Not That Kind of Girl, English edition

Lena Dunham, 27, kommt aus einer New Yorker Künstlerfamilie. Mit acht Jahren fing sie an zu schreiben, später besuchte sie das Künstlercollege Oberlin. Mit Anfang 20 drehte sie ihren ersten eigenen Spielfilm Tiny Furniture , und spätestens seit sie die HBO-Serie Girls entwickelt hat, ist sie international bekannt. Dunham hat die Serie selbst geschrieben, produziert, Regie geführt und spielt darin die Hauptrolle. 2012 wurde sie für vier Emmys nominiert, 2013 erhielt sie zwei Golden Globes. Im deutschen Fernsehen läuft Girls auf ZDFneo und "Glitz TV". 2012 wählte das "Time Magazine" Dunham zur "Coolest Person of the Year", 2013 unter die 100 einflussreichsten Menschen der Welt. Sie lebt in Brooklyn.

The gifted [Lena] Dunham not only writes with observant precision, but also brings a measure of perspective, nostalgia and an older person's sort of wisdom to her portrait of her (not all that much) younger self and her world. . . . As acute and heartfelt as it is funny. -Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times "It's not Lena Dunham's candor that makes me gasp. Rather, it's her writing-which is full of surprises where you least expect them. A fine, subversive book." -David Sedaris"This book should be required reading for anyone who thinks they understand the experience of being a young woman in our culture. I thought I knew the author rather well, and I found many (not altogether welcome) surprises." -Carroll Dunham"Witty, illuminating, maddening, bracingly bleak . . . [Dunham] is a genuine artist, and a disturber of the order." - The Atlantic "As [Lena] Dunham proves beyond a shadow of a doubt in Not That Kind of Girl, she's not remotely at risk of offering up the same old sentimental tales we've read dozens of times. Dunham's outer and inner worlds are so eccentric and distinct that every anecdote, every observation, every mundane moment of self-doubt actually feels valuable and revelatory." - The Los Angeles Review of Books "We are forever in search of someone who will speak not only to us but for us. . . . Not That Kind of Girl is from that kind of girl: gutsy, audacious, willing to stand up and shout. And that is why Dunham is not only a voice who deserves to be heard but also one who will inspire other important voices to tell their stories too." -Roxane Gay, Time "I'm surprised by how successful this was. I couldn't finish it." -Laurie Simmons"Always funny, sometimes wrenching, these essays are a testament to the creative wonder that is Lena Dunham." -Judy Blume"An offbeat and soulful declaration that Ms. Dunham can deliver on nearly any platform she chooses." -Dwight Garner, The New York Times "Very few women have become famous for being who they actually are, nuanced and imperfect. When honesty happens, it's usually couched in self-ridicule or self-help. Dunham doesn't apologize like that-she simply tells her story as if it might be interesting. The result is shocking and radical because it is utterly familiar. Not That Kind of Girl is hilarious, artful, and staggeringly intimate; I read it shivering with recognition." -Miranda July"Dunham's writing is just as smart, honest, sophisticated, dangerous, luminous, and charming as her work on Girls . Reading her makes you glad to be in the world, and glad that she's in it with you." -George Saunders
"A lovely, touching, surprisingly sentimental portrait of a woman who, despite repeatedly baring her body and soul to audiences, remains a bit of an enigma: a young woman who sets the agenda, defies classification and seems utterly at home in her own skin." - Chicago Tribune
"A lot of us fear we don't measure up beautywise and that we endure too much crummy treatment from men. On these topics, Dunham is funny, wise, and, yes, brave. . . . Among Dunham's gifts to womankind is her frontline example that some asshole may call you undesirable or worse, and it won't kill you. Your version matters more." - Elle
"[ Not That Kind of Girl is] witty and wise and rife with the kind of pacing and comedic flourishes that characterize early Woody Allen books. . . . Dunham is an extraordinary talent, and her vision . . . is stunningly original." -Meghan Daum, The New York Times Magazine
"There's a lot of power in retelling your mistakes so people can see what's funny about them-and so that you are in control. Dunham knows about this power, and she has harnessed it." - The Washington Post
"Dunham's book is one of those rare examples when something hyped deserves its buzz. Those of us familiar with her wit and weirdness on HBO's Girls will experience it in spades in these essays. . . . There are hilarious moments here-I cracked up on a crowded subway reading

Little Leather Gloves
The Joy of Wasting Time

I remember when my schedule was as flexible as she is.
--Drake

I worked at the baby store for nine months.

Just recently graduated, I had stormed out of my restaurant job on a whim, causing my father to yell, "You can't just do that! What if you had children?"

"Well, thank God I don't!" I yelled right back.

At this point, I was living in a glorified closet at the back of my parents' loft, a room they had assigned me because they thought I would graduate and move out like a properly evolving person. The room had no windows, and so, in order to get a glimpse of daylight, I had to slide open the door to my sister's bright, airy room. "Go away," she would hiss.

I was unemployed. And while I had a roof over my head (my parents') and food to eat (also technically theirs), my days were shapeless, and the disappointment of the people who loved me (my parents) was palpable. I slept until noon, became defensive when asked about my plans for the future, and gained weight like it was a viable profession. I was becoming the kind of adult parents worry about producing.

I had been ambitious once. In college, all I seemed to do was found literary magazines with inexplicable names and stage experimental black--box theater and join teams (rugby, if only for a day or so). I was eager and hungry: for new art, for new friendship, for sex. Despite my ambivalence about academia, college was a wonderful gig, thousands of hours to tend to yourself like a garden. But now I was back to zero. No grades. No semesters. No CliffsNotes in case of emergency. I was lost.

It's not that I didn't have plans. Oh, I had plans. Just none that these small minds could understand. My first idea was to be the assistant to a private eye. I was always being accused of extreme nosiness, so why not turn this character flaw into cold hard cash? After hunting around on Craigslist, however, it soon became clear that most private eyes worked alone--or if they needed an assistant, they wanted someone with the kind of sensual looks to bait cheating husbands. The second idea was baker. After all, I love bread and all bread by--products. But no, that involved waking up at four every morning. And knowing how to bake. What about preschool art teacher? Turns out that involved more than just a passion for pasta necklaces. There would be no rom--com--ready job for me.

The only silver lining in my situation was that it allowed me to reconnect with my oldest friends, Isabel and Joana. We were all back in Tribeca, the same neighborhood where we had met in preschool. Isabel was finishing her sculpture degree, living with an aging pug named Hamlet who had once had his head run over by a truck and survived. Joana had just completed art school and was sporting the festive remains of a bleached mullet. I had broken up with the hippie boyfriend I considered my bridge to health and wholeness and was editing a "feature film" on my laptop. Isabel was living in her father's old studio, which she had decorated with found objects, standing racks of children's Halloween costumes, and a TV from 1997. When the three of us met there to catch up, Joana's nails painted like weed leaves and Monets, I felt at peace.
Isabel was employed at Peach and the Babke, a high--end children's clothing store in our neighborhood. Isabel is a true eccentric--not the self--conscious kind who collects feathers and snow globes but the kind whose passions and predilections are so genuinely out of sync with the world at large that she herself becomes an object of fascination. One day Isabel had strolled into the store on a dare to inquire about employment, essentially because it was the funniest thing she could imagine doing for a living. Wearing kneesocks and a man's shirt as a dress, she had been somewhat dismayed when she was offered a job on the spot. Joana joined her