Just like every other liberal arts student, I watch “Girls.” And just like every other liberal arts student, I seem to find complaints in almost everything and anything. No matter what it is, almost all conversations my peers or I take part in, seemingly without fail, gravitate toward negativity. That being said, I really hate everyone on the show “Girls.”
I know Lena Dunham is trying to represent a reality that should not be hated but, instead, embraced or, at the very least, accepted. But sorry, sweetie—every single character makes me want to go all Oedipal on my eyeballs.
I do feel bad for complaining, though. After all, I have seen every “Girls” episode to date, and I have done so with much excitement—not apathy—held for each upcoming episode. So, from here on out, I am going to try my best to throw praise towards “Girls” instead of getting myself banned from writing for the Misc again because of my excessive use of swear words directed towards the girls of Dunham’s creation.
So without further ado, I’ll start by saying Shoshanna, girl, you rocking that Prada like no other. In episode seven, titled “Beach House,” my girl Shosh (Zosia Mamet) is by far the most fly of the main quartet of girls. But each of the gals serves to bring a sparkly and energetic, for a lack of better words, perspective to their circle of friendship that is fueled by the fusion of their unrelenting attitudes. Hannah is so incredibly proud of her successful work, which is completely understandable for a woman who has to overcome so many challenges, like narcissism and laziness. Epidemics such as these have been sweeping through upper-class descendants who now must fend for themselves, as the girls exemplify.
Marnie is perfectly organized for someone whose life is so out of control—the result of her forcing everyone out of her life because she knows, not thinks, that she is better than everyone else.
Jessa is rightfully happy, as she has nothing to worry about now that her husband, whom she married after meeting once, is gone. She has finally found her first real job that does not consist of watching children—which for Jessa entailed simply hanging out with the kids she was supposed to care for; she is only in her late twenties, for goodness’ sake.
Shosh has her outstanding qualities as well. Her elegant stutters that stammer at stupendous speeds have the harmonious pitch of a quaint little mouse. Her hairdos have been unrivaled by all on the show as well, and the recent Shosh-i Olympics memes that currently occupy my Facebook newsfeed are legendary. These extraordinary qualities pale in comparison, however, with the one quality that the audience was made aware of in episode seven. Shosh is not afraid to speak the truth, and finally, the character channeled what I think every single viewer had been thinking for the past three seasons. She said how sick she was of everyone’s…qualities, as explained in the previous paragraph. She basically tells everyone that they need to grow up. Further, she gripes about she does not want to be friends with any of them anymore.
The show has finally acknowledged itself and its own faults. After seeing these characters portrayed as some honestly terrible people—like when Hannah worries about a book deal at a publisher’s funeral—day after day, it is refreshing to see the recognition that these people need to suffer amongst each other instead of in meaningless jobs, that seem easily replaceable day after day or episode after episode. The audience has seen Hannah argue about how her parents do not give her enough allowance, but the audience had not seen someone complain about her, at least not on a level of importance to her.
Shosh is finally getting the attention she deserves. Often, in my opinion, the odd gal out, Shosh officially has her moment in the Brooklyn sun. Unfortunately, she doesn’t stick to her gut. As the episode ends with the four girls waiting for the bus as they sit on the curb, Hannah begins to mildly reenact the dance done earlier in the episode. Eventually, one by one, they begin to join in. This is the only cop out of the episode. This scene serves as an example of one benefit Dunham receives for writing her own show. Dunham’s Hannah gets to start the dance and reluctantly, her friends follow suit.
Even in its most tender moments, times when the show was so brilliant that it acknowledged its faults, those very faults seemed to fix everything. No apologies are given. The girls simply get what they want, which includes getting their friends back, before they move onward with their lives. Still, episode seven is monumental. When the eager freshman in my hall, eyes wide with the ignorance that the world can be something more beautiful than the depiction shown in “Girls,” bursts into my room without a knock, raving about the newest episode, I figure something different had happened—usually, the freshman knocks.
Finally, the show has become self-aware, or at least, someone at HBO is telling Dunham to bite reality. Whatever the case may be, “Girls” is a much better show when I am not the only one screaming at the characters to stop complaining, being annoying or simply being themselves, when the characters in the show can express my disdain for me.