Let’s get this out of the way—the characters on “Girls” are kind of insufferable, kind of selfish, a lot self-absorbed and very much struggling human beings. They are upper-middle-class, white girl twentysomethings in 2012, after all.
And so am I! On the surface, I share a few things in common with the main character Hannah: 24 years old, aspiring essayist, decidedly funny-looking, annoyingly sarcastic at times, horrible decision maker when it comes to men, very low tolerance for drugs (none at all, really)…you get the point.
Sounds fun, right? Not really, but that’s precisely why I’m already in love with this show. It sends me into fits of nervous-laughter while simultaneously making me do a double-take at the sad similarities between a small niche of metropolitan young women who just have no idea what the hell they’re doing and why they continue to make a mess of their emotional states of being. I’m a glutton for punishment when it comes to self-analysis, and “Girls” absolute fits the bill.
Sure, there are plenty of things that irk me about the show—see Show Patrol’s review for a taste—but with that being said—just how accurate is the day-to-day life of a struggling post-grad portrayed in “Girls”? On a scale of 1 to 10, I scored the interactions seen in this week’s episode. Commence the eye-rolling and declarations about spoiled narcissists.
Scarfing down dinner when from-out-of-town parents foot the bill
Hannah is a cute, “plain Jane”—I hate that descriptor!—out to dinner in New York City with her parents, who are clearly from the suburbs.
My parents fly in from Kansas in three weeks. I already have our dinners and menu selections all planned out. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)
“I could be a drug addict. Do you realize how lucky you are?”
Womp womp. After a few years of financing her “groovy lifestyle,” Hannah’s parents tell her they’re cutting her off. She’s not happy.
Yeah, I’ve used this on my parents before—when I was 16 and denied permission to pierce my nose.
Sleeping with the BFF roommate
We meet Hannah’s roommate, Marnie, as the two are spooning together in Hannah’s room after falling asleep to “Mary Tyler Moore” together. (We later find out Marnie retreated to Hannah’s room to get away from her clingy, sweet boyfriend.)
I mean, I know people who have accidentally, drunkenly wandered into their roommate’s room to cuddle in the middle of the night? Same thing, right?
Showering with the BFF roommate
Hannah and Marnie wake up to Marnie’s boyfriend in their kitchen and after getting some refreshments, naturally, go to the bathroom together to shave their legs, chit chat and eat cupcakes while naked.
Call me Nancy Reagan, but if a roommate ever suggests bonding time in the bathroom naked, I’m installing a lock on the door. OK, it’s not that serious, but I think it’s widely true that most women are much too insecure about their bodies to let even their best friends see them naked and at their most vulnerable—while covered in shaving cream and rinsing…themselves.
Texts vs. Calls vs. The Internet
Marnie tries to talk Hannah out of texting her condescending sex buddy, Adam. Hannah says, “Didn’t you say texting is the lowest form of communication on the pillar of chat?” Marnie says, “The lowest, that would be Facebook, followed by GChat, then texting, then email, then phone.”
True. True true true.
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