Enter Lena Dunham.
I don’t know much about Dunham other than she’s been able to make a fairly profitable career off convincing people that watching a plain, dumpy girl get naked and have simulated sex on television is entertaining (well, it could be) and of social significance (it isn’t).* In turn, she’s attempted to parlay this rather slender claim to fame into a position as a spokesperson for other plain, dumpy, and promiscuous girls and the low-achieving douchebag hipsters who lust after them.
She burst upon the political scene in 2012 with a campaign commercial in which she compared voting for Obama to losing one’s virginity:
“Your first time shouldn’t be with just anybody,” says Dunham. “You wanna do it with a great guy … Someone who really cares about and understands women.”
She lists many qualities that make President Barack Obama not just a qualified candidate for a female voter, but would be appreciated in a boyfriend or a husband – such as caring about birth control and equal pay.
She’s back and writing on a Planned Parenthood affiliated blog called “Women Are Watching.” Her latest attempt at relevance is called: 5 Reasons Why I Vote (and You Should Too). Somehow, Dunham managed to completely ignore the concept of “civic responsibility.” In fact, her five reasons can actually be boiled down to three: narcissism, free stuff and sex. Surprised, right?
And it leaves the reader with the inescapable conclusion that she, and Planned Parenthood, think young women are stupid.
Objectively, abortion had nothing to do with either the concept of feminism or women’s place in society. Every year about a million viable babies are killed. They are primarily killed to provide an income stream to Planned Parenthood so they can pay amoral predators like Dunham in order to keep the gravy train in action.
I am not interested in anyone’s sex life other than my own. Really. Dunham’s insistence that having your employer pay for your birth control method ignores the fact that you, the individual, don’t hold the insurance policy. Your employer does. You employer, therefore, has an interest in the cost of the policy and the types of services provided. When your libido demands the person paying for your insurance sacrifice their religious beliefs a conflict will ensue. In essence, it in Dunham who is making your sex life of interest to your employer. Along the way, she assumes that her fans are so economically incompetent that they can’t afford to buy their own contraceptives, which is insulting even if it is true. If anyone conservative has posted this:
(Even if your boss thinks the answer is none, shut up and go back to putting the lids on jars you silly girl.)
The crap storm that would have ensued would have been nothing short of awesome.
In fact, the whole post, is seen by some as how Dunham sees the intelligence of her fans:
We end with a call to “get involved.” The whole thing is a remarkable display, and it shows how puerile and desperate the war-on-women motif has become. Forget the politics of the message, and ignore the self-involvement, too—just look at the style, the language, the idiom. The repetitions, the adolescent lexicon, hack metaphors, and CAPS are the mark of stupidity. We know that Dunham isn’t this juvenile, and so we should attribute the style to her estimation of the intelligence of the audience.
Let’s make that subtext explicit: “All of you dumb girls out there, you’ve got to vote! You don’t care about taxes, budgets, legislation, regulations, and foreign affairs, and you probably couldn’t understand them if you did, but you do care about sex, and there are evil ones who want to stop you. VOTE!”
*Dunham’s sex life has been more thoroughly documented than anything Margaret Mead did in Samoa or Dian Fossey accomplished among gorillas:
It was a vow she ended up keeping; she lost her virginity during her sophomore year of college at Oberlin. “I met Jonah* in the cafeteria. He was roommates with an emo kid who worked at the video store and had a crush on my best friend, Audrey,” she wrote.
Dunham set her sights on Jonah and “casually” invited him to a party she was throwing. He stayed long after the rest of the guests had left and the two talked, first animatedly, and then in the nervous generalizations that substitute for kissing when everyone is too shy.”
Dumham writes that she then told him that her dad, artist Carroll Dunham, paints “huge pictures of penises” for a living. Since there’s nothing sexier than talking about the penis paintings your dad made, her suitor naturally asked if he could see them online.
“I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and just went for it,” she recalled. “I removed my shirt almost immediately, and he seemed fairly impressed. Wearing just a too-tight slip-skirt from the local Goodwill, I hopped up to get the condom from the “freshman survival pack” we had been given (even though I was a sophomore).”
Of course, no picture of sociopathy is complete without an “interesting” father figure:
Oddly mesmerized by Lena Dunham’s dad’s paintings in which vaginas look like cartoon noses and/or penises: http://t.co/EoYkRcsBCr
— Jeff Winkler (@ThatWinkler) September 29, 2014