I’m not really good at trends. I tend to jump on the bandwagon just before it gets a flat, crashes, and burns. Case in point: I’m finally embracing the ombre hair trend now that it’s no longer cool (seriously guys, why did no one tell me this, omg). I’m notoriously bad at keeping on top of TV trends, and generally only get invested in shows after they’ve been around for at least five seasons and/or just before they get canned.
So there was already a big hype surrounding HBO’s Girls before I even sat down to watch the first episode last month. And for that reason, I was more than a little determined not to like it. But, much to my chagrin, it had me from the very first scene. Because it is cheaper to be included on the family cell phone plan, okay? And my parents should be grateful that I’m not a heroin addict. I found myself relating to this group of girls that I really had nothing in common with, and I was loving it.
Until I saw what can’t be unseen. Lena Dunham. Naked. And, much to my embarrassment, I had an immediate, knee-jerk reaction.
I cringed.
I cringed! Cellulite – ew! Touching thighs – gross! Boobs that sag – WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?
I realized that I had never seen a body like this on TV before. Here’s a girl who looks nothing like the women whose breasts and asses usually grace my television screen. But what was most shocking about Lena Dunham’s naked body was how unabashedly she was showing it in all its glory, badly lit and without being airbrushed. Why isn’t she embarrassed by how her boobs are going to look in that sext? Why isn’t she making excuses for that roll of fat on her stomach? It’s not actually okay for her to look like that, is it? I was mortified by this response, because it’snot the reaction a well-educated feminist should be having. But I realized that I was being as hard on Lena ’s body as I am on my own.
And that’s when it hit me that this was the first time I had seen a body in mainstream media that even remotely resembled my own. The first time. In 26 years. Just think about that.
That’s not to say that “fuller-figured” women aren’t being represented on TV or in movies. But the “chubby” girl as an archetype generally serves a single function in her particular plot: to be the “chubby” girl. She’s often apologetic about her appearance, and/or self-deprecating, and/or defensively caustic. Her dialogue, the way she perceives herself, and the way others view her all emphasize her physicality, and more often than not, one of her purposes is to be the foil of the “skinny” girls that surround her. This makes room for a conflation of the female body and the comedic grotesque that is nowhere more clear than in Rex Reed's now infamous review of Melissa McCarthy’s performance in Identity Thief. While he lampoons the movie on the whole, Reed is particularly scathing in his personal attack on McCarthy, and centres much of his criticism on her physicality: in his words, McCarthy is little more than “a gimmick comedian who has devoted her short career to being obese and obnoxious with equal success.”
McCarthy’s not only irritating, she’s fat and irritating. How dare she. And she isn’t just obese. She’s “tractor-sized.” A “humongous creep.” A “female hippo.” Jesus, Rex. Tell us how you really feel. But while Reed’s review was rightly attacked as little more than a brutal and offensive piece of fat-shaming, his characterization of McCarthy isn’t unprecedented. While McCarthy may indeed be a wildly successful, Oscar-nominated actress, it’s hard to deny that the majority of her roles centre on and draw attention to her obesity. For better or worse, she has carved out a niche as one of Hollywood ’s few plus-sized actresses. As a result, her body has become a crucial component of her character.
So in many ways, Lena Dunham isn’t doing anything revolutionary, since Hannah’s “chubbiness” is one of the characteristics that defines her in both her eyes and the eyes of her friends and family. Think of her standing on the sidewalk yelling about how hard it’s been for her to be 13 pounds overweight her entire life. Think of Adam playing with and joking about her belly fat post coitus. (A warning to my boyfriend: if you ever do this to me, I will seriously punch you in the teeth, for real.)
But the thing is: I don’t “relate” to Melissa McCarthy anymore than I “relate” to Angelina Jolie. While I appreciate the fact that she has (deliberately or otherwise) shaken up Hollywood ’s body politics, her body doesn’t speak to or for mine in any way. Sure, I can definitely believe that she’s a woman who has worn a pair of Spanx or two in her day, and sure I can commiserate with her stories of undergarment malfunctions (that interview with Ellen? HILARIOUS, by the way). But ultimately her body is just the opposite extreme of the emaciated forms that have been glorified for far too long in Western media, and is equally alienating for many female viewers.
It’s the awkward middle group that’s being ignored. The girls who certainly aren’t obese, but who probably have a hard time finding a flattering pair of pants. The mes and the Lena Dunhams of the world. We’re the ones who are still virtually unrepresented. So I can’t help but think that Lena Dunham is very consciously using her body not only to challenge mainstream perceptions of beauty and sexiness, but also to challenge ideas of what is “acceptable” to show in film and televison.
It’s probably not surprising, then, that Dunham’s dimply arse conjured up a veritable shit storm of negative feedback from the show’s critics. And most of the show’s reviewers do tend to slip in some comment on Dunham’s less than goddess-like form, whether it’s pertinent to their review or not. For Andrea Peyser, Girls is little more than “Sex and the City – for ugly people” headlined by “a fat chick named Hannah.” In Linda Stasi's review for The New York Post website, Dunham’s “blobby body” similarly takes the front seat: “It’s not every day in the TV world of anorexic actresses with fake boobs that a woman with giant thighs, a sloppy backside and small breasts is compelled to show it all. It’s a boon for the out-of-shape and perhaps a giant economic loss for high end gyms, especially in Brooklyn .”
Feminists unite!
And then there’s Howard Stern, who’s clearly in a position to criticize others’ looks: “[Dunham is] a little fat girl who kinda looks like Jonah Hill and she keeps taking her clothes off…good for her. It’s really hard for little fat chicks to get anything going.” (Dunham's response to this asininity confirms my suspicion that we could probably be friends.)
The general theme here is disgust, and a certain sense of “how dare she.” It’s bad enough that Dunham is brandishing her “sloppy backside” across our TV and computer screens, but it’s the fact that she’s completely unapologetic about doing so that’s just too much. And what about all that SEX she’s managing to have?! UGH.
It’s an infuriatingly problematic response, but while part of me wishes we were accepting enough to not even bat an eyelash at Dunham’s body, the other part is really glad she’s making people so uncomfortable. That “blobby body” is shocking to us because with each dimple and pimple, it’s subverting the images of the female body that the media had force-fed us and told us is sexy and acceptable. Hannah isn’t an ideal role model in many ways, but each time she strips off, girls like me, that long-neglected middle group, are finally seeing someone onscreen with whom they identify and in whose self-confidence they can take stock. While Dunham’s obvious talent for acting, directing, and writing shouldn’t go uncelebrated, one of her most important contributions to the industry is having inspired this dialogue about body image. Having provided an alternative to the sanitized bodies we generally see in the media. Having shown what a gloriously average female body looks like. And having suggested that it’s okay for it to look that way. It’s a dialogue we desperately need to be having.
Another dialogue we need to be having? How completely unhygienic Adam’s apartment looks and how Hannah should not be walking around it barefoot, let alone romping in his sheets. Run, girl. Run and get a tetanus shot.
