Matt Domino witnessed the cult of Lena Dunham at the New Yorker Festival this weekend.
When I describe myself to people I just meet, I usually say
something along these lines: “I’m just a guy that likes the NBA and beer.”
Despite the fact that those two things are very much true, I usually say that
to appear humble, simple and masculine as well as to downplay any of my
artistic inclinations and weirdnesses as an aspiring writer—although that will
inevitably surface as a conversation carries on. However, I’ve had fine luck
making friends and disarming strangers if I’m associated with an aura of beer
and basketball.
In reality, I’m actually quite introspective (the shock!)
and very sensitive, which I suppose, as a man, has leant an air of femininity
to my more general character. I’ve known and been extremely close to a lot of
good women in my life whether they are older role model types, lovers or
friends. I’ve always maintained a fairly open and confessional relationship
with my mother, which has helped our relationship weather the different strains
of the mother-child evolution through life. My sister and I have established,
as we’ve both grown older, a very strong sibling bond based in all the best
aspects of “teamwork” and, as I’ve written, I cherish that. My friend’s wife of
two years is one of the smartest and intuitive people I have ever met; she and
I have been on the same wavelength about many people and situations countless
times, and I’ve missed having her around since they moved to Miami. And one of
my best friends is a girl I went to high school with who lives down the block
from me in Brooklyn.
I say all this because this past Sunday I went with the
above referenced friend and her roommates to the conversation Emily Nussbaum
had with Lena Dunham as part of The New Yorker festival. It’s no secret that, despite my deep-rooted competitive
nature and terrible insecurities and jealousies, I am a big fan of Lena Dunham
and the show Girls. When Girls first came out in the spring, I wrote a post on this blog about how, while I’ve lived in Brooklyn for four years and known the
setting of her show, I didn’t specifically feel like the life depicted on Girls was really like my life or anything I wanted from my
life. And none of that was Lena
Dunham’s fault at all; I had problems with the press surrounding the show that
seemed to want to anoint those experiences as a commodity that could be sold in
a bottle or spray as “Your 20’s.” No, what quickly became apparent while
watching the show and reading interviews with Lena Dunham was that she was
making the show she wanted to make with people who challenged her, inspired her
and above all helped her to grow as a writer and creator.
So, needless to say, I was interested to see what she would
be like in person and jumped at the opportunity to attend the talk. I was a bit
hungover from the night before and I met my friend and one of her roommates to
get coffee before heading up to the venue—the second roommate was at her office
putting in some work and would meet us at the talk. As we walked to the subway
drinking our coffees in the rain, we talked about the dinner party my friend
was having that evening. The girls talked about who would be coming and at what
time, while I dumbly waited for the caffeine to start smoothing out my hazy
brain. At the subway platform, my friend was nervous about making the talk on
time.
“Don’t even worry,” I said, puffing out my chest. “We’ve got
plenty of time. I’m totally confident.”
My friend shot me an incredulous look. “Thanks, Matt. I’ll
need that confidence.”
I laughed because it was a fitting response to my stupidity.
On the train, we decided that in order to save time, we’d get out at West 4th
Street and catch a cab. We were able to pull off our plan perfectly and as we
were riding up the West Side to Mid-Town, my friend was fielding text messages
from the roommate who was not with us.
“She says she’s in a cab that smells like poop and that all
the roads are closed off. She’s going to be late.”
We all laughed about the level of detail in the text—this
girl is very detailed—and then we were at the venue. As we walked in, one of
the coordinators for the festival recognized my friend from a talk she had gone
to on Friday night and started talking to my friend and her roommate.
Meanwhile, I accepted a free ice cream bar and watched them. I smiled because
there’s something that amazes me about the way women who don’t even know each
other speak to each other. There’s some greater recognition of camaraderie, of
being “sisters” in some general way than exists with men and being “brothers”;
whether it’s a compliment on a shirt or earrings or hair or shoes or even some
confidential agreement on what the mood
of a gathering is, the communication between women exists at a much more rapid
and higher level than that of men.
We were shown our seats (third row!) and eventually Lena Dunham
was shown out to the stage. In person, she looked very pretty with her new
haircut and I wondered, like I always do with women, if she were single and, if
not, if maybe perhaps she and her boyfriend were on the rocks. Emily Nussbaum
started asking Lena questions and discussing the show. I could immediately
sense a strange energy in the room; it was an energy of slowly building
positivity. With each of Lena Dunham’s self-deprecating jokes, stories or
clever turns of phrase, I heard the murmurs of assent and saw the knowing
glances between all the women around me. Eventually, Emily Nussbaum asked Lena
about the rising generation of female television stars and show runners. Lena
cited all the important names from all the relevant shows: Zooey Deschanel, Mindy
Kaling, Liz Meriweather, Two Broke Girls,
Whitney (hey, I know its terrible, but I mean its of our times). And then she
explained how there is a certain element of support between them, that they do
recognize they are making strides in the industry and they are, in a sense, “in
it together.”
“It’s just a good way to get over that kind of ‘women eat
their own kind’ mentality that we seem to always be stuck with,” Lena Dunham
said.
My friend’s other roommate arrived and sat next to me in the seat
I had saved her. I kissed her hello and she settled in. After a few moments,
she whispered to me.
“Look at her haircut. She copied me!”
I’m always interested in fame and why someone is famous or
why a certain piece of art is successful. As the conversation continued, I
understood why Lena Dunham has become successful. She is absolutely composed
and honest. She admits when she has misspoken or been too political in her
response to a question; she can tell a good story; she can turn a good joke;
she is simultaneously humble and exceedingly confident. She values her family
and being true to yourself, which she relayed in a story about an (I’m making
this name up because I can’t remember what it was actually called) “I’m Me”
doll, complete with flat feet and other imperfections, that her mother gave her
when she was a little girl. You can tell that she was raised well.
Perhaps, most of all, she gives off a true sense of honest
empathy towards others, especially her fans. This was absolutely true during
the audience question section of the talk, when the first audience member to
step up to the microphone was an NYU student who launched into a manic,
overearnest story about how she loved Lena Dunham and the character Shoshonna
from Girls and about how watching the
show led her into her first real relationship. The girl continued to talk until
it actually became somewhat uncomfortable to the rest of the audience. Emily
Nussbaum diplomatically cut the girl off, but not before Lena could interject,
“I’d be really happy to hear more about you and your boyfriend after we finish
this talk.”
Finally, after Lena explained that her favorite Spice Girl
was Sporty Spice, the talk was over. I left the venue with my friend and her
two roommates. The roommate who arrived late said, “I felt bad for those women
who were waiting in line. They seemed so desperate. It felt like a Harry Potter
screening or something.”
“They just love her,” my friend said.
We all got on the subway back to Brooklyn and the girls
talked about the dinner party and the new guy my friend had met a few weeks
earlier. The big question was whether he was going to come to the party or not.
I sat and listened, chimed in when I had to and just generally felt excited and
inspired by the talk I had just seen.
When we got back to my friend’s apartment, some of her
friends were already in the kitchen (she’d given them keys) helping prepare all
the food for the night. The house was warm and clean and smelled like stew and
the fall.
“How was the talk?” someone asked.
I immediately started gushing and rattling off why I thought
it was great. “It was like being at a fucking Oprah taping,” I said.
The girls all laughed and then they said that they needed
beer, so I offered to go out and get a bunch of it. I returned with the beer
and then slowly guests started arriving. Old friends, mutual acquaintances and
new people; recent boyfriends and girlfriends and old lovers; sisters and
co-workers. Everyone ate and drank and talked about music, work and whatever
else. We took shots of whiskey with picklebacks and drank hot cider. I got
drunk and made stupid jokes with my guy friends; jokes about a making a musical
based on the movie Alien where the alien
is actually gay.
At one point, my friend’s girlfriend told me that I needed
to make a World’s Coolest Woman list for the blog to balance out the World’s Coolest Dude list. I told her that when I was making my list, that some years
it was hard to pick a man, since some years have just been completely dominated
by a woman.
“1963,” I said. “If we’re going general, Rosa Parks wins
over any man.”
“You becoming a feminist, Domino?” she asked.
Slowly, the party began to die out and eventually it was
just me sitting with six girls, none of whom I wanted to sleep with. But there
was still beer to drink, so I sat with them as they listened to Robyn and
dissected the night, the dynamics of the people and then talked about guys. I
sat and listened because it was warm in the apartment and I felt comfortable
and didn’t want to go home. I thought about my fellow men and what they would
think of me sitting in a room with six women with no interest in sleeping with
any of them. Sure, I’d probably get some “fag” or “fluffer” (to quote a recent New
Girl) comments made. But as I thought about
it, I didn’t care.
“I’m getting a last beer,” I said to the girls. “Anybody
want one?”
“I’ll take one,” my friend said.
“What do you want?”
“You pick it.”
I looked at the beer selection. I was going to give her a
High Life, but then decided to give her a Sam Adams Pumpkin Ale instead. I
thought she’d like that.
“Who’s the High Life for?” my friend asked.
“Me.”
“I kind of wanted that one,” she said, laughing.
So, I handed it over and then opened the pumpkin ale and
took a drink. “This is terrible.”
“I know,” my friend said. “That’s why I was hoping you’d
bring me a High Life.”
We laughed about it again and I finished my beer and left. I
said goodbye to all the girls and then walked out into the damp night. As I
walked, I felt good because it was the first true autumnal night in New York. I
passed the projects on Hoyt Street, thought about The Wire, stood tall and puffed out my chest. I was drunk and
I again wondered what other guys would think of me just sitting around in a
pow-wow of women like that with no sexual motive in mind. I ran down a list of
different responses in my mind, but I stopped after a few because, again, in
the end I didn’t care. In some way, my Sunday had developed a “feminine” theme,
so it only seemed right that I’d go all in and end up sitting platonically with
a group of six women at the end of the night.
The cool felt great against my face and drops of leftover
rain fell from the dark, sagging branches. It didn’t matter what kind of man I
was or what other men would think about me. I was going to continue to do
things that felt right to me—to do things my way.
That's what I learned from Lena Dunham, and it's seemed to work for her.
I don't find it strange, as a woman, I've been in similar situations years ago and I remember it being a nice feeling, like when you're a kid and you overhear the 'grownups' talking about things. Understanding how the opposite sex thinks and finding it's not so surprising is comforting. Despite all the hype, we really are all from the same planet.
ReplyDeleteThis is really, really fucking gay.
ReplyDeleteNow that's the response I was looking for!
ReplyDelete