Bona Fide Blonde | HBO “Girls”: A Commentary
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HBO “Girls”: A Commentary

I started watching Girls after being spoon-fed the hooplas of hipster-New York. I must admit, by the second episode, I was sucked into the entitled world of Hannah Horvath and her body-spilling scenes of vulnerability. I quickly learned that over-privledged she was not, but rather young, emotionally-OCD and hopeful of becoming the Hemingway of her generation; or Carrie Bradshaw at the most.

Again, another  newly-made “Manhattanite’s” dream sucked into the giant artsy-black hole of the “city that never sleeps” well because… prostitution is the only guarantee to paying your rent on time. But we’re not going there.

Hopeful-suburbanite – 0; New York – 8,246,000

In just a week (yes, “a” as in one) I downed two seasons of Girls and somehow hoped to become a Hannah-Marnie-Shoshannah-Jessa cluster-fuck of what a female, hipster-urbanite is all about. Sans the vegan/gluten-less way of life.

Basically I felt that being weak, spontaneous, overjoyed and slutty… all at once, was a good thing.

The story lines are actual problems REAL people have. They also make up for a lot of fucked up and hilarious moments in this straight-in-your-face show about actual FUCKING life.  From Marnie’s boyfriend going from incompetent (and basically gay) to hot, sexy and then rich; to psycho-Adam’s sexcapades; to valley-girl-virgin Shoshannah’s hyperactive disorder; to Jessa’s hippie-spontaneous lifestyle, with more road experience than the Stones.

Finally, a show with average looking people with all kinds of crazy problems. Jobless, sometimes friendless and sexually vulnerable to douche bags, Girls is basically the poor, knee-high-sock wearing Brooklynite-bloggers (“writers”) version of what its like, almost at least, to have a spot on the famous Friends couch. Witty, entertaining and candid, Girls gives Generation Y some hope and little bit of a wake-up call — because university doesn’t guarantee you’ll have a salary (at least one to survive Manhattan).

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