“I get naked on TV. A lot,” writes Lena Dunham in her bestselling memoir Not That Kind of Girl. Exhibitionism isn’t new to her, she explains; in fact, she rather likes being naked, as her body is “a tool to tell the story”. That story is, of course, her own: a compendium of corporeal confessions, with an emphasis on their most awkward and impolite dimensions, belches and farts, periods and pubic hair. As soon as it arrived on shelves, the book was headline news as Dunham variously apologised for touching her sister’s genitals, for trivialising child abuse, for amending her accounts of college sex. It was publishing gold.
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I have a list of articles, posts and think pieces I collect to send to people whenever they ask me why white feminism is garbage. Glad to be adding one more to the list!