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Lena Dunham: Why I Chose To Speak Out
The ways I’ve been attacked for sharing my story show how far we have to go when discussing sexual assault.
Mike Marsland / WireImage / BuzzFeed
It has been almost a decade since I was sexually assaulted. It took me a long time to fully acknowledge what had happened and even longer to discuss it publicly, in the form of an essay in my book Not That Kind of Girl. When I finally decided to share my story, it had ambiguities and gray areas, because that's what I experienced, because that's what so many of us have experienced. As indicated in the beginning of the book, I made the choice to keep certain identities private, changing names and some descriptive details. To be very clear, "Barry" is a pseudonym, not the name of the man who assaulted me, and any resemblance to a person with this name is an unfortunate and surreal coincidence. I am sorry about all he has experienced.
Speaking out was never about exposing the man who assaulted me. Rather, it was about exposing my shame, letting it dry out in the sun. I did not wish to be contacted by him or to open a criminal investigation. I am in a loving and peaceful place in my life and I am not willing to sacrifice any more of it for this person I do not know, aside from one night I will never forget. That is my choice.
Like so many women who have been sexually assaulted, I did not report the incident to my college or to the police. Even when I visited my gynecologist complaining of pain, afraid I had contracted a sexually transmitted disease, I could only mumble through a description of that night. After all, I had been drunk and high, which only compounded my confusion and shame. And I was afraid. I was afraid that no one would believe me. I was afraid other potential partners would consider me damaged goods. I was afraid I was overreacting. I was afraid it was my fault. I was afraid he would be angry. Eight years later, I know just how classic these fears are. They are the reason that the majority of college women who are assaulted will never report it.
When I finally chose to share my story, I did not do so in a vacuum. I was inspired by all the brave women who are now coming forward with their own experiences, despite the many risks associated with speaking out. Survivors are so often re-victimized by a system that demands they prove their purity and innocence. They are asked to provide an unassailable narrative when the event itself is hazy, fragmented, and unspeakable. They are isolated and betrayed by people close to them who doubt their reality or are frustrated by their inability to move on. Their most intimate experiences are made public property.
As I was deciding to write about my assault, I was given deep strength by the viewers and readers who support my work, by my friends and family and feminist role models, and by my partner who is a man of incredible kindness and sensitivity. I was ready to admit to the ways being sexually assaulted has shaped my sense of self as a woman entering adulthood, compromised my emotional security, and haunted me even during the most joyful periods of my life. I hoped I might inspire others to share, and that forming these connections would assist us all in healing.
I was not naïve enough to believe the essay in my book would be met with pure empathy or wild applause. The topic of sexual assault is far more inflammatory and divisive than it should be, with tension building around definitions of consent, and fear ruling the dialogue. But I hoped beyond hope that the sensitive nature of the event would be honored, and that no one would attempt to reopen these wounds or deepen my trauma.
But this did not prove to be the case. I have had my character and credibility questioned at every turn. I have been attacked online with violent and misogynistic language. Reporters have attempted to uncover the identity of my attacker despite my sincerest attempts to protect this information. My work has been torn apart in an attempt to prove I am a liar, or worse, a deviant myself. My friends and family have been contacted. Articles have heralded "Lena Dunham's shocking confession." I have been made to feel, on multiple occasions, as though I am to blame for what happened.
But I don't believe I am to blame. I don't believe any of us who have been raped and/or assaulted are to blame. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what is written about me individually. I accept the realities of being in the public eye. But I simply cannot allow my story to be used to cast doubt on other women who have been sexually assaulted.
I have a certain empathy for the journalists who asked me questions like whether I regret how much I drank that night or what my attacker would say if he was asked about me. These ignorant lines of inquiry serve to further flawed narratives about rape, but these people are reacting to the same set of social signals that we all are — signals telling us that preventing assault is a woman's job, that rape is only rape when a stranger drags you into a dark alley with a knife at your throat, that our stories are never true, and that lying about rape is a way for women to enact revenge on innocent men. These misconceptions about rape are rampant, destructive and precisely the thing that prevents survivors from seeking the support that they need and deserve.
Speaking out about the realities and complexities of sexual assault is how we begin to protect each other. I do not want our daughters born into a world that reacts to sexual violence against women in this way. This reaction, which ranges from skepticism to condemnation to threats of violence, is something I have been subject to as a woman in a position of extraordinary privilege. So let us then imagine the trauma experienced by low-income families, women of color, the trans community, survivors with disabilities, students on financial aid, sex workers, inmates, foster children, those who do not have my visibility, my access to medical and mental health care, or my financial and legal resources.
Prevention and response on campuses is only a small part of the problem with how we as a nation are handling sexual assault. But it's a good place to start. Educational spaces must be made safe, so that we leave them stronger and poised to enact change.
Since coming out as a survivor I have gone from an intellectual sense of the ways in which victims are doubted and debased to a bone-deep understanding of this reality. I hope to apply that understanding to art and advocacy. I am deeply grateful for the support I have received. I am deeply grateful that this dialogue is taking place. I am angry but I am not alone.
Survivors have the right to tell their stories, to take back control after the ultimate loss of control. There is no right way to survive rape and there is no right way to be a victim. What survivors need more than anything is to be supported, whether they choose to pursue a criminal investigation or to rebuild their world on their own terms. You can help by never defining a survivor by what has been taken from her. You can help by saying I believe you.
This Artist Creates Adorably Weird Figurines Out Of Clay
A Phoenix artist stumbled into starting a business when commissions starting pouring in.
Having done artistic things her whole life, Phoenix artist Macy McKenny, 29, accidentally landed on clay as her medium of choice.
With a degree in graphic design, McKenny tucked her artistic offshoots away. But after some gentle prodding from a friend, “The urge to sculpt kept coming in little bursts until I broke down and bought some clay and have been messing around with it ever since,” she writes in an email.
After posting some of her tiny creations on social media, the reactions quickly snowballed into people asking to buy them.
“I didn't know that anyone would actually want to trade cash monies for my sculptures," she says, "but it tickled me that they did!”
Having completed a whale shark for a National Geographic researcher, one of McKenny’s next commissions is a space-themed creation for a NASA researcher.
The pieces are actually more complex than they look on the outside, she says.
To make them, first she builds an armature out of tin foil and wire, giving each petite creation a sturdy skeleton that's also light and prevents the creature from cracking when it's cured in the oven. Gloss or painted details are added depending on the piece.
One of her biggest commissions has been a set of Bob's Burgers snails for the show's studio.
After McKenny posted the snails, Bento Box Entertainment — the studio behind Bob's — reposted it from their accounts and requested a set.
Describing her brain as "twisted and whimsical," McKenny says she can't pinpoint where the idea came from because "those sorts of things just kind of squish around in there all the time."
29 Times "Goosebumps" Covers Summed Up Gay Dating
Swipe right and die!
When you re-download Tinder in desperation.
darlingtheyfoundthebody.tumblr.com
When you hit up a dude on Grindr less than 250 feet away and he's not interested.
When there's too many straight people at a gay bar.
When you see straight people hooking up in public.
Stop Everything And Watch This One Life-Changing Wrapping Hack
Gift wrapping just got a lot less stressful.
Step 1: Grab that present like you mean it.
Set it down on your paper diagonally so that two corners of the box are touching two edges of the wrapping paper.
Step 2: Fold down those corners.
One, two, fold.
Step 3: Slap on that tape like BOOM.
Oh yeah.
Step 4: Fold it and flip that thing over.
New position. New position. Wrap it for me. Wrap it for me.
14 Books From 2014 Every Music Lover Needs To Read
You’re in for some great reading whether you want to explore the history of rock and jazz, revisit new wave and Britpop, or dive deep into albums by Michael Jackson and Kanye West.
There Goes Gravity by Lisa Robinson
This book is technically a memoir by veteran music journalist Lisa Robinson, but every step of the way her focus is on her experiences – both personal and professional – with some of the most famous and important musicians of the past four decades. Robinson has been granted a rare and remarkable amount of access to huge stars over the years, and as a result this book gives you some real insight into what artists like David Bowie, John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page, Bono, Eminem, Jay Z, and Lady Gaga are really like when they're not performing.
Dangerous by Susan Fast
Canadian musicologist Susan Fast's book about Michael Jackson's 1991 blockbuster Dangerous rejects the usual media narrative about the iconic performer's later career, and makes a compelling case that it's a "coming of age" record that reflect his sophisticated take on adult sexuality and racial politics. Fast challenges the conventional wisdom about Jackson and his media image every step of the way, and places a great deal of emphasis on the singular style of post-Bad music.
The History of Rock 'n' Roll in Ten Songs by Greil Marcus
Greil Marcus has built his considerable reputation as a cultural critic on his incredible skill for building fascinating alternative histories of the world based on seemingly randomly fragments of culture. This book is a new version of that old trick, and offers a fresh new take on the evolution of popular music between 1956 and 2008 that omits all the usual icons, events, and narratives.
Do Not Sell at Any Price by Amanda Petrusich
Amanda Petrusich's book digs deep into the insular subculture of 78 rpm record collectors, with deeply empathetic portraits of collectors willing to drop thousands of dollars on extraordinarily rare recordings of blues, folk, jazz, and gospel songs from the 1920s and 1930s. Petrusich's stories about her encounters with these often quirky collectors are lively and entertaining, but always take her subjects' mission of preserving the history of American music very seriously.
19 Delicious Subscription Boxes To Give To Your Favorite People
Send a gift that will make them love you more every month.
Farm to People / Mantry / Munchpak // graphic by Rachel Sanders
For the snack anthropologist: Munchpak
What it costs: $21/box (3, 6, or 12-month gift subscriptions).
What you get: A big box of 12 or more full-size international snacks from brands all over the world.
Why it's cool: This one is for the snacker who really doesn't give a crap whether anything is organic or gluten-free; they just want it to taste awesome. It's also a pretty great price for the number of different treats you get.
For the serious meat eater: Carnivore Club
What it costs: $55/box (1–12-month gift subscriptions).
What you get: 4-6 "handcrafted cured meats" from a single producer each month. It could be anything from South African biltong to American chicken jerky; you can check out past boxes here.
Why it's cool: This would work for both hard-core food nerds and for people who just love anything bacon-adjacent. It's a good way to try exotic stuff that you'd probably never know to ask for at a store or restaurant.
For the incurable sweet tooth: Treatsie
What it costs: $20-23/box (3, 6, or 12-month gift subscriptions).
What you get: There will be sweet treats like cookies, candy or chocolate from three different small-batch brands in the box every month, plus a "welcome" box of the most popular treats to start off the gift subscription.
Why it's cool: We all know the sugar is the best part of any care package. This subscription's great because it embraces that truth and doesn't waste time with the other stuff. You can also specialize and order a subscription that only sends chocolate bars.
