and isn’t a feminist, and if you are one, questions about just what that means. As always, we’ve seen stereotypes get thrown around — the “rules”. To be a feminist, you have to hate men. To be a feminist, you have to be a victim. Feminism is just about whinging. Dunham carefully explains that acknowledging the danger of inequality is not a constraining force on your identity, but an enabling one. Feminism can be experienced and expressed however you choose to experience and express it.
“I also consider being female such a unique gift, such a sacred joy, in ways that run so deep I can’t articulate them. It’d a special kind of privilege to be born into the body you wanted, to embrace the essence of your gender even as you recognise what you are up against. Even as you seek to redefine it.”
Lesson 2: Never forget to appreciate the women around you. As Dunham progresses through all of the anecdotes that best convey her journey towards understanding herself, her feminism and other big questions about how the world really works, she always comes back to an acknowledgment of the women she looked up to along the way.
“When I am dying, looking back, it will be women I regret having argued with, women I sought to impress, to understand, was tortured by. Women I wish to see again, to see them smile and say, It was all as it should have been.”
Implicitly, she expresses this same sentiment towards all the women in her stories. Her mother, sister, best friend, therapist, and female friends in Hollywood who understand the unbelievable sexism that goes on there. I’m almost ashamed to say it, but when I finished the book I understood the importance of this in a way I hadn’t before.
Lesson 3: It’s okay to make mistakes. Forgive yourself. Dunham expresses this most clearly when she writes about relationships, but it applies equally, I think, to all things: work, friendships, parenting, partying, cat sitting. She explains that it is okay to fall in love with the wrong person or make a bad career move, because all of these things help us reach the kind of self-understanding that allows us to be kind to our past selves. And, most importantly, to be kind to our present selves, too.
“I can never be who I was. I can simply watch her with sympathy, understanding, and some measure of awe. There she goes, backpack on, headed for the subway or the airport. She did her best with her eyeliner. She learned a new word she wants to try on you. She is ambling along. She is looking for it.”
Lesson 4: Things will get better. One of the biggest things that I took away from the book was that Dunham is defiantly hopeful that things will improve for women. While she herself is coming to terms with the reality of gender inequality, the fact that the pace of change is glacial and the need for it is unending, she also expresses a deep confidence that she will witness change she can be proud of. More than this, she uses this conviction to battle the (also unending) discrimination she herself faces: in her career, in her romantic endeavours, and in her friendships.
“This is the name of the memoir I’m going to write when I’m eighty … It will be a look back at an era when women in Hollywood were treated like the paper thingies that protect glasses in hotel bathrooms – necessary but infinitely disposable. It will be endorsed by a female president, and I’ll enjoy a real surge in popularity with college girls writing term papers on the history of the gender gap.”
She writes about Hollywood directors making her feel small, bullying her, objectifying her. “She’s silly. She’s no threat.” Her response? “Just wait until I’m eighty.”
Lesson 5: It’s okay to be afraid. Dunham calls this A guide to running away for twenty-seven year old women. She describes all the countless moments we experience as women that terrify us. That make us feel like imposters. That make us feel like we might be found out at any moment. That make us want to run away. Bad relationships, sexist directors, fear, violence. She explains that it’s okay to run away from these things. She even provides some tips: “Saying you’re sick. Saying you fell down in the street because of impractical shoes. Saying work ran late. Writing your head off. Saying you’re sick again.”
But eventually, she explains, these will be the things that help you understand how to find yourself in situations you don’t want to run from. These are the things that will help you figure out how to become “a tool being put to its proper use”.
Even when you get there, it’s okay to be afraid again at times. “Sometimes that old feeling slips back in. Of being invaded and misunderstood. Of being outside your body but still in the room.” But then, she says, “When you run, run back to yourself, like that bunny in Runaway Bunny runs to its mother, but you are the mother, and you’ll see that later and be very, very proud.”
For some reason, I cannot get those words out of my head. To me, they mean a thousand things. Most importantly, they mean this: You will be fine. Trust me, I know.