A piece of scandalous or otherwise inflammatory information that’s tossed quickly from one medium to another.
I’ve held off on having an opinion about Lena Dunham for a while now.
My instinct, of course, was to roll my eyes and decry her every undertaking as yet another act in her campaign of precious hijinks and aggressively self-satisfied mediocrity. But that’s because I’m reactionary. And it’s also because that’s exactly what Lena Dunham wants. She wants a reaction. Desperately.
So I sidelined myself. I watched a season of Girls – decided that was enough. I read some of her writing – decided that wasn’t really worth my time. I saw her caper about in a Sia wig, and change her hairstyle, and talk about her shitty tattoos… and god, I read countless articles about how she’s not making a big deal about how big a fucking deal she’s making about how often she’s naked in her show.
And in the face of all of that data… I continued to ignore her.
And then yesterday happened.
Yesterday, I overheard a coworker talking about Lena Dunham and her sister’s vagina.
Naturally, I was curious.
So from that one overhearing, I went and spoke to another coworker who directed me to an online article which contained numerous tweets written by Dunham, in response to yet ANOTHER article published in the National Review of all places… the author of which had taken Dunham down for an essay she’d written in her bullshit $3 million book of essays about several times in her childhood when she poked, prodded, rubbed, examined and otherwise outsourced her own sexual curiosity to her infant sister’s genitalia.
Dunham wrote about it. Even invited the comparison to her and a pedophile. Then someone from the National Review wrote a takedown of her… and Dunham went to Twitter and 140 characters at a time lived up to my lowest expectations.
Now, clearly the subject of that story is interesting enough. But like I said – I don’t want to pay Dunham that much attention. (Capsule Review: If she actually were a pedophile, at least she’d be genuine. As it is, she’s neither. She’s an overblown, mediocre talent, paid $3 million to write a book of shallow, self-obsessed clickbait.)
Forget about Dunham for a sec, though… and let’s consider the weird odyssey that bit of information took to get from Lena Dunham to me.
Eavesdropping -> Conversation -> Gawker -> Twitter -> National Review -> Lena Dunham’s crappy book -> An event that took place over 20 years ago.
Something about that transmission of events is mind boggling to me.
How quickly that one event way back in the past was taken and molded and commercialized and essayed upon and criticized and tweeted and discussed and overheard. And now here I am… writing a word about it.
Somehow I feel like Lena Dunham is winning in the end.
Goddammit, Lena Dunham…