HBO’s fearless, new comedy GIRLS has got… balls. It would be anatomically correct to say it’s got vagina, but female reproductive parts are not as easy to grab. And grab me, GIRLS has, and I’m only two episodes in.

GIRLS follows the post-collegial misadventures of four twenty-something bosom buds in NYC. Unlike it’s skinnier, glossier gal pal- SEX AND THE CITY (although equally droll), GIRLS portrays young women as they really are. More specifically; privileged, educated and insecure white women in all shapes and sizes, obsessed with everything the young and free can afford to be obsessed with. GIRLS breaks new ground for post-pubescent TV, reveling in sexual and emotional candor in all its throbbing glory. But, lest we forget, life is not just fun and mind-games. These emancipated damsels-in-distress are facing a black plague of consumerism, record-shattering unemployment, a financial crisis that never leaves the party, environmental fatalism, panic in the park and systematic corruption that blood-stains every aspect of their advantaged lives. Ok, I’m elaborating, but isn’t that what a good show makes you do? Struggle be damned. At the end of the day, like their more fanciful SATC doppelgangers, the rowdy-dowdy girls of GIRLS have each other.

A belated mazel tov to their mother; virtuoso writer/director/actor Lena Durham. Your pussy-powered vision, make-up-free face and unflinching team of collaborators expose the cramping insecurity, brute force and achey-breakey heart of modern, young women who make the best of it all. On with the show!



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